#stepsisters

#stepsisters part 2

Cindy had never been to a ball before, and she was feeling a little overwhelmed. Hubert had just dropped her off in front of the hotel, telling her to “have fun.” That was all well and good, but now what? She didn’t have any friends. She’d always been too busy doing her homework and her stepsisters homework. And Hubert had told her not to talk to her stepsisters because she wasn’t even supposed to be at the ball. He promised they would never recognize her all dolled up in an expensive Louis Vuitton gown, amazing Christian Louboutin shoes, and the two hundred pounds of Chanel makeup Hubert had slathered on her face in the car. Plus if they caught her they’d be so jealous and angry about the shoes they might do something mean like pour punch on her and make her take the shoes back to the store. And she so wasn’t taking them back. Two pairs, for free! Hubert had the mate to each pair and was saving them for her. He was so nice. And so right about her wearing two different shoes. It was so cutting edge and made her stand out from the crowd, just like the incredible two-tone tuxedo the amazing-looking boy standing right next to her was wearing.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Manchild Kennedy approached Cindy. She looked like a perfect shell washed up on the white sand on a perfect morning on his native island in the Caribbean—a sparkling natural jewel. “Are you a ballet dancer? I think I saw you at the School of American Ballet Winter Ball.”

Cindy smiled shyly and shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she replied, marveling at his avant-garde style and handsome physique. “I’ve never been allowed out before. Too much homework.”

Hubert had told her to make up a name for herself and she was quickly trying to come up with something multi-syllabic and European-sounding to go with her dress.

“My name is Cinderellalatté. With an accent on the last ‘e.’” Her chin trembled. Her new name sounded like a new whipped coffee drink from Starbucks.

But Manchild Kennedy was used to exotic-sounding names.

He took her small cold hand and held it in his nice big warm one. “I’m Manchild Kennedy. Is it OK if I just call you Cindy?”

“Yes, please.” Cindy gazed up at him with her round blue eyes. “And please don’t let go of my hand just yet. I’ve never held hands with a boy before.” She blushed prettily. “It’s really nice.”

“What a stuck-up bitch,” Dizzy fumed from the other side of the room. “I don’t know who she is, but I hate her.”

“Notice how she doesn’t talk to any of the girls?” Nastia observed. “She has no friends because all she ever does is flirt with boys.” A couple of boys tried to cut in and dance with the girl, but she just shook her head vehemently and threw herself at Manchild with even more gusto.

“She’s a terrible dancer,” Dizzy added.

They watched the beautiful pair spin and twirl to a Taylor Swift song that both of them had thought was romantic before but now was just plain annoying. The gold eelskin platform shoe had a slightly higher heel than the blue metallic glitter stilettos so the girl kept falling into Manchild Kennedy’s chest, as if by accident.

“See? She’s so clumsy,” Dizzy said.

“I bet she’s not that clumsy,” Nastia replied.

Bill Cunningham—that darling old man who snapped society photos for the New York Times and rode around town on his bicycle so he could be at every event that was worth photographing—knelt in front of the couple to capture them twirling and falling… in love.

“I need more punch. Now,” Nastia said, turning away. A bunch of boys from the St. David’s lacrosse team had spiked the punch with vodka. Drinking lots of it seemed like the most appealing way to get through the evening now that Manchild Kennedy was otherwise occupied. All the other boys looked like mere boys in comparison.