The Princess Pages: A Girl Like Cinderella

Song Forty Seven

IF YOU EVER LOVED SOMEBODY PUT YOUR HANDS UP

On the same day, at 2 in the afternoon, Mr. Beckett's music class took place in the Green Day High auditorium, which was also used for Dramatic Guild, the club that existed to perform plays, classical concerts, and skits. The red velvet carpets matched the ocean of seats, and the heavy maroon curtains were drawn together to hide the blue sky and swimming clouds from the students' wandering eyes.

Quinton Beckett was a twenty-five year old tall, slender English man who had rich black hair swept to the side, expressive mint eyes,and a British accent that made his female students wear dreamy smiles as they held onto his every word and movement. He was engaged, to their dismay--as though it was decent for 17-year old pupils to seduce their teacher eight years older than them--and at the moment, he was wearing a tweed brown sports jacket and crease-free slacks while he patiently waited for the other section of students to pile inside the auditorium.

Today was the final requirement of his students; a project that covered 60% of their grade, and the remaining 40% depended on the evaluation given by the fifty teenagers filing inside the theater-style room, only with a large stage in front.

"Miss Brooks and Miss Heartwood, you're up next," Mr. Beckett announced to the two girls anxiously waiting backstage.

They nodded at their teacher, then at each other.

To say that Lucy was nervous would be the understatement of the century. She was freaking terrified of performing in front of an audience, even if it was of fifty people.

"Scared?" Genevieve Brooks asked, fiddling with her wireless microphone.

Lucy turned to face her partner. Genevieve had long copper-brown hair, a stunning taupe blouse with sheer sleeves and modest neckline, and she wore pale blue jeans and orange flats.

Last week, their class had drawn random names out of a hat, and Lady Luck was with Lucy once again, because she'd gotten the name of someone who didn't hate her. Someone who, despite not being friends with her, was a mature and civil person. Lucy couldn't describe the relief she felt when, after plucking a small paper from that hat, Genevieve suggested that she sing while Lucy was the musical accompanist.

They didn't need to practice much, because the Brooks heiress already mastered the song. She was a fairly good singer, while Lucy knew how to play the piano; her father had taught her since she was four years old.

"Are you kidding?" Lucy replied, at ease with her partner. "I'm absolutely petrified."

Humor danced in Gen's black eyes. "You'll do fine," she placated her.

The mayor's daughter had such a soothing voice, Lucy couldn't help feel appeased.

Appearance was essential in the grade criteria, so the blue-eyed brunette had no choice but to dress up for the school project. She wore a ruby-colored polo shirt with its cuffs rolled back from her wrists and her long legs were clad in inky black pants. Her long raven hair was tied into a high ponytail, and she unfailingly had on her thick-rimmed glasses.

"I like your shoes," Genevieve complimented, admiring Lucy's practical sneakers.

The latter's cheeks colored. "Er. Thank you."

"You know, I thought you might hate me," Brooks began conversationally.

Her words caught Lucy's attention. Her brows knitted. "Why would I?" she asked.

"Because I could have stopped it."

"Stopped what?"

"What happened two years ago."