If I Have a Wicked Stepmother Where's my Prince

Chapter One

Cinderella:

dead mother

wicked stepmother

evil stepsisters (2)

friendless

Me:

dead mother

wicked stepmother

evil stepsisters (2)

friendless

I tapped my pen against my lips, debating whether or not Cinderella is actually friendless. I mean, she does have all those talking animals helping her out when she gets into a jam. But do they count as friend? It's not as if a blue jay can meet you at Starbucks for an after-school latte. As i tried to categorize the small woodland creatures Cinderella associates with, my eyes accidentally wandered over to Jessica Johnson, this girl who sits across the classroom from me. When we made eye contact, her expression didn't change - it was as though I wasn't there. I crossed out the friendless in the Cinderella column and drew in a woodchuck.

Cinderella:

father dead

Me:

father alive

Once more, I wasn't sure this was an accurate description of our respective situations. i mean, technically, my dad is alive. More than technically - it's not like he's in a coma or anything. But considering the fact that I am currently living with his new wife and stepdaughters on Long Island while he spends Monday through Friday in San Francisco finishing up this mondo case he was supposed to be done with before we moved to New York in August seven months ago, his being alive doesn't do me a whole lot of good.

I went back to my list and put quotation marks around alive.

". . . that you can't subtract here until you divide here." Mr. Palmer slapped the board, raising a small cloud of chalk dust. Then he spun toward the window.

"Mister Marcus," he spat. "Can you tell me why that is?"

John Marcus's head shot up and he looked around the room in a panic. The skateboarding magazine tucked into his math book slipped to the floor.

I barely listened as Mr. Palmer raged at John, spit flying out of the corners of his mouth. I wasn't the only one unimpressed by Mr. Palmer's tantrum (his third of the day); even John kept his eyes on his magazine, sliding it under his chair with his toe. And as usual, even before the bell had rung, despite the fact that Mr. Palmer was still talking, kids started throwing stuff into their backpacks. "I think you're going to want to hear this since it involves a surprise quiz on Thursday." No one paid any attention to him. Mr. Palmer is always threatening surprise quizzes and then not giving them out. All first semester I spent my nights cramming frantically for a quiz that never came. Now I just ignored the threats like everyone else.

Out in the hallway, Madison Lawler, Jessica Johnson's BFF, embraced Jessica passionately, as if the cruelty of the math-tracking powers that be was almost too much to bear. Maybe I'm paranoid, but as i walked by, it was hard not to feel that the sole purpose of their daily reunion was to remind me of my utterly friendless state.

For the record, let's just acknowledge that relocation has not done wonders for my social life. To say I haven't discovered a soul mate within Glen Lake population would be an underestimate. I have not even discovered a homework mate. And the irony of my current situation is that I just went through this a year ago. When I was in eighth grade, my dad got totally obsessed with how the curriculum at my junior high wasn't rich enough or enriched enough or whatever, and he decided that if I didn't attend Wellington Academy for high school, mine would be an empty and meaningless existence (kind of like it is now). So I had to kiss Bay-view Middle School good-bye, leave all my friends, and go off to Wellington, where i knew no one. Then, just as i am finally settling in and can't stop skulking around the halls like an assassin, practically at the very moment my cell phone starts ringing with people who don't just want me to switch my long-distance carrier, my dad announces he's getting married to the Wicked Witch of the North Shore, we're moving to New York, and I'll be starting sophomore year at Glen Lake High in the fall.