The Urban Princesses: Cinderella

Chapter 5

I rang Mrs. Goldman's doorbell and waited patiently for her to answer. Thirty seconds later, she was standing before me, still leaning on her cane and giving me a warm smile.

"You didn't have to come back, dear. I could've sifted through the widgets myself,"

I leaned close and lowered my voice. "To be honest, I'd rather be helping you right now," My step mom had ordered me to clean the chimney.

"Oh, but your stepmother would be mad wouldn't she?"

I shook my head. "I can do it later. So what's on the list for today?" I stepped through the threshold. The smell of cookies filled my senses.

"If you don't mind, my attic is still chock full of junk,"

"No problem," I smiled and went back up to the attic.

Everything was the way it had been the day I left it, the china cabinet's door was still cracked open with the photos lying on one of the shelves. It was tempting, but I didn't go to it first. I needed to get some actual work done.

I sorted through the boxes and found mostly junk, ripped up paintings, broken glass figurines, old wiring, random pens and pencils, moldy stuffed animals. I did find a few old letters and china that was intact. I finally narrowed everything down to a few cardboard boxes and trashed the rest. Then, I moved onto the pictures.

Now, most of them were with my mom and dad in them. There was a picture of my mom in a long, sleeveless, white dress, a veil in her hair. Mrs. Goldman was stuck to her side, my dad's hand slipped around her waist. The next pictures were mostly my mom with an enlarged pregnant belly. There was one with her and Mrs. Goldman at a baby shower, and an ultra sound, and finally, Mrs. Goldman holding a small baby with wispy blond hair. The pictures went on as I watched the small girl grow up. After the photo of the family on a beach with Mrs. Goldman, was a photo of a grim looking church, a brown coffin sat at the altar. Mrs. Goldman knelt in front of it, the girl and dad kneeling next to her.

A tear dripped down my cheek and I wiped it away. Her funeral was just a fuzzy memory now, I never remembered Mrs. Goldman being there, much less raising me.

"Ella, dear! Have you been eaten by spiders? Come downstairs and have a snack!"

I brought the boxes and the pictures down the stairs, then met Mrs. Goldman in the kitchen. A plate of fresh cookies sat on the counter, along with two glasses of milk. Classic grandma snack.

Mrs. Goldman pushed me one of the glasses and I took a cookie from the plate.

"Mrs. Goldman, how did you know my mother so well? And why were you such a big part of my childhood, yet I can't remember you?" I took a bite if the soft cookie.

She smiled and opened her mouth to say something, then the doorbell rang.

"One moment," she excused herself and answered the door.

"You need to stop taking advantage of my step daughter," that stern voice was too familiar. I scarfed down the rest of my cookie and went to the front door.

Mrs. Goldman gave me a sad smile and shrugged, the action seemed to hurt her bones.

My stepmom closed her bony fingers over my wrist and dragged me out the door.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Goldman, thanks for the cookies." I said as we went down the front walk.

***

"A pink tuxedo might actually look nice on you,"

"Shut up! Stop being on her side!"

I laughed and put my dollar into the vending machine.

"What are you wearing?" Jack asked me.

I shrugged. "My stepmom isn't buying me money for a dress so I'll have to get creative,"

He frowned as my Gatorade fell from the rack onto the bottom of the machine.

"You don't see that she is depriving you of common teenage needs?"

I pulled the drink out of the flap and stuck it into my backpack. "Well, I have food, water, an insulated bedroom-"

"I said teenage needs, not basic needs. A TV in your room, money for crap we don't need, prom supplies,"

"Jack, it's no big deal," I turned to August. "Who are you going with?"

He shrugged. "A few guys from my biology class,"

The bell rang and we dispersed.

I ended up having to drive Delia, Anya, and their friend Lucille back to our house.

Lucille was just as bad as them, a snotty attitude, designer clothes, and a rich daddy, and she never gave me any respect.

"Ella, could you take the Lincoln street route? It has less wind there and I don't want to ruin my hairdo,"

"Ok, Lucille."

We got home and the girls got out of the car as fast as they could, I opened my door but Lucille's slammed it shut and snickered. My face got red and I opened the door again, making sure Lucille was out of reach.

I trudged up to my room and started my homework, my list of chores still taped to the door. I sighed.

The days were too short.