What Happened That Night

5 ~ c i n d e r e l l a

After the giant had been killed and collapsed onto the stage—although, really, there was no giant but actually Rita Lopez backstage standing in front of a microphone reading her revengeful lines from her script while Leo Gibson in the orchestra pit slammed his drumsticks against the surface of the drum to create the sound of the giant falling to her death—and the rest of the cast members adorned in costumes the drama department had sewn from various articles of clothing from Goodwill gathered in the lobby of the school for fruit punch and themed cookies from the local bakery, Kupcake Kingdom, I spotted my family near the entrance, holding the makeshift Playbills that Ron Weller had printed out on his computer, and scanning the lobby for me in my brown and white dress that was purposely torn at the hem, with multicolored patches over the skirt and black combat boots over tan, thick socks made to look like stockings. Shelia Roan had heavily dusted dark brown eye-shadow over my face to look like dirt from the woods.

I had lifted my hand to wave at them as I maneuvered past Arnold Crown, who had played my prince and had swept my bare feet off from the wooden stage and carried me in his arms for five seconds and onto a fake carriage that we actually had to walk to move, and past Emory May, who had played the Baker’s Wife and had effectively ruined my marriage with Arnold, when I suddenly felt two strong arms wrap around my waist and lift me off of the ground, my feet once again leaving the floor. I glanced down and saw that the two arms were sun-kissed and bulging with muscle, and I heard the sound of laughing in my ear, warm and inviting against my skin, and I felt his ear against my own. It wasn’t until I noticed Kolby Rutledge, a few yards away from me, pouring himself a glass of red fruit punch, alone, that I realized that the one lifting me off of my feet and pressed my back into his toned stomach was Griffin Tomlin, and I nearly choked as I squealed. And I realized that my hands were covering his around my waist, and I suddenly felt self-conscious that I might have been too heavy for him or that the excessive amounts of black eyeliner applied to make my eyes more noticeable on stage might now make me look like a raccoon close up.

“Clara!” he was saying, almost laughing my name from his lips, so happily and proudly that I smiled in his arms, even though my back was against him and he couldn’t see that my ruby red lips had been curved into a grin. I was in Griffin Tomlin’s arms, I thought, and I hoped that he would never, ever put me down. “Who would have thought that our very own Clara Porterfield could sing and dance, huh? Did you think so, Kolby?”

Kolby just smiled over the rim of his plastic Styrofoam cup. “You were really good, Clara,” he replied instead of answering Griffin’s question, and then he stepped out of the way of Maria Gregory, who had portrayed the Witch and was adorned in a black discount prom dress she had found at So Fetch a few weeks before, and grabbed a cookie shaped like a crown with gold frosting from one of the glass platters on the white fold-out tables pressed against the walls of the school lobby.

“Good?” Griffin repeated, a note of exaggerated incredulousness in my voice, which vibrated close to my ear as he spoke, his breath warm on my lobe and the side of my neck as he held me, and I felt him tilt his head to the side, as if he were trying to get a look of my face, and then I felt his arms loosen around my waist as he let me drop onto the floor, the soles of my shoes making a flat smacking against the off-white tiled flooring. My waist suddenly felt cold and empty without his arms, muscled from so many years of playing baseball, wrapped around me. “Don’t worry, Clara. Kolby’s always had a bit of a hearing problem. That’s why he didn’t use the words ‘great’ or ‘amazing’, right, Kol?” He cupped his hand around his lips and shouted the words at him as Kolby chewed on his cookie, having bitten off two of the three points of the crown, and Kolby smiled, his lips pressed tightly together as he chewed, and nodded, his brown eyes rolling slightly.

I smiled, using my bare fingernails to scratch on the fabric of the sleeve of my dilapidated dress as I thought about just how close Griffin Tomlin was standing next to me and how every time he exhaled I felt his chest against the back of my arm and that he smelled like soap and musk. “It’s alright,” I said, even though I wasn’t quite sure what I was dubbing alright, and I glanced up at Griffin, feeling a jolt in my chest when he looked back down at me and smiled. “I’m really glad you came. You didn’t have to, though. I mean, I’m really glad you did but it wasn’t . . . you didn’t . . . it was just really nice of you,” I said, and then I wondered if Emily or Nora or basically any other girl stumbled over her words as much as I did around Griffin Tomlin. I wondered what it must have been like to just act normal around your crush, like every single magazine article and quiz said to, but how was that supposed to be possible when I was worried he would notice the pit stains collecting under my arms or that I seriously considered getting a spray tan just so it would be less obvious that I blushed ridiculously whenever he looked in my direction.