How Zoe Made Her Dreams (Mostly) Come True

by Sarah Strohmeyer

  I gasped, and so did the princesses. Valerie mumbled something in French that sounded like le witch while Miranda said to Laura, “That’s not right.” Laura made a fist and pounded it into the palm of her other hand. Tough one, that Snow White.

  Adele said nothing. She kept her gaze straight ahead, focused on the poster that showed you how to take your pulse. She was like a zombie. Standing, breathing, but not there.

  “Do you understand?” the Queen demanded.

  “Yes,” she answered robotically.

  “Good. Then go upstairs, get your tiara, and turn it into Wardrobe. I’ve got just a few hours to suit Zoe up and train her to fill in for you.”

  Adele swiveled her head in my direction, her bland eyes targeting mine with the kind of fierce hostility you find in rabid dogs or angry drivers on the Turnpike. Her resentment was so palpable, I could feel it on my skin, burning hot.

  “It’s only temporary,” I squeaked.

  She tossed me the phone. “I bet you’ve been jacking up my weight on your stupid chart.” She stepped off the cross trainer and put her icky, sweaty nose against mine. “You planned this, so you could take my place as Cinderella.”

  “No! I’ve been knocking off ounces whenever I can.”

  “Then you admit you’ve been tampering with my chart. I knew it.” She squirted water into her mouth and spit a stream into the wastebasket better than any jock I’d ever met. “I’ve had it with this place. I never wanted to play a princess, anyway. That’s what my parents wanted, why they mortgaged the farm to send me to Fairyland camp year after year. I only tried so hard because I thought I could get a break here with my music, so screw all of you!”

  We watched as Adele went into the girls’ locker room and emerged with her pink Adidas bag over her shoulder, a white towel around her neck. Chin lifted high, she calmly left the gym, her sneakers padding softly down the hall.

  Sixteen

  Andy met me in Wardrobe, pacing anxiously while Trish did what she could to transform me, 5′10″ Zoe Kiefer, into a delicate princess, practically sewing me into Adele’s blue-and-white gown and stuffing my size-ten feet into clear plastic slippers. Once that ordeal was over, Helga the cosmetologist plunked me into a chair, yanked my hair into a super-tight ponytail, and proceeded to tweeze my eyebrows into tiny lines that, illogically, she then darkened with pencil.

  “Stay still. Don’t talk,” she ordered.

  Which was hard, because Andy was grilling me about the basics of Princess 101. Did I know how to wave? Did I know how to smile like a princess, to clasp my hands just so, as if I were a child who’d been surprised with a stack of birthday presents? Had I ever waltzed? Done the box step?

  “I have one hour to teach you what took years of summer camp to teach Adele. You’d better be up to the task.” Andy stroked his chin nervously as Helga pressed color into my lips. “She doesn’t even come close to Simone.”

  “I’m doing what I can,” she grumbled, applying blush with a big brush. “It’s not like you’ve given me much to work with here.”

  Thanks. Thanks a lot for the vote of confidence, people. “Yeah, I think I know how to wave.”

  Helga pinched my mouth shut. “No talking! Close your eyes.”

  I closed my eyes.

  Andy continued. “There’s the dance with Prince Charming. It’s more complicated than it looks.”

  I tried to recall what the dance was like. Lots of turning and waving, bowing and curtsying. Square-dancing with two royal squares.

  “Open,” Helga barked. I opened my eyes to the sight of her wielding what appeared to be a living centipede pinched between her fingers.

  I let out a scream. “What is that?”

  “Eyelashes. Now look up.” I looked up as she pasted the sticky lashes to my lids. “Look down.” I looked down.

  Just when I thought this process couldn’t get any more uncomfortable, they produced a heavy yellow-blond wig and two humongous fake diamond earrings that pulled down my earlobes like boulders. I slid off the chair, teetering under the weight of multiple petticoats. Trish stuffed my hands into tight white gloves. Helga fixed my lip gloss. At last, all three of my tormentors stepped back for the assessment.

  “Walk!” Andy commanded.

  So I walked.

  He slapped his forehead. “No, no, no. Not like you’re a construction worker just off from the job. Daintily, like a princess. Show some of that Wow! spirit.”

  My toes were killing me. I went up on them slightly, grimaced in pain, and pranced, Wow!™-like.

  “That’s better. Now twirl.” He rotated his wrist. I twirled. I twirled so fast that, as I had in the Queen’s office, I fell against the chair, and Trish had to come to my rescue.

  “Enough, Andy,” she said. “Take her into training.”

  Training was one big room with lots of mirrors and, playing on an eternal loop, the Fairyland theme song, to which I was taught the so-called Fairyland Family Dance. (Think the Hokey Pokey only with more twirling and kissing.)

  Hands up! Twirl to the left, twirl to the left. Kiss! Kiss! (Bottoms out!) Wave. Wave. Hands up! Twirl to the right, twirl to the right. Andy bow. Zoe curtsy. Air kiss. Air kiss. (Bottoms out!) Wave. Wave. Twirl to the left . . . and so on.

  Practice over, Andy sufficiently exasperated, there was only one more detail that needed to be addressed: my tiara. Adele was supposed to drop it off, but she was nowhere to be found, and we were ready to go. Already the morning crew was returning from the park hot, sweaty, and tired in a well-coordinated choreography through secret doors. I was to switch with Simone at the top of Cinderella’s staircase at four sharp. I couldn’t do that, though, without my crown.

  Dash passed me in the hall wearing his navy Prince Charming uniform. He stopped to give me a hug. “I took care of everything, Zoe. You’re in the clear,” he whispered. Then he jogged to catch up with the other princes.

  That could have only meant that he’d snagged the Hansel’s report about me. Unless Dash just wanted to give me a hug, which would have been fine, too. You know, I’m not one to complain.

  I headed down the hall and found Jess and RJ chatting by the water fountain. He had one hand on the wall and was leaning into her while Jess was twirling her Red Riding Hood blond braid and playing coquette. I guess her night with Marcus had worked its magic, because, so far, I’d never seen RJ so interested in another person . . . besides himself.

  “Hey,” I said, hoping to grab Jess for a minute so I could explain why I was Cinderella.

  Jess took one look at me all dressed up and opened her mouth in shock. “What’s this about?”

  “Long story,” I said. “I’ll go into it later. In the meantime don’t believe any of the rumors. They’re all lies.” I tried communicating on our nonverbal level by the usual lifting of the eyebrows, rolling of the eyeballs, etcetera, but Jess only said, “It’s okay. I’m happy for you. You look really good, Zoe.”

  No kidding. She was about to cry.

  I took her aside. “Listen, you blond bubblehead of a cousin, this is only temporary. Adele got demoted today, and the Queen is making me fill in until she picks a permanent replacement. You should totally apply because . . .”

  Adele was sauntering down the hall, tiara in hand. “Hey, Jess. Look what your roommate got for ratting out you and Marcus to the Queen.”

  Jess turned to me, aghast. “You told her?”

  “No. Of course, not.”

  “Then quit running your mouth, Adele.” Jess made the most of her five-feet-four inches, stepping between me and my accuser. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, little Jess. Trust me, your cousin is a backstabber who doesn’t give a damn about you.” Adele pushed herself between us and stuck the tiara into my wig. “Here. You finally got what you wanted.”

  RJ the senior statesman tried to take control. “Listen, people, this happens every summer. The Queen does a staff reshuffling, and egos get bruised,
and suddenly the accusations start flying. Why don’t we all take a deep . . .”

  “Screw you, hipster!” Adele barked. “I’m so sick of you always telling us what to do. You’re nothing but a freaking babysitter.”

  Jess gasped and patted RJ’s arm. “That’s not true,” she gushed, as if any of us really thought he was.

  Karl, his face red and sweaty, was coming down the hall in his wolf costume, carrying his smelly head. He took one look at the fracas and spun right around, heading in the opposite direction.

  “RJ does have a point,” I said, attempting to appeal to Adele’s questionable sense of reason. “This is just an Ordinary Cast—”

  Adele slapped her hand over my mouth. “Shut up and listen. You’ll be Cinderella, and you’ll get the twenty-five thousand dollars that should be mine. But this is not the end, Kiefer. You’re going to pay for messing with me.”

  Enough! I’d had it with this high school melodrama. Reaching into the pocket of my dress, I found the Queen’s letter to Adele that she’d requested I deliver earlier and stuffed it down the front of her hot-pink spandex tank. “Here, liar. You’d better read this before you go making a fool of yourself.”

  The first buzzer rang. Our cue to get in place.

  RJ slipped his arm around my waist. “Come on, Zoe. I’ll show you where to go. Let’s get away from the crazy girl.”

  We got to the top of the stairs, where Simone was waiting impatiently. “Wait. What’s she doing here? Where’s Adele?”

  RJ said, “Just go, Zoe. I’ll fill in Simone.”

  I descended the stairs and walked onto the stage, where a huge crowd of eager faces awaited. Toddlers sat on their fathers’ shoulders. Mothers held cameras poised to click and shoot. These good people trusted us to put on a terrific show, one worth the steep admission fee and the long, hot drive down the Garden State, and I was about to ruin their expensive trip with one disastrous performance.

  “Wave!” Valerie in her rose-colored Sleeping Beauty gown was waving madly, first with her right arm, then her left.

  I waved.

  “Twirl!” ordered Laura, dressed as Snow White with her big, puffy red-and-white-striped sleeves. “Hold out your petticoat. Don’t forget to curtsy! That’s what Cinderella does.”

  Could the crowd hear them? I hoped not as I tried to coordinate waving with twirling and holding out my petticoat. Valerie and Laura were just standing there waving and blowing kisses while I was like some messed-up toy monkey on meth, twirling and waving and dipping crazily off to the side. I was so dizzy that, once, my foot slipped and I nearly pitched into a couple of kids.

  Ian rode up on his horse and, at the sight of me bobbing about, quickly dismounted, handed the reins to a troll, and took the steps of the palace two at a time, grabbing me in what the audience interpreted as a Prince Charming clutch of passion but what was obviously his practical effort to gain some control.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed.

  I blinked, trying to stop the world from spinning. “Twirling and waving. That’s what they told me to do.”

  He shot a reproving glance at Valerie and Laura, who were giggling behind white gloves. “Don’t listen to them. They’re just sticking up for Adele.”

  Well, it was nice that they were supportive. I’d heard so much gossip about the princesses being catty.

  Ian lifted his right hand. I slapped it hard.

  “No, no, no. You’re supposed to take it,” he said. “This is the waltz. Not a basketball game.”

  Now a few parents were laughing as the crowd grew restless. Ian gripped my hand and circled my waist with his arm. “Not too close,” he said. “This dance is rated G.”

  “As in ‘gee I hate you’?” I gave him a dirty look.

  He shook his head. “You’ve got it all wrong. Just dance.”

  The music started—The Blue Danube or something equally waltzlike—and next I knew it was back to twirling. I tried to pull him one way, but he only pulled me the other.

  “You’re leading,” he said, like that was a bad thing. “Relax and follow me.”

  I wanted to tell him that no way would I ever follow him. “You used what I told you last night on the way to the party to invent a story about seeing Marcus in the Forbidden Zone. I would never let you lead me anywhere.”

  “Can we talk about this later?” he murmured into my ear. “Now is not the time or place for a fight. Okay, here’s the float.”

  The giant royal float had arrived to begin the parade around the park. Rapunzel and her prince stepped onto it from the stage, then Snow White and her prince, and Sleeping Beauty with Dash.

  Ian and I were the main attraction, our hands held artificially high as we took our places front and center. I’d briefly managed to catch sight of the Queen sitting on her throne behind us and noticed she appeared a touch green.

  Perhaps she had ingested a rancid almond for lunch.

  The float started up and, thanks to quick thinking on Ian’s part, I did not fall off as it lurched forward. He took my hands and planted an air kiss near my lips. “Try to look enthusiastic. We are supposed to be enchanting, you know, not homicidal.”

  Easy for him to say. The music switched to the Fairyland theme song—“We Are Family”—and wouldn’t you know it, there was another dance. Only, we had to do it on a moving float. I was doomed.

  Ian raised his hand again. This time I knew better than to slap it. “I remembered,” I said, putting my white glove gently in his.

  He shook it off. “Actually, Zoe, we’re doing the dance Andy supposedly taught you in the training room.”

  Oh. That dance. Right. Ian bowed. I curtsied, and it was hands up again without touching. Twirl to the left, twirl to the left. Kiss! Kiss! (Bottoms out.) Wave. Wave. Hands up! Twirl to the right, twirl to the right. Ian bow. Zoe curtsy. Kiss. Kiss. (Bottoms out!) Wave. Wave. Twirl to the left.

  Wait . . . what was Dash doing all the way over there on the opposite side of the float? And why was he laughing?

  I looked to the Queen for a hint, but she had her face in her hands. Dash sashayed near me and said, “Just pretend you know what you’re doing, and no one in the audience will be aware. Old theater trick.”

  It was too late. People were pointing and taking pictures. One father called out in a heavy Jersey accent, “You need more practice, sweetheart!” Another said, “That’s a ditzy blond for ya!” I would have leaped off the float and socked him if the parade hadn’t come full circle back to the Princess Palace.

  The nightmare was over.

  We all lined up on the steps of the palace, took our bows, and proceeded inside, the Queen taking up the rear as kids gleefully booed her exit.

  Once we were in Our World, she made a beeline in my direction. “Needless to say, that was a disaster.” She removed her black gloves finger by finger as if picking off my numerous mistakes. “We need to find a permanent replacement for you immediately if not sooner.”

  I did my best to seem disappointed in order to hide my deep, deep relief. I never, ever wanted to do that again. Ever. Taking back-to-back SATs on a sunny June morning while getting my teeth drilled without novocaine would have been better. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I guess I’m not cut out for princess work.”

  “Hmph. That’s an understatement.” She handed me her gloves, which I inferred meant I was back to being her assistant.

  “The good news,” I said brightly, “is that I know someone who can step in as Cinderella without a hitch. My cousin Jess.”

  The Queen’s icy gaze scanned the hall for signs of Jess, who was laughing with RJ and Ian—probably about my debut.

  “Do you mean Red Riding Hood Number Two? I can’t say she’s ever struck me as princess material. Did she graduate from one of our camps?”

  I shook my head. “But she’s been preparing for the part on her own since she was six. I swear, you won’t have to teach her so much as a dance step.”

  The Queen sighed. “Well, we’re in a bind, so I’m
afraid she’ll have to do.”

  It was happening. Yes! I tried to suppress my smile. “You won’t regret it.”

  “For your sake, I hope not. Tell her to be in my office by eight tomorrow morning for an audition, and for heaven’s sake, get out of that costume. Never in my life have I seen such a pathetic Cinderella.”

  On that sour note, she left, her purple-and-black cape flying behind her. I wriggled through the crowd to tell Jess, who seemed to have disappeared, so I went to Wardrobe, ripping off my wig and false eyelashes and stepping out of the mega-hot gown. I was hoisting it onto a hanger when something fell out of a pocket: a green, sparkly Fairyland envelope addressed to Adele.

  Uh-oh.

  If this was the Queen’s letter to Adele, then . . . what letter had I given her?

  Dash poked his head inside the dressing room, completely ignoring Rule #71: No boys in girls’ dressing rooms and vice versa. “I see you got it.”

  “Got what?” I asked as tiny flames of panic licked my nerves.

  He pointed to the envelope. “The Hansel’s report. I took it from the troll before he could get to the Queen. Made some excuse about it being mine.”

  I rewound the order of events. Dash hugging me on the way to switching places with Simone. Me shoving the letter in Adele’s top after she made that snarky comment about my backstabbing. I hadn’t bothered to check that it was the right letter. Then again I’d had no reason to think there might have been two, since I hadn’t felt Dash slip the letter into my pocket, thanks to all these freaking petticoats.

  Which meant Adele, who loathed me with a vengeance, now held the one piece of evidence that could get me kicked out of the internship, a detailed accounting of how I’d rendezvoused with the traitor in the Forbidden Zone and been so close to him, we could have kissed.

  But what neither Adele nor Jake the Hansel knew was not only had I met and protected the traitor, I’d also lied to the Queen and said that I hadn’t.

  Not exactly what you’d call a Wow!™ moment.

  Seventeen