The Princess Pages: A Girl Like Cinderella

Song Fifty Two

WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF SOMEONE CONFESSED TO YOU?

"HONEY HOUSTON IS HERE!"

"OH MY GOD, SHE'S POSITIVELY GORGEOUS."

"HONEY! WHERE DID YOU GET THAT BAG?"

"WHO ARE YOU WEARING?"

The Italian Supermodel stood at six feet, her long dark chocolate hair straight and lustrous, swaying to the sides as she sashayed into the black marble building, banks of photographers and students and teachers vying for her attention.

She wore a buttery suede cropped jacket whose sleeves were short and scrunched up above her elbows. Underneath she was a stylish v-neck silver tank top that showed a lot of cleavage, a strip of her flat stomach visible, her legs endless in snug white jeans tucked into brown designer boots. Valentino shades were tucked up her hair, and a Ralph Lauren bag hung around her slender wrist. Two bodyguards trailed behind her.

Honey Houston was a seventeen-year-old heiress blessed with long limbs and impressive curves. Her skin was light brown, a coveted shade she'd gained from the Italian sun.

She walked with the dignity and poise of a professional supermodel, as fashionable and confident as a Houston was raised to be.

The actress gingerly lowered her shades, sweeping her hazel orbs around the premises.

"Where is he?" she whined in a faint American accent, immune to the onlookers ogling her.

"HONEY! LOOK THIS WAY, PLEASE!"

"HONEY, I LOVE YOU!"

"I'VE SEEN ALL YOUR MOVIES, HONEY!"

"WILL YOU SIGN MY FOREHEAD?"

Meanwhile, in the parking lot of Green Day High:

"I swear to you, she was here two days ago," Trent Morgan fiercely told his two skeptical friends.

The three wealthy young men were at The Grove, sweeping their gazes over the trees and bushes, a group of five cats lurking around.

"We're not doubting you, T," Lawrence said cautiously. His dirty blond hair appeared darker because of the apricot flannel shirt he was wearing.

Trent, dressed in a wasabi green short-sleeved polo with two top buttons undone, and a pair of sky blue pants, drew out a frustrated groan.

"This wasn't really necessary, dude,"Brad commented. The black-haired, brown-eyed playboy wore a navy blue v-neck shirt and black slacks.

"I honestly hoped she would be here," the tall blond singer said with a sigh.

Brad and Lens advised him to go back to the waiting shed, where Honey Houston would be, and with some hesitation, the green-eyed musician agreed.

Ten stories up, on the rooftop where the wind was efficient and the cerulean sky seemed bluer:

"Good voice," a male voice called from behind Lucy.

The bespectacled girl in a KISS shirt gasped, turning around to see an 18-year old guy with brown eyes, long blue hair tied back into a short ponytail, and a crisp, stripy indigo sweater.

"How long have you been there?" she sniffled, her long hair blowing behind her. She quickly wiped the tears off her face using the back of her hand.

"Long enough," Josh Mantle answered casually, not budging from his spot, which was on the roof of the small shed that contained the door leading to the rooftop.

Lucy stared at him, searching his face for any sign of recognition. She anticipated his chocolate eyes to dilate in understanding. She braced herself for him to snap his fingers and point at her, shouting, "IT WAS YOU! YOU WERE THE GIRL AT THE BALL!"