Cinderella: Ninja Warrior

by Maureen McGowan

  Section 6

  BALANCING ACT

  6

  Cinderella drew a long breath of fresh air and turned her face to the sunshine. She truly loved being outside in the daytime.

  Feeling free and alive, she almost forgot she was still on the grounds of the house and in a hurry. Watching Max use her mother’s wand to alter the entrapment spells, make her a cool outfit to compete in, and get her outside the house had been amazing and reinforced her decision that she didn’t have the skills or experience to wield that thing on her own.

  She ran her small hands over the unfamiliar sleeves of the comfortable wraparound shirt that Max had made for her—like a real ninja’s, but white—and looked down at the trousers that gave her much more range of motion than her skirt over pantaloons ever did. Plus, they were far sturdier and there would be much less of a chance her clothes would tear or fall apart during the competition—assuming she got there and was allowed to enter.

  Who cared if the outfit would turn back into her rags at midnight?

  “I’d better get going.” She walked back to the front of the house, keeping her eyes on Max. “It’s a couple of miles, and even running, I might not make it in time.”

  “Wait!” Max dashed into her vegetable patch, frantically pulled a few carrots and some radishes, and then dashed over to grab her metal watering can.

  He’d gone mad! She was going to a magic competition, not a farmers’ market. Too many years as a cat had turned his brains to catnip. “Um, Max. What are you doing?”

  “Shh.” He ran to the front of the house and set the watering can on the cobblestone path, then he ripped off the radish tops and placed the red vegetables at the base of the can—two on one side and two on the other. Next he put one carrot in front of the watering can, the other beside it.

  He ran to the side of the path, selected four stones, and placed them neatly in two rows directly in front of the can, then laid the radish stalks along the stone’s tops in such a way that they stretched back to the watering can.

  Max really had gone insane, and although Cinderella worried about him, she stepped slowly toward the gate, hoping he’d thought to open it with his earlier spell. Whatever strange game he was playing, she couldn’t waste any more time.

  “Wait!” he yelled. “Don’t you think it would be faster to get to the village in a horse-drawn carriage?”

  She stopped, turned around, and put her hands on her hips. “Yes, it would. But I don’t have one, so all I can do is run, and you playing with vegetables isn’t gaining me any time.”

  “Patience, my dear. Patience.” He turned back to his strange sculpture and raised the wand. Cinderella thought that maybe she should wait this out, after all. His magic thus far had been impressive and she realized she should probably trust him to do whatever he thought he was doing, even if she failed to see how a beat-up watering can, four stones, two carrots, four radishes, and some greens were going to help her get to the competition in time.

  He circled the wand and sparks immediately swirled from its tip. Not pink sparks like the ones she’d seen inside. These were red and bright orange, and some of them were black, like the shiny mineral flecks she’d seen in some garden rocks. Max continued to circle the wand until he’d created a huge swirling mass of energy that Cinderella worried he wouldn’t be able to control.

  She stepped back and her stomach knotted. Max’s behavior seemed both disturbing and pointless.

  Bending his arm at the elbow, he drew the wand back, and then straightened his arm with incredible force. The mass of sparks and energy hurtled forward and engulfed his garden sculpture, circling, building, and expanding.

  Now she felt sure she should run, but her feet were anchored to the ground. Her knees shook, and her muscles refused to make any other kind of move.

  Under the mass of sparks, something began to take shape. The entire display elongated, and continued to expand. She heard a noise that sounded like a horse. She blinked several times to rid her mind of the bizarre image taking shape. No way, under all those sparks and smoke, were a carriage and horses forming. It didn’t seem possible.

  Max lifted his wand toward the sky and the sparks flew up to form a long trail before they headed back toward their creator.

  “Look out!” Cinderella yelled. Max was going to be killed by his own spell. The very day she’d learned she had a godfather, she’d lose him—and her cat, too!

  But the sparks remained under his control, and the wand seemed to devour them into its slender wooden tip.

  She looked at the path and staggered back a few steps.

  A carriage. Made of shiny metal, its bright red wheels had snowy-white spokes. She clapped her hands, realizing he’d transformed the radishes into wheels, and the watering can into the carriage cab. A tall man in an elegant orange jacket sat at the front of the carriage holding green reins that stretched forward to four beautiful strong horses, their coats the same shades as the rocks. Another carrot-coated man opened the gray door to the carriage, bowed, and a tiny amount of water trickled out and onto the path.

  “Sorry about that,” Max said. “I should’ve emptied the watering can first. I’m sure the seats will be dry.”

  Cinderella realized she’d been holding her breath and her chest heaved as she took in the marvelous sight. “Oh, Max! A carriage! How wonderful. Thank you.” Now she had a chance to arrive not only in time, but in style. Imagine. She’d never ridden in a carriage before.

  “My dear,” Max said as he bowed toward her, and she noticed he was sweating everywhere, even on the top of his balding head.

  She ran forward and he put his arms around her. Cinderella wasn’t used to embraces; his hands felt so warm and safe that she considered forgoing the competition. But within a few seconds, Max pushed her back, leaving his hands on her arms.

  “Are you sure I can’t make you a ball gown?”

  She considered it for a second, but there wasn’t enough time.“I don’t think I’ll go to the ball. The competition’s my priority.”

  “Okay,” he said. He put his hand on her shoulder and looked her directly in the eyes, to make sure she understood. “Just remember the spell’s limitations—it’s not permanent, and unfortunately, this carriage won’t last long, either. It’s a one-way ride.”

  She nodded. “That’s no problem. I understand. Thank you, Max.” She hugged him around his neck.

  “And remember, you must return here by midnight, when everything goes back the way it was.”

  “I promise.” Getting back wouldn’t be a problem. The competition was supposed to be over by dinnertime.

  Cinderella leaped out of the carriage the second it stopped at the contestants’ entrance to the arena. She spun toward the groom who’d opened her door. “Thank you.”

  He bowed, but said nothing. Apparently, carrots could bow, drive carriages, and open doors, but they couldn’t speak. Good to know.

  She grinned, and he bowed again.

  “Thanks. Wish me luck,” she said, and he tipped his green hat.

  Cinderella ran to the door.“Where’s the registration desk?” she asked the guard at the door, praying she wasn’t too late.

  The guard looked at the clock on the wall and raised his eyebrows. “You’ve just made it, lass. Through there.” He tipped his head toward a desk near the entrance, behind which sat three wizards, dressed in multicolored robes.

  The preparation room was filled with chatter that bounced off the stone walls, as did bright light, although Cinderella couldn’t spot its source. From her quick glance through the crowd, she deduced that most of the contestants ranged in age from about ten to their late teens. A few looked to be in their twenties. As soon as she got her number pinned on, she was ushered along with the crowd through a long, dark tunnel.

  Excitement built inside her. What would she be asked to do? Even if she performed terribly, she was sure she’d be glad to have come. She owed Ty a huge debt of gratitude for telling her about the competitio
n.

  Thinking of Ty, her stomach stirred in a different way. He’d said he watched the competition every year, and even if she didn’t see him, she took comfort that he’d be somewhere in the stands.

  The spectators’ roar rolled toward them from the end of the tunnel, continuing to build, and then, one by one, sunlight struck the heads of the competitors ahead of her until she strode into the light. As soon as she entered the arena, she stopped in her tracks. A small girl she’d passed in the tunnel bumped into her from behind.

  “Oh, excuse me.” She glanced down at the girl’s red curls and freckled face. And then both of them smiled, stood stock still, and turned their faces to take in their surroundings.

  The circular arena was astounding. At least ten or twenty thousand people ringed the field in row upon row of seats rising into the bright blue sky. Colored banners fluttered in the breeze from dozens of poles at the top of the stands and suddenly the air filled with thousands of small white butterflies. Cinderella lifted her finger and one landed on it, batted its wings, and then took off again.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” she said to the girl, and then realized she was standing alone. All the other contestants had gathered in the middle of the field. She ran to catch up.

  “Welcome!” a huge voice bellowed. She peeked around the tall boy in front of her to see who had spoken. He stepped aside to let her stand in front.

  “Thank you,” she said, and he raised a finger to his lips.

  She smiled her thanks, and then turned to the center of the field where a tall wizard was hovering about twelve feet off the ground.

  It had to be the royal wizard himself.

  His robes were flashing and glowing, transforming into flames, then water, then birds, then ice. She had never witnessed anything quite so remarkable.

  Well, she caught herself and giggled. She had arrived in a watering can with radish wheels, stone horses, and carrots for grooms. It was just a remarkable kind of day, she supposed.

  After nearly falling twice while competing in the tightrope event, Cinderella’s entire body trembled in anticipation of the next test. The wand group was in the process of lifting pumpkins, something she could do in her sleep even without the advantage of a wand.

  It seemed to her the wand group’s tasks should be harder, not easier, than the non-wand group’s, but even though she’d ignored Max’s advice and brought the wand, it was too late to change to the other group now.

  Shading her eyes from the sun, she looked up to the high pedestal from which the royal wizard watched the proceedings. Behind him was the row of judges, and then, high above that, the box reserved for the royal family.

  Her stepsisters claimed Prince Tiberius was the most handsome man in the kingdom, but his chair was empty. It figured. All these girls battling for a chance to twirl around the dance floor in his arms, and he couldn’t even be bothered to watch.

  He was likely over at the beauty competition her stepsisters had entered. Ty could defend his employer and his family all he liked, but any boy planning to pick a bride at a ball without even knowing her had to be pretty shallow.

  “Trying to catch a glimpse of your dance partner?” A hand landed softly on her shoulder, and Cinderella spun to see Ty, in his messenger uniform—although oddly, it seemed to be a different one, and it didn’t fit.

  Her heart swelled with joy.

  “I saw you on the tightropes.” His eyes lit up with a smile, and so did every nerve in her body. “You did very well.”

  “Thanks! I thought that last ball of fire was going to get me.”

  “Nah,” he said. “Your jump cleared it by about two feet and you landed back down with barely a wobble.”

  A blush rose on her chest and face. It was true she’d managed the tightrope and fireball challenge with relative ease compared to many of the other contestants, and had somehow found herself among the top six on the leaderboard, but this next task would be different. Not just different. Impossible.

  She looked down the field where the wizards and their helpers were busy installing dozens of hoops on long poles of varying heights.

  “What’s wrong?” Ty reached for her hand.

  The contact sent a charge racing through her.

  “I can’t do this.” She gestured behind her to the hoops course she was expected to complete blindfolded. “Maybe if I could use a wand.” She nervously chewed on the inside of her lip to keep from telling him about finding her mother’s wand hidden in the woods, or about her godfather, who also happened to be her cat. Sharing those secrets would lead to questions—questions she couldn’t answer without turning Ty into stone. She bit her lip. “I really need to win this.”

  “Want a dance with the prince that badly, huh?”

  She looked up, expecting to find him mocking her, but his face read as though he’d just received the best news of his life.

  She laughed. “You know I don’t care about that. I’m here for the magic lessons.”

  He dropped her hand and backed up a few inches. “Of course. Yes. Of course.” As he dipped his head, sunlight glinted off the curls that had escaped his cap.

  “What are you doing on the field?” she asked. “I thought only competitors and wizards were allowed out here.”

  She heard the crowd roar and glanced over her shoulder. One of the wand group had just landed a pumpkin on the top of a very high pole. She was no longer sure she would have won in that group.

  “I know some people.” He looked down and scraped the sole of his shoe along the dirt, and she noticed his heels were sticking out the ends of the too-small shoes.

  “You’re in uniform. Do you have messages to deliver today, to people in the crowd?”

  His cheeks reddened and he looked up to the left before answering. “Not exactly, but I am working.”

  She stepped closer to him. “I hope the royal family appreciates you.” But they likely didn’t. Even if they didn’t treat him as badly as her stepmother treated her, they couldn’t even supply him with a properly fitted uniform.

  “Since you’re here”—he stepped forward—“can I assume you’re also going to the ball?”

  “In this?” She touched the hem of the shirt Max had made her.“This is all I’ve got to wear. Hardly the latest in formal wear.”

  “You’ll attract attention, regardless of fashion,” he said.

  “Attention, yes,” she said with a grin, “but the right kind? Everyone will stare at me if I show up like this.”

  He pushed his cap back. “You might have a point there, but I’m sure there’s a solution. Someone will loan you a gown. In fact, I borrowed this uniform from someone.” He looked at her, almost pleading. “Please don’t let your attire get in the way of your chance to dance with . . . with the prince.”

  She tried to hide her smile. It seemed to her that he hoped for a dance himself, but was too shy to ask.“Who cares about a silly prince? If I do go to the ball, the only boy I want to dance with is you.”

  He beamed. “Do you really mean that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The side of his mouth cocked up, making a dimple in one cheek. “Well, just remember what I told you—the prince isn’t such a bad guy.”

  “All evidence to the contrary.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You work for him, right?”

  He nodded, but looked slightly awkward, as if he might be hiding something. She hoped she’d have time to get to the bottom of that.

  “Then I think he should take better care of his employees.” Cinderella gestured toward him. “Your pants are about five inches too short and your shoes don’t fit.”

  “Oh.” He ran his hand over the light blond stubble on his chin. “This isn’t the prince’s fault. He—I—had to borrow this and get changed in a hurry to come out here to see you.”

  “Do you mean you had to change out of your beggar disguise?”

  He started. “Something like that.”<
br />
  She pushed some stray hairs behind her ear. Ty’s clothing changes were perplexing.

  “Hey.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black satin ribbon. “Would you like me to tie your hair back so it won’t get in the way for the next events?”

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  She turned, lifted her hair, and wondered where he’d found such a fine ribbon, but the thought of asking vanished when his fingers brushed her neck, sending warm shivers through her.

  He smoothed back her hair and tightly tied the ribbon as if he were quite practiced at the task. Finished, he let his hands fall to her shoulders for a moment.

  Trumpets signaled that the wand group’s pumpkin-lifting event had concluded, and Cinderella glanced up at the leaderboard. She was still on it, but had dropped to eleventh. She’d need a stellar performance in this next event, yet it still seemed impossible. She studied the hoops again and twisted her lips. Anxiety twisted her belly, too.

  Ty’s hand enveloped hers again, but not even his touch could calm her this time. Not when she was about to be a spectacular failure.

  She studied the hoops, high up in the air and scattered over the field. The challenge was to throw tiny balls through those hoops but without using her eyes. It seemed impossible. However, she remembered a time when Max had climbed on her head and put his paws over her eyes while she was tossing chestnuts into a bucket one night. At the time, she’d thought he was doing it for attention, but now wondered if it had been a training technique.

  Ty bent closer and put his lips close to her ear. “You can do this, Cinderella. It’s just a matter of concentration and focus. Memorize where the hoops are, and then, once you’re blindfolded, let your senses take control.” He ran a hand lightly down her arm. “Just close your eyes and focus.”