The Cinderella Society (31 page)

The Student Union was open, so we wandered inside for some water and a smoothie to quiet my rumbling stomach. We’d intended to grab something at The Grind, but those forgotten plans felt like forever ago.

We found an empty wrought-iron bench under the canopy of a shade tree and just watched people go by. Little by little, a tiny thread of peace wove through my veins. Just enough to confirm that Sarah Jane knew exactly what she was doing when she brought me—

“My parents are getting a divorce.”

I almost dropped my smoothie.

She said it like it was a simple fact, like it didn’t bother her at all. But one look told me that was far from the truth.

“I’m so sorry, Sarah Jane.” I was dumbfounded. “I had no idea.”

“No one does, except Mark.”

“How long have you known?”

“A couple of weeks. My dad’s living in an apartment during the separation. They’ve been going to counseling, but my mom told me yesterday she’s pretty sure they’re going to file for divorce.”

“Is there anything I can do?” It was a lame attempt at soothing, but what was the right thing to say to someone
whose family life was collapsing around her?

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. “Not that I can think of. I just needed someone else to know.”

I thought of all the times I’d been clingy and needy, complaining about Ryan or Lexy or how I couldn’t figure out how to defeat the Wickeds. I always expected Sarah Jane to prop me up and tell me things were going to be okay. Not once did I ever stop to think that Sarah Jane might need propping up. That she might need to hear things would be okay for her too.

But I never knew. All those superhuman peace-and-love vibes, all the die-hard optimism. How could
anyone
have known?

We were quiet a few minutes, letting the magnitude of her news sink in. I was honored that she’d confided in me. I’d never done anything to earn that kind of trust from her, which made it all the more humbling. “Why did you tell me now?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly in a way I recognized as Sarah Jane’s centering technique. She was a master at quieting her emotions to remain calm, cool, and collected. I so needed to learn how to do that.

“I guess I needed to get it off my chest more than I thought. There’s only so much you can control about life, you know? Even when you think you’ve finally got things running great, sometimes they fall apart anyway. And they can’t always be fixed. At least not by you.” She turned to me, her eyes earnest. “The only thing we can control is how we deal with it.”

Sarah Jane is what Nan would call an “old soul.” As always, I wished I had half her wisdom and poise. A quarter, even. “I’m sorry if I made things worse for you.”

“You haven’t. I’ve been more …” She grasped for the right words. “More hands-on than I probably should’ve been with you. But being your Big Sister was the one thing I thought I could still do well, even with everything going on at home.”

And then I’d failed her. She’d never admit that, of course, but I knew it was true. “I should’ve trusted you more, Sarah Jane. I wish I had.”

“No, that’s just it. You had to do this on your own terms. If you took a couple of wrong turns, that’s all part of your path. All I could think about was not being a failure as your Big Sister.”

I couldn’t imagine Sarah Jane failing at anything, although I could see how she might feel like that, given my recent crash-and-burn as leader. And as Makeover Girl.

Sarah Jane glanced at her watch and stood up to stretch. “I’ve got an appointment over in Artemis Hall.”

“Do you need me to call someone for a ride?”

“It’ll only take a minute. You can come with me, and then we can walk some more if you want.”

I did want to. For once, I wanted to be there for Sarah Jane.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked, as we tossed our cups in the trash.

“Sure.”

“How do you stay so … Zen?”

“I’ve been meditating like a fiend,” she admitted with a laugh. “Plus doing yoga like you wouldn’t believe. They both help a ton with stress. But mostly it’s remembering to breathe.”

I thought of my favorite Drew Barrymore movie,
Ever After
.

Just breathe
.

I followed her back toward the far corner of the school. The building there was even older than the others but had no tablet proudly proclaiming its distinction. The arch over the door held an
ARTEMIS HALL, EST. 1868
carving, and I wondered how buildings that old could still be in use. It seemed like they’d be nothing but rubble by now. Sometimes things are stronger than you give them credit for.

Sarah Jane opened the heavy wooden door, and I was surprised to see that the inside looked more like the lobby of a high-end hotel than the dungeon I’d imagined. She went up to the small tidy desk in the circular entryway and spoke with a middle-aged woman.

“I just need to deliver a package,” she explained when she came back. “We can sit on the benches for a minute.”

I took my seat next to her, feeling mellow within the sanctuary of the ancient walls. The red tufted pillows lining the bench sank beneath us, and I leaned my head against the wall tapestry, breathing in the cool, still air.

I’d started to relax when I heard footsteps and a familiar sound. Two women approached from the side hall, and I stood in anticipation.

The older of the two women smiled at me fondly. “This is quite a surprise.”

“Sarah Jane just had to—” I turned toward my friend, only to find she’d disappeared. The wooden door behind me creaked, and I watched it close softly behind Sarah Jane as she descended the steps outside. “Oh.”

I looked at the women and considered my predicament, the truth dawning on me too late to be of much use. “I guess I’m the package?”

“Indeed you are, my dear. It seems a little tour may be in order.”

I looked around, trying to figure out what kind of tour Artemis Hall of 1868 held in store for me. The older woman laid a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I saw the delicate locket with the ornate swirled letters hanging from her wrist.

I looked at the locket, then back at her warm, smiling eyes, and knew this was no ordinary road trip.

“We weren’t expecting you quite this soon, Jessica. But Sarah Jane did the right thing by bringing you.”

“Thanks, Nan.”

*   *   *

If I’d ever imagined what ISIS headquarters looked like—and I had, a little—this wouldn’t have been it.

Nan and the other woman, who introduced herself as Meg Garner, keyed in through some plain doors to an area that looked like any boring office you’d ever seen on TV. “This is our home base for ISIS, Inc., our corporate identity,” Nan explained, “and The ISIS Foundation, our nonprofit side. We have satellite facilities in other locations, but this is our headquarters.”

I followed them as they wove through the office, feeling dazed not only by being inside Cindy Central but by being taken on a tour of it by my own grandmother. The same woman who’d never given me the tiniest clue that she was part of the Sisterhood.

Would it have killed her to have given me a hint?

My gaze left the back of Nan’s head, scattering the hundred questions in my mind, and I checked out my surroundings more closely. Women sat in front of computers at small cubicles that ran in rows the entire length of the building. Nondescript offices lined the sides of the room, and classical music filled the air. It wasn’t ugly or depressing. It was just ordinary.

Except the view out back. It took my breath away.

In the middle of the lush, manicured lawn was an enormous, perfectly round concrete patio edged with a beautiful pattern of bricks. The circle was surrounded by small geometric ledges holding a series of brightly colored fountains, carved wooden benches, trees, shrubs, and flowers. It nestled up against a vast, grassy hill that plateaued before blending into the mountains, providing a brilliant green backdrop to the landscape that made the circle feel hidden, almost sacred in its privacy. And so restful.

“I thought you’d like that best.”

Nan shared my passion for outdoor beauty, and I smiled at her words. “It’s amazing.” I wondered if she’d had a hand in its creation. There were so many questions I wanted to ask.

“That’s only the beginning,” she said, guiding me onward.

Nan and Meg (she asked me to call her that) led me into a small elevator. Nan pressed level S3, and we descended beneath Artemis Hall.
I knew it
. The main-floor offices had been too plain, too average, for the Society I’d come to know and love.

The elevator stopped, and I tried to breathe normally. Stress and anticipation were duking it out inside me. I’d just tarnished the Cindy name with my walk on the dark side, and here they were taking me behind the veil of the Cindys’ secret world. Why now? What did this have to do with me and Heather and taking down Lexy and the Wickeds?

The elevator doors slid open, and I was rewarded for my patience.

With a well-stocked, neat-as-a-pin storage room.

Boxes labeled with different holidays, bins of office supplies. Reams of paper perfectly stacked on metal shelves.
I’d thought I was getting a sneak peek at the inner workings of the Society. Turns out they just needed an extra set of hands for the Fourth of July decorations.

Disappointment sent the air out of my lungs in a whoosh.
Just another day behind the glass
. I stepped out into the storeroom.

Nan and Meg each grabbed an arm and pulled me back inside.

“Patience, Jessica,” Meg said. “Watch.”

Nan lifted her wrist and passed her locket over what I’d thought was the emergency call button. A beep sounded, and the doors closed again. A few seconds passed before panels I hadn’t noticed on the rear wall slid open to reveal a wide, brightly lit corridor as long as three football fields. Longer, even.

I followed them through it, glancing this way and that as we passed side corridors that seemed to extend out to the rest of the campus. I looked up at the bank of lights above us. If my directions were right, we were walking directly under the outdoor landscaped circle behind Artemis Hall, and well beyond.

We reached the end of the corridor, and Meg touched a finger to an ornate carved butterfly on the wall. The nondescript wall in front of us disappeared into the floor. Another elevator opened, this one much fancier. Mirrors graced both sides, and a set of carved doors decorated the rear. Nan punched a button, and up we went. Up and up … straight up into the mountain.

The rear doors opened and, for the second time that day, I found myself speechless.

“Welcome to the real ISIS, Jessica.”

Chapter 20

WHEN YOU SUDDENLY FIND
yourself in a mountainside bunker that looks like it belongs on Fifth Avenue and are instantly surrounded by the most celebrated women in the world, all of whom are happily chatting up your eccentric grandmother and saying how nice it is to “finally” meet you (that would be
me)
, it can be a little overwhelming.

Especially when one of those people is a movie star you happen to idolize.

Brooke Tatum is no ordinary movie star. Yes, she’s an Academy Award winner. Yes, she ranks number seven on the Hollywood Power 20 list. But she’s also spoken before Congress about strengthening animal-cruelty laws and is the founder of Girl Gab, an online group that helps disadvantaged girls find positive mentors.

That last one suddenly made a whole lot of sense.

I stood there stammering and trying not to trip over my own feet as Brooke extended her hand in my direction. “Welcome to ISIS, Jess.”

“Um, hi.” I hoped my handshake wasn’t like a limp fish. Or clammy. Even though it was probably both.

She offered a knowing smile that had been the undoing of
many a leading man on-screen. “It’s a little overwhelming the first time. Try to pace yourself.”

“She’s right, you know.”

I did a double take, insanely relieved to hear Audrey’s familiar voice. She must’ve left The Grind right after we did. I wondered if Sarah Jane had tipped her off.

Audrey stepped out of the crowd and gave me a hug. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t destined for this yourself. Welcome to the big-time, honey.”

I looked around the room. Governors, first ladies, media tycoons, actresses, Olympic athletes, heads of Fortune 500 companies. If a woman had ever graced the cover of a magazine—from
Entertainment Weekly
to
Time
—she was there. I felt like a guppy swimming in an ocean of mermaids. It was almost—

Wait a minute
. What was
Audrey
doing here?

No way would they let an outsider, contract or not, into a space so secure it had to be built inside a mountain. Audrey had to be a Cindy too.

I looked at Audrey and Brooke, brain finally catching up with my surroundings. Brooke was a California girl through and through. Audrey was from Australia. If they were both real Cindys …

I took a closer look at the crowd, at the famous faces surrounding us. They weren’t just faces I recognized. They were faces
the world
recognized. Wimbledon champ Silvana Moretti from Italy chatted with German skier Ingrid Jansen and Korean Olympic swimming phenom Park Soon-Yi. British pop star Cate Hamilton exchanged hugs with the reigning Miss Universe, Brazil’s Isabel Ferreira.

This was no Mt. Sterling class reunion.

When Paige had said there were Cindys from Maine to
California, I’d thought she meant TCS was nationwide. Here, Cindys from all over the world looked as comfortable as if they were at home. But home for them wasn’t a speck-on-the-map college town in Georgia, U.S.A. And definitely not an underground—under-mountain?—complex that put Beverly Hills to shame.

Meg, obviously sensing my impending overload, wished me well and made her way through the crowd. Thankfully, Nan waited until she was gone to explain that Meg was the president of ISIS. Which basically made Meg queen of the Cindys.

Thank goodness I hadn’t known that from the beginning or I’d have been a wide-eyed mess long before I saw Brooke. Or Cate. Or Ingrid.