The Princess Pages: A Girl Like Cinderella

Song Six

SHE'S A WAITRESS WITH A SMALL PAY AND A BIG HEART

Why do bad things happen to good people?

Hell if Lucy knew, but that following afternoon, she found herself spending last period--PE, no less--mopping up the gymnasium floor, then unfairly scrubbing the locker rooms of both boys' and girls', and to top it all off, she had absolutely no help whatsoever. 

She raked her blue eyes around her surroundings. The empty gym seemed to mirror her mood: Cold, gloomy, and devoid of emotion. The floor was waxed and shiny, the bleachers were squeaky clean, and there were no sticky gum wads left hanging below the coach's desk. Gross.

With a melancholy sigh leaving her lips, Lucy grabbed the white rag from the sink, proceeding to spray it with disinfectant, before hastily rubbing the cloth up and down the walls one last time. 

She needed to hurry because her evening shift at The Diner would start at 6, and from across the gym, she could see the sky darkening in hues of blue, orange and purple. It was not an option to be late. She needed that job.

And so she left the gym looking like that: Her long hair in a messy black bun, still in her PE uniform; a baggy white shirt and green jogging pants. 

Lucy tripped over her loose shoelaces twice in her haste to the school parking lot, which was now emptied of her schoolmates' expensive cars.

A lump forming in her throat, Lucy knelt in front of her bicycle and inspected the vehicle. 

Someone had slashed the rear-tire, and another had vandalized the handles, a weak attempt to spell YOU SUCK, LOSER in dark red spray paint.

When she grasped the black handles, she felt a wetness on her palms. Lucy grimaced. It hadn't been long since the assailants tampered with her precious bike. The red paint smeared over her hands, which she wiped on the hem of her white shirt, soiling it in the act.

Her jaw taut with barely suppressed anger, Lucy had no choice but to walk her bike all the way to The Diner, which took thirty minutes by foot, if she quickened her pace enough.

The warm Californian breeze nipping at her pale skin, the tired brunette savored the mild spring-summery weather as she recalled the unjust scene which unfolded hours ago.

"It's Heartwood's fault," Natasha admitted, without a hint of remorse.

"You liar! It was Stone who started it!" Jacqueline hissed, eyeing everyone who backed up Natasha's claim with distaste.

Dionne Wheeler turned to Beverly Stone. "Is this true, Miss Stone?"

"Why would you ask her, of all people? She'll say anything to save her ass!" Jackie yelled.

"Language, Miss Jones," the president admonished her.

"Of course it's not true," Beverly answered, a sickening smile on her face. She gave Dionne a haughty look. "Why would I pick a fight with anyone? Especially my own... sister?" She looked ready to vomit after admitting her link to Lucy, the outcast of Green Day High. 

"Well," Dionne said, switching gazes from Jackie to Beverly, locking her hands behind her back, as though she was behaving like a proper Student Body President, and not caving in to anyone's bullshit because they had the power to remove her from her position.

"The three of you will be punished, of course," the president declared in front of everyone.

Beverly scoffed, flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "Excuse me? Do my ears deceive me? Did you say 'Three'?" She narrowed her pale green eyes at Dionne Wheeler.

The ponytail-wearing politician's composure wavered. "But you were involved, Miss Be--"

"I don't think the Head/Principal would appreciate to hear that her lovely daughter got punished for no good reason," Beverly abruptly said, bringing out her pink-cased phone and waving it in the air, mocking the president's authority.

Of course Dionne wouldn't punish Beverly Stone for her crimes. For the past four years, Beverly never got in trouble for all the bullying she did, for all the pranks she'd pulled, for all the lies she'd told. Why?

Because her mother was the school principal.

But that didn't apply to Lucy, obviously. The day Gail Stone showed any kindness to Lucy would be the day the moon grew a face and talked.

"N-n-no,no," Dionne stuttered, seeing Beverly jab numbers on her cellphone.

Clearing her throat, the president put on her fake, serious, frown, addressing Lucy and Jacqueline.

"Miss Jones, you are hereby sentenced to two hours of detention, NO buts," she added when Jackie opened her mouth to object. "Miss Heartwood, you'll spend PE class tidying up the GYM and the locker rooms, understood?"

And that was that. No more arguments. No vindication. 

She really did have a crap life.

Huffing and puffing for oxygen, Lucy leaned her beat-up bike against the big white building, though only one-story, it was spacious and lavish inside. 

LANCE'S DINER had light apricot walls, laminated wooden tiles, and large square windows that gave its customers a good view outside. There were at least forty round tables cornered by soft, plush red booths and chairs, and faint modern music played in the background. 

For fifty years, the diner catered to its customers from near and far, and there were more branches in other towns and counties, serving as good income for the Heartwood family.

And for almost five years, Lucy would slave all day, everyday, working as a lowly-paid waitress in order to save up for her expenses: her allowance, her final requirements, for college..

It did not help that her boss was her stepmom, an equally heartless woman like her daughter.

"Good Grief! Lucy, what happened to you?" Ronda, co-waitress/janitor, who might as well have been the diner's manager because Gail rarely bothered to tend to her duties, exclaimed.

Lucy nearly broke down right there in the very-public diner. But she didn't. It was her number one rule: Do not cry in public or daytime.

Ronda Fisher was 38, with long black hair pulled back in multiple plaits, like a Jamaican-style hairstyle. Her skin was the color of dark chocolate. She's not fat nor skinny--just right. Her frame was clad in her usual uniform: A mustard-yellow dress with white collar, white cuffed-sleeves, below-the-knee hem,a pair of comfortable sneakers, and a name tag on her left breast-pocket that said RONDA.

She had met Lucy fifteen years ago, when the blue-eyed teen was just a wee tot, learning to walk and talk, and it was also the first time Lucy's parents accompanied her to the fast food-business.

Which meant Ronda also knew about everything Lucy had endured for the past seven years.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Lucy's voice trembled, but her poker face was firm. She'd taught herself not to display her real emotions in front of people. If only she'd known this crucial bit a long time ago. It would have lessened the blow.

"Let's get you cleaned up, L,"Ronda said in a comforting tone, ushering Lucy into the girls' bathroom, but as Lucy nodded, a woman's voice filled the diner in a screeching noise.

"WAITRESS!" 

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. When will this nightmare end?

The voice belonged to Stella Benton, Beverly's so-called best friend.