Isabella and the Slipper, page 3
The pig squealed as if in protest, and the entire school blew up. Savannah jumped up and down, shrieking. Brawny guy scowled at her.
Mr. Morgan taught Isabella’s physics class, and he was probably the coolest teacher in the school. He had actively campaigned for his jar to get the most change. All the students loved him; he was young and energetic.
The gym exploded again as Mr. Morgan ran onto the gym floor waving at the bleachers.
Jason held up the pig, and Chase tried to calm everyone down. “Let’s give the man a little silence, please.”
Mr. Morgan put on a show, waving his hand in front of his face like the pig stank. Then he walked around, pretending to contemplate where he should kiss the pig, pausing and looking close at the back end. Laughter rose from the crowd. Isabella snapped another photo, this time of the pig and Mr. Morgan. When he finally leaned down and kissed the pig on the top of its head, cheers erupted and Chase whistled.
“Come to the game tonight and watch us kiss East Ridge High goodbye!” Chase waved one arm, signaling that the students could go.
The cheerleaders stood at the doors handing out candy kisses to everyone. Isabella waited until the mad dash for the doors had dwindled into more of a solid throng before starting down the stairs. “I wish you could come to the game tonight!” Savannah yelled over the noise.
Isabella held in a snort. “Delilah would die if I showed up at a game. I’d ruin her social status or something. I’d rather avoid the drama.”
Savannah gave her a pitying frown and hugged her. “See you Monday.”
Isabella nodded and gave her friend a little wave. Her weekend would be spent running the art gallery her father, Anthony Shepherd, had established before he died. Her stepmother, Mrs. Elenore Shepherd, was too stately to do something as lowly as man a gallery. That fell to Isabella’s shoulders.
She pulled out her phone and fiddled with the photo she’d shot of Chase. She’d caught him while he was smiling, showing his perfect white teeth and a small dimple in his cheek. It was a good shot. She stepped onto the gym floor.
“The pig is loose!” someone screamed.
In an instant, the gym turned into a mass of running students. Some tried to catch the pig while others tried to avoid it. The pig ran past her legs, squealing with what she could only imagine was glee.
“There it is!” someone shouted.
A cheerleader slammed into her and Isabella’s phone went flying. Her heart lodged in her throat. Not her new phone!
It clattered to the floor about two yards from her. She prayed no one would step on it and crack the screen before she reached it. She pushed her way through the crowd, trying to not lose sight of the phone. The pig ran past her again. Someone kicked her phone, and it skittered across the gym.
Her heart pounded. She couldn’t see it. Please, no. She couldn’t lose her phone on the first day of having it! She fought against the steady stream of kids, trying to see where it had landed. There! She saw it. It was on the floor near the wall. She focused on it and shoved her way through.
Just before she could grasp her phone, a hand reached down and picked it up. “Hey, that’s mine!” she said, as she looked up to see . . .
No. Not him. Anyone but him.
Chase grinned at her, holding out her phone—and another one with an identical Beatles case. “Hey, look. We have the same phone case.”
“You like The Beatles?” she asked, then mentally rolled her eyes.
Brilliant. That was a completely idiotic thing to say.
He grinned. “Who doesn’t?” But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. His gaze ran beyond her.
She turned to see Mr. Morgan holding the pig. “Got him!” he shouted. Everyone cheered.
She grabbed her phone from his hand, but Chase didn’t seem to notice.
“See ya at the game.” He brushed past her and ran to catch up to Jason, who slapped him once on the back before they disappeared into the crowd.
And that was it. Her first conversation with Chase, and he didn’t even really look at her. She was upstaged by a pig.
Chase jogged across the parking lot to his Mustang convertible. He unlocked the doors with his key fob and slung his backpack onto the seat.
Friday at last. Football and fun with the guys. This weekend was going to rock.
He climbed into his car, clicked the button to put the top down, and started the engine.
Delilah Shepherd came running across the parking lot in her ridiculously high heels. “Chase!” she shrieked, waving her hand. She was Barbie blonde and had about as much empty space in her head as the doll.
He held in an eyeroll. He was just too nice. That’s what it was. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he wasn’t interested. “Hi, Delilah,” he said as she stopped, panting.
She grinned at him and adjusted her purse. “Some of the guys are coming to my house later tonight for a small get-together after the game. I thought maybe you’d like to come.”
Delilah’s parties were always popular. Most of his friends were probably going to be there. “Sure. Sounds fun.”
Her grin spread, and she placed her hand on his arm. “Great. I’ll see you tonight.”
She took off, and he could see her younger sister waiting for her by their car. They giggled and jumped up and down before getting in their red sports car and driving off. He shook his head.
See? Too nice.
He threw his car into drive and skidded out of the parking lot. Even with Delilah after him, he knew he would still have fun that night.
His phone made a noise. What kind of noise was that? When he stopped at the light, he checked it. There was a text, but he didn’t recognize the number. He looked closer at the phone. It looked brand new. The tiny crack in the corner was gone, and there were no scratches on the screen.
Dang, he had the wrong phone.
He pulled off to the side of the road and read the message.
Where are you? You’re late. If you don’t show up immediately your precious phone privileges will be gone.
Ouch. The girl from the gym was in trouble, and she didn’t even know it.
He swiped the phone open and touched the messaging icon. He typed in his phone number.
We accidentally switched phones. I think your parents are texting you asking where you are.
He waited a minute before realizing she didn’t have a way to answer back; his phone was locked. He sent another text.
Unlock my phone. 110900
A message came through.
Oh my gosh, your phone will not stop beeping at me. I don’t even know what Snapchat is. You’ve got so many messages. Sorry about the phone switch.
That’s OK. Your mom sounds angry. You better hurry home. We can switch phones back tonight at the game.
He slid the phone into his cupholder and pulled into traffic. Five minutes later, he parked in his driveway. The phone beeped again, and he picked it up.
I’m not going to the game. We’ll have to switch them later. Sorry.
She wouldn’t be at the game? Who was this girl? Didn’t the whole school go to the games?
He tried to remember what the girl looked like, but he couldn’t think of her face. Did she have brown hair? Blonde? He wasn’t sure. She was shorter than he was, and that’s all he remembered. He texted her back.
Who are you?
He figured he could look her up in the yearbook so he’d know who he was talking to. As he waited for her answer, he climbed out of his car and grabbed his backpack. Walking into the house, he checked the screen, but no more texts had come through.
Huh.
His mother met him in the kitchen, her dark hair set up in electric curlers. “Excellent. You’re home. I can tell you the good news.”
He inwardly groaned, but didn’t let it reach his throat. “What?”
“You have an audition tonight. Quick. Go shower and change. This is a good one.”
His mouth dropped. She knew he had plans. Why would she do that?
“Mom, there’s a game tonight!” He knew he sounded whiny, but he couldn’t help it.
She narrowed her eyes at him and folded her arms. “Then aren’t you glad you’re not on the team? This is why we decided you shouldn’t try out. It’s your career we’re talking about. Not some unimportant football game.”
His heart sank. It wasn’t his career. He didn’t want it. “It’s important to me. It’s the first game of the season.”
She got that look on her face, the one that said he’d better do what she wanted or he’d be in trouble. “It’s one audition. They are making special arrangements for you to come in tonight. Don’t sass me about it. You can go to the game after.”
He let his shoulders fall. There was no point in arguing with her. His father would have his head if he talked back to her. “Okay.”
“Go get ready. The script’s on your bed. Memorize your lines before we leave.”
He nodded and ran up the stairs. His phone beeped, and he swiped to read it.
Your mom texted. Sorry, I was walking and didn’t see it right away. She said something about an audition.
He answered her back.
Yeah, I know, I just talked to her. I’m going to miss the game.
Getting an audition is good though.
He snorted.
If only I wanted to be an actor.
He hit “Send”—then instantly regretted it.
Why did he say that?
He didn’t talk about that with his friends. They all thought he was cool because he’d had a few roles in the movies. There was a pause, and then another text came.
Why do you do it then?
That was a complicated answer.
Parents.
Oh. Sorry. That stinks. I know how that is.
Who was this girl? He was curious enough to poke around on her phone. He opened her contacts, but they were empty. Didn’t she have any friends in her phone? She hadn’t even put her name in. Just her number showed at the top of the screen. Weird.
He tossed her phone on his bed and stripped down to his boxers. He turned on the shower to let the water get warm and grabbed a towel out of the closet. A half hour later he was dressed and picked up the script. When he saw what role he was trying out for, he confronted his mother.
“Mom, this is a major part.” He flipped through the pages and pages of text. “This isn’t something I can do during school.”
She smiled. “We’ll get you a tutor. Then you wouldn’t have to go to school every day. Honey, this is the role we’ve been waiting for. You’re ready for it.” Her eyes shone, and she flipped her curly hair behind her shoulder. “Come on, you can memorize in the car.”
Just what he wanted.
Not.
Chapter 2
Isabella pushed open the front door to the Vibrant Hue Art Gallery, and the familiar bell sounded. Her heart pounded in her chest. Chase Hawkins was texting her. She had his phone. It even smelled like him . . . a little. Yes, she’d smelled the phone.
She had a problem. She admitted it.
Leilani looked up from the hostess desk. “Hello, Isabella.”Leilani was the epitome of petite; she always wore something hip, and her hair was cut short in one of those inverted-bob styles.
“Slow day?” Isabella asked, trying to calm her pounding heart.
“Mr. Kato came in and bought Water Lily. Other than that, we’ve been dead.”
“He’s been looking at that one for a long time. I’m glad he decided to buy it.” Isabella took her backpack off and went into the office.
“Elenore wants you to take it down from the website,” Leilani called.
“Will do,” Isabella said, turning on the computer.
She took in a deep breath. She loved the smell of the gallery, the bright artwork on the walls, and the intricate sculptures on the pedestals. Someday her paintings would grace these walls, like her father’s had in the past. Mrs. Elenore Shepherd didn’t think she was good enough yet, which was funny because Elenore had tried to sell her own paintings in the gallery—and failed. No one wanted them.
As Isabella waited for the computer to boot up, she pulled a photograph from her back pocket and touched the surface. Her mother was seventeen in the picture. She was smiling at the camera like she didn’t have a care in the world. She had dark hair, like Isabella’s, cascading down her shoulders. She looked positively gleeful. Her name was Emma.
“It’s been a good day, Mom,” she said. It was silly, she knew, but talking to the photo helped her feel better about life. And she hoped, somewhere, her mother could hear her.
Chase’s phone chimed. She stuffed the photo back in her pocket. She’d messed around until she’d turned off the Snapchat notifications, so she knew it was Chase.
A tiny thrill shot through her. She took his phone out to look at the screen.
Why don’t you have any numbers in your phone?
She punched in her response. Why are you looking?
You won’t tell me who you are. I got curious.
It’s a new phone. I haven’t put them in yet.
What are you doing?
She peered around the office.
I’m at work.
I have to memorize lines for an audition I don’t want to have.
She thought about what to say to him. If he really didn’t want the part, there was an easy solution.
Then mess up your audition.
What? Are you serious?
Why not? If you don’t want the part, don’t be right for it.
U R A GENIUS.
I know.
Lol. I think I love you.
Isabella choked and almost dropped the phone on the floor. She caught it in time and stuffed it back into her pocket. He was joking, of course, but seeing those words still made her heart jump into her throat.
She opened the gallery’s website and logged into the content editor. The website was her responsibility, as per her stepmother’s commands. Usually she didn’t mind doing it. At first, it had been stressful, as she had no clue how to build a website. It had taken her a whole month of watching YouTube videos and reading to figure out how to get the thing up and running.
She found the Water Lily and deleted it from inventory. Tomorrow she’d have to take some photos of the new artwork they were getting in to put up on the website, but tonight she wouldn’t worry about it.
Paco stuck his head in her office. “Hey, pretty lady.”
Isabella smiled at him. Paco mostly helped with the behind-the-scenes work at the gallery, but sometimes he took over for Leilani on the sales floor or helped paint the walls when they were redecorating. He was a friendly man in his forties. “Hey, Paco. How are you?”
“I’m good. Just a heads-up, more art is coming in,” he said with his Mexican accent.
She nodded. “Okay, thanks.”
He waved and ducked out again.
She pulled up the books and entered the day’s sale on the ledger. Not only was she the webmaster, she was also the bookkeeper. Elenore wrote the checks, signed the contracts with the artists, and hobnobbed with the clientele. Elenore’s job mostly consisted of hanging out at the country club and going to social events. But she claimed it was necessary to keep the customers returning.
After entering the sale, Isabella opened the closet and took out the broom. It was also her responsibility to keep the gallery clean. By the time she was done, it was after six. She waved to Leilani on her way out. “See you tomorrow.”
The gallery was located on a commercial strip only three blocks from her house. Since it was on the way home from school, Elenore didn’t think she needed a car. “It’s better for you to walk,” she’d say. She must not have wanted Delilah and Ava to be healthy by that logic, what with the sporty little Mazda MX-5 she bought them.
Isabella entered her house and walked into the kitchen, her stomach grumbling. She pulled out the sandwich meat and some bread, and then fixed herself a quick meal. Elenore strutted in as she was getting out the package of Oreos. “Don’t touch those. They’re for the party tonight.”
Of course they were.
She slid them back on the shelf and shut the cupboard door.
“Don’t drop any crumbs, or you’ll have to vacuum,” Elenore said, as she patted her long, blonde hair that she wore swept up in a fancy French twist. Isabella had never seen the woman with even one gray hair. It was like they were scared to make an appearance. Her fingernails were manicured and always blood red. She usually wore long dresses with leather boots, as if she’d stepped out of a time machine from the 1890’s.
Elenore breezed out of the room, leaving behind the gagging essence of her overpowering perfume.
Isabella made a face at the empty doorway. She picked up her plate and climbed the stairs to her room. Every time she walked through her home, she felt her heart break a little more. It was magnificent, with a huge, open floor plan and balconies that jutted out in architectural genius. Her father had bought it because she had fallen in love with it. But now that he was gone, everything belonged to Elenore.
She bit into the sandwich as she entered her bedroom, and then shut the door. Elenore always threatened to banish her to the attic with the spiders if she didn’t do as she said. Isabella wasn’t sure if it was an empty threat or not, so she did as she was told.
Her one joy was her bedroom. It was the largest of all the bedrooms in the house, but it was the one Isabella had picked out when she and her father had moved in, and no one had the backbone to kick her out. Plus, it was the only room large enough for her hobby, and Elenore liked pushing Isabella to improve her painting skills.
The fading sunlight streamed through her floor-to-ceiling sliding-glass windows, hitting her canvases. Painting was her relief. Her retreat into another world. She wasn’t as good as her father, but she still gained immense satisfaction from it. Her father had made millions from his passion, and she loved the connection she felt to him when she painted.
She stepped out onto her balcony and took another bite of her sandwich. The view always took her breath away. Being situated on the edge of a cliff had its advantages. The Los Angeles valley stretched before her. At night, the city was lit up with a million pinpricks of light. Right now, in the setting sun, the orange light reflected off the buildings. The breeze raced across her skin, blowing her long, dark hair. She closed her eyes and leaned on the railing, wondering what Chase was doing.
