How Zoe Made Her Dreams (Mostly) Come Tr - By Sarah Strohmeyer Page 0,22
graph in a straight line.
Like a perfect lackey, I parroted it verbatim: “Rule Number Twenty-Two: Venturing into the Forbidden Zone at any hour and for any reason without written permission from Management will be considered to be an Act Against the Kingdom punishable by automatic exile from Fairyland Kingdom and automatic disqualification from receiving the Dream and Do grant.”
The Queen graced me with an approving smile. “Very good. Then perhaps you’ll understand why I am so upset. Try not to be shocked, my dear, but the trolls have reported that a generic teenage male intern of largely indeterminate identity has been spotted in the FZ.”
So my hunch had been right. Her tirade on the phone had been about the prince who’d saved me from the quicksand.
Now what was I going to do?
Miranda, the redhead who’d flown in from Dallas with Ian, was on the scale, waiting. She had the best figure of anyone, and I couldn’t understand why she was kept hidden away in Rapunzel’s tower.
“One sixteen,” the Queen announced. “Not an ounce of deviation. Excellent.”
Beaming, Miranda got off and gave Adele an encouraging fist bump.
“I just have to take off my bracelets,” Adele said, like that would make a difference.
The Queen heaved a sigh and took me aside, dropping her voice so the princesses couldn’t hear. “While we’re waiting for Miss Dunkin’ Donuts 2013, you should know that when we return to the office, I will need your help in distributing an all-points bulletin informing the interns that one of their own has engaged in the treasonous villainy of sabotage.”
“Sabotage?” That seemed a tad overboard. “Isn’t that kind of extreme? I mean, he was just spotted walking in the woods. What harm is there in that?”
The Queen arched her brow and said, “The harm, Zoe, is in the fact that he blatantly violated Rule Number Twenty-Two, which happens to be a treasonous offense. Unless you know otherwise.”
“Uh, no.”
She regarded me a half a beat too long for my comfort. “In this proposed all-points bulletin, it shall be noted that any information leading to the apprehension of said traitor shall be immediately rewarded with an elevation in cast status and/or improved odds of winning the Dream and Do. That should serve as sufficient motivation to come forward, eh?”
There it is, Jess’s promotion handed to me like Tinker Bell’s daily caviar on a silver platter. All I had to do was turn over that shirt swatch, and my cousin would be Cinderella.
I closed my eyes, remembering the sheer panic of slipping deeper and deeper into the sand and how grateful I’d been that the prince had come along at just that moment to catch Tinker Bell and hand me the branch and how I’d sworn that I’d never turn him in.
The Queen swung around to Adele. “Dear girl, what is taking you so long?”
Adele shook her hands nervously. She was blond and blue-eyed like Simone, the other Cinderella who was currently working the park. Unlike Simone, however, Adele tended to be big-boned and athletic—not surprising, considering that during the school year she milked cows on a Wisconsin dairy farm.
“It’s just that I didn’t expect we’d be weighed this morning and—”
“Tsk, tsk.” The Queen cut her off. “There is no vacation from healthy eating!” She rapped the scale with her black fingernail. “Do get on.”
My heart went out to poor Adele as she got on the scale. To me she looked fine. More than fine. Healthy. Strong. Wasn’t she the model of Cinderella that Fairyland should be promoting, instead of the weak stereotype who had to rely on her elderly fairy godmother for a ride to the ball?
“You do recall the contract you signed to stay the same weight as when you were cast,” the Queen said, inching the weights farther to the right.
Adele’s yes was barely audible.
“We cannot have one Cinderella who’s a size two and another who’s a size twelve. It would cause customer confusion. The children should not be able to distinguish you from Simone. Didn’t they teach you that in Fairyland summer camp?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay, then.” The Queen finally evened out the weights and pursed her lips in dismay. “That’s two pounds more, Adele. Unacceptable.”
Adele stepped off, tears in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Sugar. That’s the culprit. I’ll tell you what—you won’t find me dabbling in that White Death. Why, I haven’t touched a single grain or drop since Christmas 1984! It’s called discipline, Adele. D-I-S-C-I-P-L-I-N-E. Spell it. Learn it. Love it!”