The Cinderella Theorem (12 page)

“Congratulations,
Princess!” Arthur said while I tried to figure out what the noise was.

“What?”
I asked.

“You
made me Happy.” He was smiling. “That’s the noise the monitor makes when
Happiness is achieved.”

“Nice
work, Lily,” Calo called as he started packing his things.

Arthur
and I had just started doing the dishes when two things happened all at once:
Calo’s back pocket started ringing, and a servant brought a letter in for
Arthur, a black envelope addressed with gray writing.

I
turned to see if Calo would know the envelope was from Levi, but he hadn’t
noticed. Strangely enough, he was talking into a make-up compact. Calo nodded
and then closed the compact.

“It’s
a compact phone. Like the mirror phone at your house, but smaller. Doug from
The Observatory called. It seems that Morgan heard about us coming here and is
jealous; her levels are dropping pretty quickly. I’m going to head over there
to see what I can do.” He paused. “Uh...I don’t think you should come, Lily. I
mean, well, you know how she is. Can you make it back to HEA by yourself?”

“I
don’t think so.” I hadn’t paid much attention on the way over. I was busy
thinking about what I was going to do with Arthur. “I remember something about
a bridge.”

“I’ll
put your bike on auto-pilot then, and Grimm can—” He stopped. “King Arthur? Is
everything alright?”

Arthur
was reading the letter with a look of growing disdain and anger. “That
sycophant!” He spat out. “Implying that my kingdom can be–well!” He stopped and
stalked out of the kitchen. “He’ll receive a response back from me, he will!”
He paused in the doorway. “You can see yourselves out, I suppose?”

“Certainly,
sir.” Calo answered. “But, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I
am fine. Forgive me, Princess, for losing my temper in your presence.” He bowed
and left.

“Is
he going to be okay?” I asked Calo. “He was so happy before. Did that letter
ruin—?”

Calo
cut me off by pointing at the monitor on the counter. Arthur’s level was still
Happy. I stared at it, confused, for a moment. Then I followed Calo out of the
castle.

It
had started to rain. The drops were hard and angry. The wind was whipping
around the castle, through the trees. Calo pulled a wand out of his pocket. “Hopefully
you’ll get back before this gets too bad,” he said loudly, tapping my bike. I
could barely hear him over the wind and rain. “See you later,” he called as he
rode off.

My
bike nudged my elbow.

“Alright,”
I muttered.

Lightning
shot across the sky as I got on and started pedaling. The storm was getting
worse; Rain came down in sheets. I was completely soaked and sure that HEA’s CD
player was ruined. Since I could barely see in front of me, I was glad to have
the auto-pilot. Even if I had known how to get home, I would never have been
able to find it.

I
started to make an equation to figure out my percentage of visibility in the
storm. I looked up to estimate how far I could see in feet, but I saw something
much worse than minimal visibility.

The stream
under the bridge had swollen well beyond its banks, and as I watched, the
bridge tore apart and washed away.

I
barely had time to begin mathematically determining how to get over the stream,
when I realized there was a more pressing problem.

The
bike would not slow down. I applied the brakes: nothing happened. And nothing I
tried could keep the bike from heading right into the flooded stream.

Newton’s
first law (objects in motion stay in motion unless acted on by an outside force)
flitted through my mind briefly as I flung myself off the bike. Never before
have I experienced one of his laws in such a dangerous way. I hit the ground,
rolled onto my back, and looked to see what happened to my bike. It was being
washed downstream.

“Stupid
auto-pilot,” I muttered. I stood up and mathematically analyzed my situation.

Torrential
rains + auto-pilot bike + no knowledge of where I am = one lost, wet Lily, who
will be walking wherever she goes.

I
was also muddy, cold, and completely soaked. I began to walk along the flooded
stream, in hopes of finding another (stronger) bridge. In a desperate attempt
to keep my mind focused on anything but how wet I was, I recited the squares.
“One squared is one. Two squared is four. Three squared is nine...”

At
“fifteen squared is two hundred twenty-five,” I saw a muddy path to my right. I
headed straight for it.
[34]
I had no idea where the path was going. But being on it had to be better than
wandering aimlessly by a swollen stream. It wasn’t until “twenty-three squared
is five hundred twenty-nine” that I realized my faith in the path was based on
my knowledge of paths in the real world. In the real world, paths go somewhere.
They move in a predictable manner. You travel for a while, then when you decide
to take a turn, you take it. Steady. Predictable.

At
“twenty-three squared is five hundred twenty-nine,” I came to a fork in the
path.

An
actual fork.

The
path ended. Trees were everywhere. I stood in the pouring rain and looked at
the little, shiny fork that some picnicker had probably left behind. “This is
in no way helpful. A path is supposed to go somewhere,” I mumbled, turning
around. “I wish I knew what to do.”

“About
time, too,” said a voice behind me.

I
turned back to the wall of trees. It was Glenni. Floating as usual, she wore a
plaid rain slicker, complete with a plaid hat and plaid galoshes, and she
carried a plaid umbrella. She snapped her fingers, and another umbrella
materialized. She lazily shoed it to me with her wand.

“What
is the point of having a fairy godmother if you never call on her?” She looked
severely at me. “It
is
my job after all.”

“Glenni!
What are you doing here?” I quickly opened the umbrella.

Glenni
sighed. “Did you or did you not just make the following wish: ‘I wish I knew
what to do’?”

What?
“Uh...yes. I said that.”

“A
fairy godmother is summoned by her godchildren when they make wishes.” She said
tiredly, as if she had already explained this point to me–several times.

“Oh.”
I paused. “But I didn’t mean to make a wish.”

Glenni
raised her eyebrows. “Do you mean that you
do not
wish to know what you
are to do here, at the fork in the road?”

“No…I
mean, yes, I do want to know what I should do. But I didn’t mean to summon you.
I was just wondering.”

Glenni
shook her hands in an impatient gesture. “Wishing, wondering–the point is you
need help.” She glanced at me. “And soon I’d say. You’ll be growing gills to
help you breathe in all this water if you don’t get dry.”

I
started to laugh, but then I stopped myself. I realized that it was probably
entirely possible in Smythe’s SFL to grow gills when you’re wet. Not wishing to
delay, I asked, “So what am I supposed to do?”

Glenni
pointed to the fork. “Pick it up.”

Breathing
deeply (in case I lost lung capability), I bent over and picked up the fork.

Six
doors appeared around the path: two to the left, two to the right, and two in
front of me, at the dead end of the path. Each door was a different color–red
and orange to the left, yellow and green in front, and blue and purple to the
right. “Well,” I managed. “I guess it’s not just a lost picnic fork.”

Glenni
floated over to me. “The blue door will take you to shelter.” Then she
disappeared.

Ignoring
the fact that disappearing people no longer surprised me, I looked at the blue
door. It was just a door; no wall connected it to anything. I could walk
completely around it. There was no reason to believe that going through that
door would take me anywhere than three feet off the muddy path. No reason, that
is, other than the door was in Smythe’s SFL, and was probably another portal
device like my bathtub.

I
kept standing in the rain, wishing Glenni had been more specific about where
the door would take me. I didn’t dare voice my wish out loud though; I would
have to be more careful about what I said from now on. It seemed like Glenni
had to drop whatever she was doing and whisk herself away every time one of her
godchildren made a wish. That could get annoying fast. And I seem to recall
something about not wanting to upset fairies. Didn’t Rapunzel’s hair just grow
and grow because they didn’t invite all the fairies to her christening or
something?

I
considered taking a different door, but the variability of what they could lead
to was too great to logically consider actually using one. Glenni had said the
blue one led to shelter; therefore, using the knowledge that is available, one
can only determine that the others do or do not lead to shelter. Each non-blue
door had a 50% chance of leading to shelter. The blue door had a 100% chance.
But what did Glenni consider shelter? What if it was so completely
fairy-godmothery that it lacked any kind of shelter aspect in a mathematical
definition?

Finally,
I remembered that Glenni had given me a calculus book, which showed enough
mathematical sense for me. I opened the door.

There
was no rain on the other side–only sunshine and clear skies. I quickly went
through and shut the door behind me. As it closed, I realized I probably should
have left it opened in case wherever I had come was dangerous. I looked around
this bright land of sunshine; it was very clean. While folding my umbrella, I
noticed there was no litter anywhere, and the sunshine made everything seem
sparkly and new. There was another path through the woods to my left. I decided
to take it.

Traveling
this sunny path was such a completely different experience. I dried out a
little and warmed up. Whoever lives in this area must always be happy. How
could you be unhappy in sunshine like this? I was blissfully warm and happy and
unaware of how far I had traveled when I saw a castle right in front of me. A
sudden turn in the path had taken me out of the woods and into a clearing where
it stood.

I
did not recognize the castle. I considered that both good and bad. Good that it
was not Morgan’s castle, but bad that Glenni hadn’t sent me back to my own
castle. Who could live here? I mentally listed some possible characters. King
Median or Midas or whatever and his golden touch ice cream would probably have
a castle (kings usually do). Sleeping Beauty. That princess with the frog. But
also, Potio Bane, the scary apple lady. She seemed like she had a castle, what
with all of that clapping to summon her servants and her general attitude.

After
several minutes of mathematical wondering (this time in much warmer, dryer
conditions), I concluded that I could trust Glenni. The calculus book, the path
of sunshine, and the floating math alarm clock were all things highly in her
favor. I walked to the door, took a deep breath (happily noting that I still just
had regular,
human
breathing), and knocked twice, using the shoe-shaped
doorknocker.

A
pretty and vaguely familiar lady answered the door. “Princess Lily? Come in,”
she was obviously surprised. I followed her into an entryway. “But whatever are
you doing here?” Her dress was simple, but still elegant. “You’re all wet!”

“There
was a storm,” I said, and noticing a delicate crown on her head, I added, “my
lady.”
[35]

“A
storm!” She looked outside.

“It
was near King Arthur’s,” I helpfully supplied.

“Oh,”
she nodded knowingly, “that does explain it.” I shivered involuntarily in my
cold, wet clothes. “Stay here. I’ll bring you something warm to put on.”

As
she left, I found myself wondering primarily two things.

(1)
  
Who is she?

And
(2) how does the fact that the storm was at King Arthur’s explain anything?

I
looked around the room I was standing in. Again, for a castle made of stone
with few windows, there seemed to be an awful lot of sunlight. It was beginning
to seem as if the Smythian architects knew a way to magically suspend the laws
about light refraction. Which, I further reflected, they probably did.

On
one wall, there hung a mirror (probably the mirror phone). Under the mirror,
sat a table with letters piled on it. Next to the table was an umbrella stand.
I added mine to it and examined the pile of letters.

Looking
through another person’s mail generally equals highly rude behavior, very bad
manners, and practically mail tampering, but it also equals way to find out
whose house you are in. I looked at few of the letters in the stack. They were
all addressed to Cinderella. Some of them gave her additional titles. Princess
Cinderella, Her Royal Highness, or (my favorite) Cinderella, A Charming
Princess for a Charming Prince.

So I
was at Cinderella’s castle.

I
immediately wished (again, not out loud) that I knew more about her story. What
did
I know about her? She gave me a pair of glass magic dancing shoes at
my presentation. I paused to consider how impossible glass shoes are. Without
the additional magic that
must
be in them, I don’t see how they could
physically work. And glass is see-through; why would you want to have everyone
see your feet? It’s like being barefoot.

I
shook my head to stop myself from thinking about the shoes, and I racked my
brain for anything else I might know about Cinderella. I recalled she had sent
one of the letters I received after Morgan vanished me on Monday. It was a nice
letter. What else? Perhaps, she had a stepmother? Although, that’s just basic
fairy tale probability. Always guess a wicked stepmother.

Cinderella
came back into the hall carrying some clothes and a comb. “These should fit
you.” She handed the stack to me. “They’re one size fits all.” She pointed to a
little door. “You can change in the powder room.”

I
thanked her (using her name) and went into the powder room. Cinderella had
given me a dress, undergarments, socks and shoes. Looking at them, however, I
had some trouble figuring out what exactly was meant by “one size fits all.”
They were
much
too big for me. However, appearances do not mean the same
thing in Smythe’s SFL as they do in a normal (mathematical) setting, so I took
off my own wet clothes, and began putting on the huge, dry ones. Oddly (or
perhaps I should have expected it), the minute the clothes were in place they
shrunk to my size. I can only assume, following this principle, that if I had
been larger than the clothes that they would have grown once I got into them.
But how would a larger person get in them? Perhaps that’s why they were so big to
begin with? I quickly combed through my hair, gathered my wet things, and went
back out into the hall.

“Oh,
here.” Cinderella came toward me. “Let me have those wet clothes. We’ll put
them in the dryer.” She pointed to another door off the hallway. “Go right
through there. I’ve got all the tea things set up. Help yourself; I’ll only be
a minute.” She left again.

I
went through the door. The room was sunny, of course, and looked like a living
room. Although, it was probably called a parlor or drawing room or something
that sounds more like a fairy tale. “Living room” doesn't really convey a
magical feeling. A tea tray sat on the coffee table: sugar, milk, little lemon
wedges, several spoons, and a pot. There was also a tray of cookies.

I
looked at the tea tray for a moment. “Yeah, I don’t know what to do with that,”
I said softly as I sat down. I will just say I wanted to wait for her to start.
After all, I am only a guest. Doesn’t the hostess have to do a “hosting” thing
with the tea?

In a
few moments, Cinderella returned. “Your clothes will be dry in half an hour. In
the meantime,” she sat down, “you and I can have a nice visit. Wouldn’t you
like some tea?” She shifted in her seat so she could better serve.

“Of
course.”

“How
do you take it?” She began pouring.

Uh...
“With sugar,” I said, glancing at the first thing on the table. Cinderella
added the sugar cubes and passed the teacup to me.

“So,”
Cinderella began, “tell me, Princess, do you like our world?”

I
surprised myself by saying: “I do, actually.”
[36]

“It
must be very difficult to have your life change like this. Why,” she paused,
thinking, “you can’t have known about all this for much more than a week, I
imagine.”