Danielle: Part One

This is the first, unedited part of the reworked version of Cinderella I'm writing for Creative Writing. I desperately need someone to review it for me. I'll love you forever and probably bake you cookies if you do. Please?

xo
Helen

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“Cindy!” my mother screeched, “Cindy! Get in here!”

“I can get it, Mom,” I said, stooping down to pick up the pieces of broken glass. I was clumsy like that, always breaking things. “It’s my mess, anyways.”

Just then, my step sister appeared in the doorway.

“What do you need, Cecelia?” she asked my mother in a bored tone.

“Clean this up,” my mother responded, as if she should have just known. Cindy sighed and kneeled to pick up the shards of broken glass. I always felt guilty for letting my mother make her clean up after us, but there was nothing I could do.

When my mother and Cindy’s mother were teenagers, they entered the Miss Ever After pageant. When Cindy’s mother –Jacqueline- won the title and the crown, my step-father instantly asked for her hand in marriage. My mother came in third and wasn’t invited to the wedding. And now, after Jacqueline had passed on and her widower had married my mother, she was still playing out her rivalry, taking out years and years of pent up anger on Jacqueline’s poor daughter. My step father, Brian, was too busy golfing and writing his screenplays to notice, though. And my mother always praised Cindy when he was around. It’s a miracle he couldn’t see through her fake smiles. I suppose when you work with celebrities, you stop noticing all the fakery.

Cindy took it with grace, though. She never complained or questioned, just went about whatever useless chores my mother presented her with and moved on. With her cool demeanor and peculiar charm, she could have been the perfect, prince-pleasing daughter that my mother wanted, had she not fallen victim to petty revenge and jealousy. Cindy was the spitting image of her mother, who had been named the fairest of them all at that pageant. She only grew lovelier with age, and my mother’s looks were slowly fading with time.

“Thanks,” I whispered to Cindy with a sheepish grin. She only shrugged.

When Cindy had gone, my mother continued the conversation we had been having before I had broken the glass.

“As I was saying,” she said, lighting a cigarette and putting it into a long, old fashioned cigarette holder. She fancied herself an Audrey Hepburn look alike when she did this, but in all reality, she looked ridiculous. I had to close my eyes to keep from rolling them. “There will be a ball at the palace this Saturday night. You and Gretchen will attend, and by the end of the night, one of you will be in line to be queen.”

“Really, Mother,” I said, trying to hide the horror in my voice. I didn’t want to be queen any more than my mother wanted to be known for her inner beauty. I wanted to travel, I wanted to learn as much as I could about everything, I wanted to do something truly important. I could never be anything if I was resigned to a life of orchestrating tea parties and state dinners. “That’s quite ambitious, but its not as if the prince is destine to choose one of us. There are plenty of lovely girls in the kingdom.”

“Danielle,” she scolded, “what have I been telling you since the day you were born?”

“That my ears are too large for my head and my hair is a punishment from God?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well if you would just try to flatten it…” she started, and then changed the subject. “No. That the prince would be lucky to have you, and if you play your cards right, this kingdom could be yours.”

“Or Gretchen’s,” I added. My older sister had been convinced by our mother’s assurance that she would one day be queen, and she behaved as though her marriage to the prince was just a formality she would have to endure. She conducted herself with such an air of arrogance and superiority that one would believe that she had been born noble.

"Well, yes, I suppose," my mother said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She then leaned close to me and whispered, "But it is no secret that your sister lacks the features of a suitable bride."

That much was true. Gretchen had long, blond, straight hair, an average figure and average features in general. She looked exactly like nearly every other maiden in the kingdom, and no one could imagine the prince choosing to be with someone as average as her. She was generically attractive, but she was no more unique than a shiny penny. Fascinating, sure, but in the long run, not very impressive.

Gretchen would be best off marrying a merchant or a congressman like all of the others like her.

On the other hand, I was exactly what my mother and the kingdom wanted for the prince. I was blessed with wavy jet black hair and striking green eyes. I was tall with long, slender limbs, which was an attractive when I wasn't knocking things over or tripping over my own feet. And despite my too-large ears, my mother and her peers considered me a front runner in the unspoken competition for Prince Jonathan's affections.

“But what if I don’t want to be queen?” I wondered aloud. My mother laughed. The high pitched squeal probably could have been heard around the kingdom, and I could have sworn I saw the chandelier shake.

“Danielle, you’ve always been a funny one, but you mustn’t speak like that. People might get the wrong idea.”

“Yes,” I mumbled sarcastically, “and what a shame that would be.”

Just then, my sister stumbled into the room, her arms laden with shopping bags and her face partially obscured by a pair of oversized sunglasses.

“Hello, Mother,” she said, “Danielle. What’s up?”

“I was just telling your little sister about the ball,” my mother gushed. Gretchen’s face lit up.

“Oh!” she gasped. She dropped her bags and began rummaging through them. “I got my dress!” she stuck her hand into a large, pink shopping bag and produced a mess of a dress. It was acid green with black lace trim. I had to stifle a laugh. My mother’s lips were pressed into a thin, tense line.

“I’m going to go,” I whispered. My mother didn’t notice, she was too busy trying to find a gentle way to tell Gretchen that her taste was deplorable.

I slipped out the side door and into the garage. When I got there, I was surprised and slightly disappointed to find that I was alone.

The garage was larger than most. Brian was a writer first and foremost, but his second passion was antique and luxury cars. There were at least twelve in this garage and even more in various storage facilities.

I moved to the far corner and delicately removed the heavy cream colored cover from my favorite car. It was an exquisite Ferrari Enzo, cherry red with a black leather interior. I ran my hand over the polished hood and signed. I loved this car. I dreamed of driving off into the sunset in this car, the perfect ending to my own personal fairy tale. Of course, it would never work out this way. For one thing, this was Cindy’s car (even though my mother never allowed her to drive it) and for another, I didn’t have a prince charming. Or at least, not the kind of prince charming that my mother planned on.

Suddenly, a large, muscular arm reached out and wrapped itself around my waist. I gasped, but relaxed instantly when I felt Connor’s soft lips brush against my hair.

“You’re too jumpy,” he teased, “I think the Witch is putting something in your tea.” I smiled at his taunting nickname for my mother.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that,” I scolded, turning around and looking into his light hazel eyes. “Stranger danger!” I laughed, “I need an adult!”

“I’ll save you,” he said. He stared at me and it was hard not to get lost in his eyes. I wanted to get lost with him, as crazy as that sounds.

About six months ago, Connor was hired by Brian to fine tune and watch over his precious cars. He’d worked for us for approximately two months before I realized I was madly in love with him, and now we both lived for moments like these. In my fairy tale fantasy, he was the prince charming sitting in the passenger seat while we drove off into the sunset.

“Can you save me from the Witch and her insistence that I marry the prince?” I asked.

“I think His Highness and I are going to have to have a chat if he thinks he’s going to be marrying you,” Connor replied.

I didn’t reply. I let my mind wander to a place beyond balls and gowns and princes, to where it was only me and Connor and the car, and maybe a beach and a dog. It was nice to dream like that, but it was all in vain. I could never escape the gowns and the balls and the princes without disappointing my mother, and no matter how wicked she was, I wasn’t sure that I was capable of betraying all of her hopes and dreams for me, even if it was at the cost of my own happiness.

“Are you thinking about running away again?” Connor asked me in a gentle, but desperate voice.

I sighed. “I just can’t,” I said softly, “I’m not ready to let them all down yet.”

He nodded, and I pretended not to notice the way his face fell ever so slightly. “Whenever you’re ready,” he agreed, “we’ll get out of here and you’ll never have to wear one of those stupid ball gowns or pretend to swoon over a prince ever again.”

“I like the way that sounds,” I replied, resting my head on his chest, taking in the steady rhythm of his heart, holding my breath in a vain attempt to make the moment last.