Seeing Cinderella by Jenny Lundquist

irritated.
    “Come on, you two,” Mr. Angelo said, “The Prince and Cinderella are supposed to fall madly in love at first sight.”
    “I told Charlie we should’ve signed up for wood shop instead of drama,” Scott muttered.
    I stared at Scott in a daze. I’d never been so close to him before. If I shut out the rest of the class I could imagine we really were at a ball. That we really were—
    “Hello? Anybody home?” Scott waved a hand in front of my face.
    I snapped back to attention, jerking my head back against the folding chair behind me.
    “Ouch!” I rubbed my head.
    “You don’t talk much, do you?” Scott asked.
    “W-well,” I began, but stopped. I never actually talked to Scott last year. I just sat behind him—two desks away, to be exact—admiring his poems. Every response that came to me seemed dorky, and I didn’t want Scott to think I was a weirdo.
    I took my glasses out of my backpack and slipped them on. Then I turned back to Scott. But he’d given up trying to talk to me, and was glancing around the room, looking bored.
    “Come on, people,” Mr. Angelo hollered to the class.“Use this time to get to know your character. Learn your character. Become your character.”
    The air around Scott shimmered and the screen appeared next to him: Mr. Angelo needs to get a grip. He takes this drama stuff way too seriously. Why does Charlie like him so much?
    Then his thoughts turned to the weekend: Maybe Charlie and I could see a movie this Saturday.
    “S-so,” I began, but stopped again. I almost asked him if he was going to the movies this weekend, but I thought he might get suspicious. Or worse, he might think I wanted to ask him out.
    But the screen hovering next to him showed me he thought something else: Dude, Callie is weird. Has she got a speech problem or something?
    I didn’t know if I should’ve felt hurt that he thought I was weird, or happy that he now knew my name was Callie instead of Carrie. I went with happy. And instead of asking him about his weekend plans, I decided to talk about mine.
    “Stacy, Ellen, and I are going to the Halloween carnival this weekend,” I said. “Think you’ll go?”
    “Yeah, I think Charlie and I are hanging out,” Scott said. His next thought sent my heart fluttering: Maybe I should ask them to go with us. She’s cute.
    I swear, I almost fainted right then. Scott Fowlerthought I was cute! Me—Polka Dot—with the frizzy hair and freckly face! I bit the inside of my cheek, to keep from saying yes before he actually asked. But then Mr. Angelo had to go and ruin the moment.
    “You’re not practicing your lines,” he said, handing Scott back his script. “Understudies are quite important, you know. You must be prepared to carry on the show at a moment’s notice if one of the leads becomes sick or is otherwise unable to perform.”
    “Whatever,” Scott said. “Charlie never gets sick.”
    “Yeah, neither does Ellen,” I said. So could you please leave, I added silently. I’m about to get asked out on my first sort-of date!
    But the spell was broken.
    “I guess we’d better work on this,” Scott said, looking at his script. I hate drama, he was thinking.
    So do I, I thought back at Scott as I glared at Mr. Angelo’s retreating figure. Believe me, so do I.

Chapter 10

    Super Freaky Glasses Rule # 9
    It’s easier to dislike someone when you don’t have to read their thoughts.
    “C ALLIE, GET THE DOOR !” M OM’S VOICE SCREECHED UP the stairs.
    I looked in the mirror, and stuck my tongue out at my goofy reflection. Last year, Ellen insisted we buy matching yellow rag-doll costumes. It cost me a month’s allowance, but Ellen said it was cute, and that we could wear them the next year. But we forgot one small thing: growth spurts.
    Now the costume’s skirt hung a couple inches above my knees; so I had pulled a pair of black stretch pants on underneath—making me look like a freckly honeybee.Since Ellen was a few inches taller than