The Cinderella Society (9 page)

Gaby put a final check mark above
Strengths
and recapped her pen. “It sounds simple, but those are the three things most girls are insecure about: how they act, how they look, and
whether they have anything to offer. The Wickeds know that and go after it with a vengeance.”

She made eye contact with each of us to make sure we got the message. “If you’ve got insecurities in any of those areas, consider yourself a target. It’s just a matter of time before they use your insecurities against you.”

I thought about how easy it had been for Lexy to hit my sore spots. If she was able to tune into that for everyone, that was a pretty powerful bag of tricks.

Gaby eased up a bit at our grim faces. “You don’t need to stress,” she said. “The upside is that once you nail all three pieces, you’ve taken away most of the Wickeds’ power over you. And you
will
nail all three pieces. It’s our job to make sure you do.”

Our Big Sisters had begun to gather just beyond the doorway to the lounge.
Please let that be a sign our makeovers aren’t far off
. I was ready to take back my power in a big way.

“Let me ask you a question,” Gaby said. “How many of you have something you wish you could change about how you look?”

Every Alpha’s hand went up. Even Mel, the beauty queen.

“Look around,” she told us. “Ninety-two percent of girls want to change something about the way they look. The Wickeds know that too. That’s why the first thing we’re going to focus on in your Power Plan is your appearance.”

A cheer went up around the room.
Makeovers and shopping sprees, here we come!

“Just don’t confuse a great appearance with being a fashion diva,” she cautioned, “or feel like you need to spend a ton of money on a new look. It’s about getting comfortable in your own skin.”

My baby face and I nodded like we believed her.

“The core of your appearance is what we call your signature style. Your Big Sisters will walk you through what signature style is in more detail, but before I turn you over to them, I want you to remember two things.”

The room was still abuzz with the news of our impending makeovers, so Gaby waited until she had our full attention.

“Two things,” she repeated. “First, beauty is not cookie-cutter.”

I looked around the table at my Alpha sisters.
Cookie-cutter
was definitely not the first word that came to mind. We weren’t even all from the same part of the world. Chandi had moved here from India a few years earlier, and Nalani was born in Hawaii but lived in Japan until she was nine.

“Second, there’s no such thing as perfect,” Gaby continued. “Focus on making the most of what you have and making peace with what you can’t change. It’s easier said than done—trust me, I
know
—but it’s essential to mastering this part of your Power Plan. Confidence equals power.”

To drive her point home, each of the Big Sisters stepped forward and told the Alphas one thing about herself she would change if she could. Even Gaby shared one. Gaby’s nose was too wide (her glasses balanced it nicely), Cherie wished she could gain weight (she did have a Calista Flockhart thing going on beneath her breezy clothes), Kyra carried too much weight around her hips (her babydoll tops hid it well). The list went on and on.

The funny thing was, I’d always just thought of them as pretty. But when you stopped and looked hard at the flaws they pointed out, I guess you could kind of see what they meant. That was the thing, though. You didn’t see the flaws. You saw the whole package: positive, polished, confident.

Still, I couldn’t imagine a time I’d ever stand up in a room full of people and willingly point out my physical flaws. If my makeover gave me a smidgeon of their confidence, it would be a win of mythical proportions.

Gaby passed around a packet of Power Plan prep work for each of us while the Big Sisters came around the table. “These assignments will help you lay the groundwork for your entire Power Plan,” she said. “Take your time with them, be true to who you are, and you’ll do great. They’re actually pretty fun once you get into them, so remember to enjoy it too. You’re only an Alpha once.”

With promises from us not to go crazy with our makeovers, Gaby turned us loose to our fairy godmothers, aka Big Sisters. While the other Big Sisters cozied up to the table next to their Alphas, Sarah Jane strolled up to me with keys in her hand. “Are you ready?”

I looked from her keys to my binder to the other Alphas around the table. Mel was standing up to go somewhere with Kyra, but everyone else looked to be here for the duration.

“I don’t have to do the prep stuff?” I asked. Did I pull a rockin’ big Sister card or what?

“Oh, no, you definitely do. You can’t launch the new you until you know who she is.”

Thanks, Dr. Phil
.

“But first, I’m going to introduce you to signature style the same way my Big Sister introduced me.”

“Which means …?”

“Reconnaissance mission.”

*   *   *

Blue Ridge Park is a jumbo-sized sports complex with baseball diamonds, soccer fields, basketball courts, a skateboard park, and several playgrounds for the preschool set. In the
summer months, every Mt. Sterling resident under twenty inevitably finds his or her way there.

“First things first,” Sarah Jane said as she turned off the engine. She pulled a small glittery box out of her purse. “A gift for my little Sister.”

Presents!
I unraveled the ribbon and lifted the top. A shiny silver charm bracelet twinkled at me from inside. Even with no charms on it, it was totally glam.

I slipped it on and slowly turned my wrist, watching the beveled links catch the sunlight, and noticed it actually did have a charm on it. The butterfly from initiation that I’d returned to Sarah Jane after the ceremony for “a special something.” I got choked up seeing it again and had to blink hard against a sappy show of emotion.

“Every Cindy gets a charm bracelet when she goes Alpha,” Sarah Jane said. “The first charm is a butterfly to symbolize the change you’re about to make in your life.”

“A metamorphosis.” I
so
wanted to be the butterfly.

“You’ll get new charms as you pass other milestones, but this one’s a constant reminder that real beauty is there all along. You’re just making sure the real you shines through in the end.”

As cornball as her spiel sounded, I bought it like a large buttered popcorn on movie night. “It’s awesome, Sarah Jane. Thanks.”

“Remember what it means, and you’ll never go astray. That’s the secret to surviving the Alphas.”

I knew she was kidding. Then I thought about her enormo binder and decided there was probably a hint of truth in there too. After surviving hundreds of pages of training and projects, I’d deserve every charm and then some.

“Okay, let’s talk basics.” Sarah Jane unbuckled and turned
toward me. “The goal of the appearance part of your Power Plan is to refine your image to make you feel completely comfortable and confident.”

I barely resisted pumping my fists in the air in triumph. Finally, the good stuff!

“Signature style is the ultimate example of you being comfortable in your own skin. Gaby was right about that being the key to confidence with your new look. It’s where you pull all the pieces together—hair, makeup, wardrobe, accessories—to show who you really are. Are you casual or glam or girly or sporty or a combination of two or three? Once you’re clear on that, you’ve got your signature style.”

To help me understand, we wandered through the park and checked out the hodgepodge of people. Skater boys with down-to-there waistbands and basketball players in cut-off muscle shirts and high-tops. Not exactly the fashion mecca you’d expect for a signature style intro.

SJ slowed in front of a baseball diamond, where I recognized some kids from school. Some teachers too.

“This is the annual Student-Teacher Summer Slam,” she explained. “The teachers and students always play each other for bragging rights the next year. Yesterday was the basketball game—we crushed ’em—and today’s the baseball game.”

SJ steered us toward some empty bleachers near the outfield to give us a good view of the grandstand, the real reason we were there. With so much of the in crowd in attendance, it was practically a fashion event waiting to happen. We climbed up a couple of rows, made ourselves as comfy as the metal benches would allow, and shifted our attention to our fellow classmates.

Inadequacy hit me like a wave. I’d rarely fit the bill for trendy anywhere I’d lived. Oh, I’d tried. But after breaking
the bank trying to overhaul my wardrobe every time we moved—only to find out I was unforgivably last year or, worse, the poster child for generic—I’d learned to become a savvy observer of fashion and style.

SJ leaned back, propping her elbows on the bleacher behind her. I followed suit, and we let our sunglasses hide our gazes from the world.

“Let’s start with one close to home,” SJ said. “How would you describe my signature style?”

Um, perfect?
I glanced over at the ever-fabulous Sarah Jane Peterson. Sarah Jane had classy prep down to a science. If Ralph Lauren or Tommy Hilfiger made it, it inevitably found its way into SJ’s closet. With her classic blonde good looks and natural makeup, it was a freak of nature she wasn’t the latest face of Cover Girl.

“All-American classy prep?” I ventured.

I saw SJ’s eyes widen. “I call it all-American dockside prep, but you nailed it. What about Kyra? She’s sitting second row from the bottom.”

I squinted at the crowd and found her sitting next to Mel, cheering for Ben at bat. Kyra had a totally fun and flirty style—she was decked out in a super cute Nicole Miller sundress that was one of my favorites on her. Plus, she had that amazing auburn hair and perfect skin that needed almost zero makeup to look fabulous.

“Fun and flirty girl-next-door.”

“You’ve got the gift, J. Kee calls it ‘flirty and fresh romance,’ but again, bull’s-eye. Your makeover’s going to be a breeze.” She scanned the grandstand again before giving me my final test. Top row, dead center. Black shirt.

My eyes skimmed the row until they landed on the last person I wanted to see. I stifled a groan and dutifully studied
her signature style. I hated to admit it, but Lexy had a way tight style. She favored form-fitting Hugo Boss for getting noticed (always high on Lexy’s agenda) and Diesel jeans with Urban Chic tanks for slumming. With her custom-dyed, blacker-than-black hair and pale skin, she definitely made a statement: Welcome to
Sex and the City, The Early Years
.

“Pure slutty rich girl?”

Sarah Jane gave me a gentle but disapproving look. Definitely a no-Wicked-chatter kind of girl, our Sarah Jane.

“Lexy has a powerful style, I’ll give you that much,” she said. “Try to take your emotions out of it and give it another shot.”

I watched Lexy slouching with the Wickeds, doing her best to draw attention to herself while pretending to be oblivious to everything around her. I narrowed my eyes at the ruse. “Calculated sexy chic.”

“I would’ve said ‘carefully planned,’ but I think you’re coming around to the same kind of thing. The effect is thrown together and sexy, but it takes a lot of effort to pull off. You have to be fully committed to that kind of style.”

Bottom line? These were no mere mortals. Master fashionistas roamed the halls of Mt. Sterling High. How could I possibly compete with them? Ryan knowing my name was one thing. Putting it in a sentence that included “wanna go out?” was another.

SJ sat up, giving me a huge grin. “You’re a natural at style, Jess. Way more savvy than I was when I first started my Power Plan.”

I didn’t believe that for a second, but it still made me glow. Until she said, “What would you call
your
signature style?”

Truth was, I had no idea. I’d always been a chameleon
about clothes, so I’d never bothered to put my own stamp on fashion choices. Scrambling to catch up was as much as I could handle.

“I don’t have one,” I admitted.

“Really? What do you want it to be?”

That was a tough one. Stylish, for sure. Fun and carefree, but not girly. Sporty, but not boxy or boyish or too body-conscious. Memorable, definitely. And hot enough to get Ryan’s attention away from someone like Fake Blondie without being blatantly sexy.

I glanced at Lexy again and shuddered. Sexy was definitely not my game.

How did you condense all that down into one signature style? I mean, I read
Vogue
just like the next girl. But looking at clothes and putting together a style of my own were totally different. While other girls had been perfecting their trendy looks, I’d been racking up volunteer hours by the dozen. Which wasn’t super helpful at solving the dilemma at hand. “What do you recommend?”

“You need to figure it out for yourself. Try some different styles on for size and see how they feel. When you find one that makes you feel comfortable and confident, that’s the signature style for you. And when we hit the mall”—I nearly fainted with excitement—“give yourself permission to try new things and see what you think. You don’t always know if something’s
you
until you give it a shot.”

That seemed fair. Plus, hello? The mall was in my future, with Sarah Jane at my side!

With recon complete, we wandered over to the Snack Shack to grab a slush freeze and some seats in the grandstand. I managed to stumble only a little when I saw Ryan get up from the bench to warm up for his at bat. I carefully focused
my eyes straight ahead so he wouldn’t think I was stalking him. But when his head turned to watch us go, it was all I could do to keep my cool. As soon as our backs were to him, the thrill overpowered me. Ryan Steele had just watched me walk by.

Me.
Walk by
.

Now, before you go assuming I think I’m all that, yes, I was walking with Sarah Jane, who could probably turn the heads of half the MSH faculty. But since she was dating one of Ryan’s best friends, I didn’t think he’d be bold enough to show it even if he did have the hots for her.