Page 2 of Cinderella Is Faking It

The uncontrollable sobs belonged to the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, gracefully tall, blonde hair swept into an intricate updo, body clad in a dark blue gown that cascaded down her body in layers of tulle and beads. Her skin was covered in red splotches though, and her breathing hiccupped through the sobs.

“Hi,” I whispered as I stepped up to the sink next to her, “do you need help?”

“No. I just- I can’t. I can’t.” A bitter laugh broke through her crying, and she pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. A whole pile of them already lay crumpled in the sink before her. She blew her nose while I rinsed my mouth out, my own panic fading in the face of someone else in distress. “Do you? Need help?” Her voice was so hoarse, I hardly understood her.

“Not unless you know someone hiring an English teacher,” I replied, trying to sound more light-hearted than I felt.

Her pale blue eyes, rimmed in red, raked over me, then dropped to her own getup. We were so not dressed for the same occasion. “Did you just get fired?”

“I actually just interviewed here, but I won’t get the job,” I replied, watching her breathing slow as her attention shifted to our conversation. I knew that feeling so well. When your heart raced, and your lungs ached, and your brain was caught in its own spiral - and it was so hard to snap out of it if nobody was there to help you. I could distract her a little. “I was fired a few months ago, so this sucks. Hence, the throwing up.”

“Hence,” she mumbled, gasping another laugh, “you really are an English teacher.”

“Well, not right now.” I shrugged and pulled out the polka dot pouch from my bag. “Gum?”

“Yes, please. Have you ever had an anxiety attack? Because I feel like I can taste it.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” I dropped an Orbit into her open palm and watched as she started chewing and leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. Her mascara had run down her cheeks and her glowing foundation had gotten wiped off the tip of her reddened nose, but she was still gorgeous in the way that only rich people could afford. Not due to surgery. Just… enough sleep, expensive skin care, someone to pluck your brows into a shape that matched your face. (Hers were high arches.) We shared similar enough features, blonde hair, blue eyes, round face, but if she was Barbie, I was Polly Pocket. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you can get me out of here.” She didn’t open her eyes. “Unseen.”

“The hallway looked pretty empty. I think there was just one guy. Do you want me to go check?”

“No, it’s fine.” Her head snapped back up and she wiped the tears from her lashes with another paper towel. “There’s photographers outside, and I was able to avoid them on the way in, but now the event planners are swarming around like bees, and they want you to get photographed.”

I hadn’t seen signs of either just an hour ago, but that probably didn’t mean anything. Principal Baker had mentioned an event. I just hadn’t thought twice about it being held on school grounds. It made sense in relation to my last answer though. Allowing alumni to make use of Truman’s gorgeous gothic buildings during summer break? The courtyard alone would make a beautiful backdrop for wedding pictures. “You sure that you don’t want to go to the event? Because you look amazing. It would be a waste of a beautiful dress if you went home now.”

“I can’t. I just can’t. There’s too many people. It’s too much. I don’t- I just-” Her voice hitched as another bout of panic hit her.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” I shot out quickly. God, I had not seen myself talking a random stranger through a panic attack when I’d gotten out of bed this morning. “We can just hang out here until the event is over. I have snacks and I have Netflix on my phone.”

She picked at her skirt and sniffled. “Cordelia Montgomery,” she said after a moment and stretched her hand out for me.

“Delilah Edwards,” I replied and shook it, a little less energetic than with the principal. Cordelia seemed like she needed a bit of a soft touch.

“Delilah, do you want this dress?”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s an Elie Saab dress, costs around fifteen grand,” Cordelia said as if that made more sense than her question. She shook her head at my quizzical stare and inhaled deeply. “Would you please switch clothes with me? I can probably get out of here if I look like a teacher.”

Before I could fully compute her outlandish request, my brain latched onto the logistics of it. “You’re way taller than me. I don’t think that would work.”

“Can we try? If it works, you can keep the dress.”

Now the $15,000 detail clicked. This woman was ready to part with fifteen grand worth of designer tulle just to get out of this event. She either had the worst case of social anxiety I’d ever seen, or she was rich enough for that to be pennies. Possibly both. “Wouldn’t you prefer to just wait it out? You can wear the dress some other time.”

“Please. I just want to go home.”

I recognized that tilt in her words. The one that begged people to understand that even though it seemed irrational, your brain wasn’t able to handle a situation. I hadn’t seen myself ending the day in a designer dress either, but considering how most social situations threw me for a loop, I couldn’t deny Cordelia’s request. “Okay, we can give it a shot.”

Ten minutes later, Cordelia’s ankles poked out from the bottom of my jeans, and the buttons of my blouse strained against her chest, while she stood behind me, lacing me tighter into her dress. It was the heaviest thing I’d ever worn, and it swished over the bathroom tiles, but even just seeing my upper half in the bathroom mirror took my breath away. I’d never regretted wearing a plain dress to prom until this moment. The way the dress curved around my body hid my usual box shape. It hugged the dip of my waist and flowed over my hips in a stunning blue wave.

“Done.” Cordelia clapped her hands. The second she’d been able to button my jeans, her shoulders had relaxed and a bright smile had unfolded on her lips. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you, I feel…” I let out a long breath.

“I know. I love the dress. If I could, I would wear it at home, on my sofa, watching TV. Actually, I did that yesterday.” She grinned at my reflection over my shoulder. “Do you want to know the best part?”

---