Seeing Cinderella (20 page)

But then I had another thought. What if Cinderella never had to wait for a fairy godmother to show up? What if Cinderella had a friend? Would she have spent all those lonely years in her stepmother’s house? Or would her friend have helped her find a different future?

My house stood silently before me, waiting, it felt like, for me to make a decision. I knew I could walk inside, pack away my Cinderella and fairy godmother gear, and pretend I believed Ana when she said she was fine. Or, I could choose to see that Ana really was miserable, and believe I had the power to help her.

I opened the door and walked upstairs to my room.

And I chose to see.

Chapter 20

Super Freaky Glasses Rule #
₉

Sometimes using the glasses wisely means not using them at all.

“R
EMEMBER WHAT
A
UNT
R
OSA SAID
. B
E PATIENT, AND
remember that these last few weeks have been hard for Ana,” Mom said, pulling the car over to the side of the road.

I nodded and stared at Aunt Rosa’s small house. Ana’s new house, I reminded myself. Smoke swirled from the chimney and the windows glowed with buttery yellow light. White Christmas lights lined the rooftop, and through the window I saw a Christmas tree with blinking red and green lights.

I felt my glasses through my jacket pocket. I had them
ready to go if I needed them. Telling Mom about Ana and how unhappy she felt at Mr. Garcia’s was the hardest thing I’d ever done. But when I finished, I handed her Aunt Rosa’s phone number.

So Mom called Aunt Rosa, and they had a long conversation. The next day when I looked out my window, I saw Aunt Rosa leading Ana to a blue minivan. They drove away, and Ana hadn’t been at school ever since.

Mom and Aunt Rosa had talked on the phone a few times since that day. Aunt Rosa told Mom she made it clear to Mr. Garcia she appreciated all the help he gave Ana—but it was
her
turn to get to know her niece.

“Apparently Esteban gave in pretty easily,” Mom had said. “Rosa thinks he realized it wasn’t working out. But,” she added, “Rosa agreed it was wrong for Ana to lie—so she’s still grounded. I’ll take you to see her when she’s off restriction.”

Now I leaned my head back and listened to the rain tapping on the windshield. “What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“It’ll be okay.” Mom put an arm around my shoulders. Normally if she did that, I’d shrug her off. But this time I didn’t.

“I don’t know what to say to her.”

“You’ll think of something.” Mom pointed to the notebook paper I clutched in my hand. “Give her the story you wrote. And tell her you miss her.”

We got out of the car and walked up to the front porch. Mom rang the doorbell. As we waited, I folded up my story and stuffed it into my jacket pocket.

Aunt Rosa answered the door and beckoned us inside. I was reminded again of how much she resembled Ana. She even had Ana’s smile—the kind that looked right at you.

Aunt Rosa swept me up in a hug and said, “Ana’s lucky to have you for a friend.”

I smiled back slightly. I wasn’t so sure Ana felt the same.

Aunt Rosa led us inside, and as she and Mom chatted I looked around the house. It looked the same as I remembered from a few months ago. A fire roared in the living room, which was full of overstuffed chairs and overflowing bookcases. Silver picture frames lined the walls, most of them of five girls I figured were Aunt Rosa’s daughters. The pictures showed the girls first as babies, then school-age, then a few graduation pictures.

“Mine are all grown now,” Aunt Rosa said, following my gaze. “It’s nice having a teenager in the house again.”

Aunt Rosa pointed down a hallway and said, “Ana’s room is first on the right. Why don’t you go and say hi.” Then she turned to Mom. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.”

As Mom and Aunt Rosa headed to the kitchen, I walked down the hallway. Ana’s door was open and she sat cross-legged on her bed, reading a book. She wore a glittery red sweater and jeans that seemed to fit her well.

“Hey,” I said. “Can I come in?”

Ana looked up and nodded slightly, but she didn’t speak.

“I like your room.” Near the closet was a white bookshelf busting at the seams with books and magazines—some had Spanish titles, some had English titles. A light green quilt with white and lavender butterflies covered her bed. Ana’s backpack leaned up against a small desk in the corner of her room.

“I talked to Señora Geck yesterday,” I said, sitting down next to Ana on her bed. “She said if I do okay on the final exam, I should get a B in her class . . . I don’t usually get those,” I added when Ana didn’t say anything. “I’m taking Spanish again next semester . . . but if you don’t want to tutor me anymore, I totally understand.”

Ana frowned and said, “Are you saying you
don’t
want me to tutor you?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” I said quickly. “I just meant, you know, that if
you
didn’t want to tutor me I would understand . . .” I trailed off. Ana and I sat there silently, staring at each other. I don’t think either of us knew what to say. Then I asked her the question I’d been wondering for weeks.

“Are you mad at me?”

Ana looked down at her quilt and traced a pattern with her fingertip. “Aunt Rosa said as long as I keep my grades up, I can join whatever clubs I want at my new school.” Ana looked up. “I’m not mad, Callie.”

“So . . . does that mean you’ll still be my tutor?”

Ana smiled. “
Le ayudaré.
I will help you.”

“Okay.” I put my hand in my pocket and grasped my glasses. There were a million other questions I wanted to ask Ana. About her family in Mexico, how long she wanted to stay in America, and I wanted to know what she really thought. But after a moment, I relaxed my grip, and zipped up the pocket. I figured with everything Ana had been through, she deserved her privacy.

“I have something for you,” Ana said suddenly, standing up and walking over to her closet, where
she pushed the door open. “Here it is.” She pulled out a tall Christmas tin and handed it to me. “Open it.”

Inside the tin, cinnamon and sugar popcorn was mixed in with Red Hots.

“Aunt Rosa and I made it,” Ana said.

I clutched the tin and smiled. I knew this meant I wasn’t just the girl Ana tutored. This meant I was Ana’s friend, too.

“I have something for you, too,” I said, pulling the notebook pages out of my jacket pocket. “I wrote you a story. If you want it, I mean.”

“Like, totally, for sure,” Ana said in her best California Valley Girl accent. “What is it about?”

“It’s about a girl named Anarella.”

“
Ana
rella?” That was the first time I ever heard Ana sound sarcastic.

“Anarella, yeah. Anyway, Anarella lived with her family, and they were happy, but poor. One day, a prince came along and offered to let Anarella live with her in his castle. But it turned out, Anarella was really lonely there and didn’t have anyone she could talk to.

“Then one day, Anarella’s fairy godmother swooped in, not in a pumpkin carriage, but a blue minivan and took Anarella to another castle, one where she wouldn’t be so lonely.”

“And then what happened?” Ana asked softly. “What did Anarella do then?”

“I don’t know.” I handed Ana the story. “I was hoping we could finish it together.”

Epilogue

Super Freaky Glasses Rule #
₂₀

Know when it’s time to move on.

A
FEW WEEKS AFTER SPRING SEMESTER STARTED
, I received a call from Dr. Ingram letting me know my glasses had
finally
arrived.

“It’s been a while,” Dr. Ingram said when I slid into his examination chair. He grinned. “Seen anything unusual lately?”

“Not really.” These days, I used my glasses solely for reading, and resisted the urge to stare at the screens and spy on people’s thoughts. Well . . . except for that one time
last week. I needed to make sure Charlie planned on asking me to the Valentine’s dance. He did.

“Is school going well?” Dr. Ingram asked, holding up a pair of caramel-colored glasses and placing them on me. Funny, they didn’t look nearly as dorky as I remembered. In fact, they looked sort of cute.

“Yeah, I joined a couple clubs, actually.” I held still as Dr. Ingram flipped on the projector and tested my vision with the new glasses.

At Mr. Angelo’s urging, I joined the drama club. I also joined a writer’s club that met after school. I felt weird walking into the classroom the first time, but when I did, I saw someone I knew: Stacy. She waved when she saw me, so I sat next to her. Stacy told me that when she didn’t have any friends in Oregon, she started keeping a journal—everything she wanted to say, but didn’t have anyone she could say it to. She’s actually really cool. I guess you could say we’re becoming good friends. A bunch of us from the writer’s club have started eating lunch together.

Ellen isn’t mad at me anymore, but Stacy and I don’t hang out with her all that much. Over winter break her mom finally bought her a guitar and agreed to pay for lessons. Ellen liked it so much she started a band with some other girls from school.

I still haven’t seen my dad—he’s asked me to come to Napa to visit him, and meet Brenda. But I told him I’m not ready for that yet.

Ana still helps me with Spanish, and sometimes I help her with her English assignments at her new school. Next weekend, Stacy and I are going to Aunt Rosa’s to help them paint Ana’s room. Ana wants me to design a mural for her wall like I have in my room. I’ve decided to paint a picture of a family of butterflies soaring over a meadow. I hope Ana likes it.

“Wonderful.” Dr. Ingram flipped off the projector. “These seem to be a perfect fit. Or would you like to keep the loaner pair for a few more days?”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said, handing him back the thick black frames. “I’m learning to see without them.”