The Cinderella Theorem Page 6

  Hermes, the messenger of the gods, brought over Ambrosia from Olympus. (But to be fair to Lady Potio, my father wouldn’t let me have any. He told Hermes that as a precaution all food gifts were being tested for poison.)

  Hermes was followed by Tom Thumb, who, being the size of a thumb, was very hard to see from the throne. Tom’s gift was a tiny painting.[20] I held the painting carefully in my hands, trying to view it from different angles, when Macon announced, “Anderson Grimm.”

  The servant who had whisked away all of my other presents took the painting, and I turned my attention to the next guest. Anderson Grimm was very normal looking. He wore a suit and tie. He didn’t have long hair, a stone arm, or appear to be from a castle. Which fairy tale has regular people?

  He bowed. “An honor, Princess.” He smiled and gave me his gift. “It’s your Happiness monitor.”

  I opened the present to find an ornate hourglass with plaid liquid pooling at the bottom. A golden plaque inscribed with Princess Lily Sparrow was attached to the top. The upper half of the hour glass was marked off into different levels: Excessively Happy, Rather Happy, Moderately Happy, Averagely Happy, and More Happy than Usual. At the exact middle of it, where the circumference was smallest, was the Happy level. And the lower half contained levels for Less than Happy, Less than Less than Happy, Could be Happier, Been Happier, Been a lot Happier, and Unhappy. My plaid liquid was pooled at the bottom under Unhappy. I frowned.

  “I’m not unhappy.”

  “Of course you’re not, Princess.” He smiled. “Your monitor doesn’t work yet. It doesn’t activate until you begin to live Happily Ever After.”

  “Oh.”

  The monitor was taken away as Anderson Grimm bowed himself out.

  Princess Okera (Sleeping Beauty) brought the next present: a pillow. I also received a golden ball from the Frog Princess, Amphi. She said that the ball was an improvement on hers: mine was supposed to float.[21] The can of peas that Princess Pois (from The Princess and the Pea) sent over, was also taken away to be tested for poison. (Although, my father said poison wasn’t a problem in that story.)

  Macon announced Cinderella, and she came in dressed in a blue ball gown, carrying a pair of glass shoes on a pillow.

  “Please accept these shoes, Princess.” She bowed. “The elves and the shoemaker have worked long hours to cobble them.”

  As Cinderella left, my mother leaned close and whispered, “It’s absolutely lucky you got those. We’ve been trying for weeks to get a pair for tonight, but it was impossible. I thought you’d have to wear regular dancing shoes. I finally just borrowed a pair from one of the Twelve Dancing Princesses.”

  I opened my mouth to agree that glass slippers certainly did not equal everyday dancing shoes, but the doors opened again before I could speak.

  A greasy-haired man dressed in all black entered.

  I knew very little about Smythian culture, but from the murmurings of the crowd, I could tell the greasy man was not welcome.

  Macon moved to stop him. “You were not invited, sir. You may return to your master.”

  The greasy man laughed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Macon, I know I wasn’t invited.” He looked around Macon to my father. “Your hospitality has fallen of late, King Matt.” Dark greasy hair fell over his black eyes.

  “My hospitality is as it ever was. It extends to those who would not seek to harm my realm.” My father’s voice was cold.

  “A trivial matter, I’m sure.” Greasy stepped around Macon. “But whatever the hospitality is or isn’t in Smythe’s SFL, the politeness of my Lord Tallis could not permit him to ignore the presentation of your lovely daughter.” He smiled at me. He looked vaguely familiar. Had I seen him before? “He has sent a gift, with the compliments of the whole of Uppish Senna.” He lifted a black box; it looked greasy.

  My father rose and walked down to where the man in black stood. “And how can we trust your lord, Levi? His reputation precedes him.”

  “Your suspicion hurts me, King Matt.” He didn’t look hurt. “You will teach your daughter to be untrusting.”

  He winked at me and then I realized why I recognized him. It was his portrait hanging in the forbidden library.

  “I do swear the present will bring her no harm.” His greasy voice oozed out of him.

  Great. Another possibly dangerous present.[22]

  “You would give your word?” my father asked. He glanced at Macon who snapped his fingers. In a microsecond, seven guards surrounded the greasy man, their swords drawn and pointing at him. “Would you swear now with your life at stake?”

  Somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that my father was threatening to kill someone and, since he’s the king, this equation wasn’t likely to end with him serving a prison sentence.

  “King Matt, you will lose all your friends if you continue to not trust them. I swear to you: the present is not harmful. And before I forget, my Lord Tallis bade me express his deepest compliments to you, Queen Ginnie. How fondly he recalls your beauty.”

  I looked at my mother. Her eyes narrowed in disgust.

  “Silence!” my father shouted, with a sort of growl in his throat. “Open the present, Macon. This fool shall pay if he lies.”

  Macon moved toward Levi, but the greasy man shook his head. “Very cautious, King Matt. But the present will only open for dear Princess Lily.”

  My father pushed out an angry breath. “If she is harmed in any way—”

  “I have sworn,” Levi said quietly.

  My father looked at Macon. “Give the present to the princess.”

  Not a pleasant way to begin opening a present, and now I’m a little scared of my dad. Is he really going to kill this guy if the present is dangerous? Macon took the present from Levi and handed it to me.

  A perfect cube.[23] Parallel lines ran around it, intersected perpendicularly on each side by more parallel lines. The lid was engraved with the letters U and S. I took a deep breath and opened it.

  A note lay on top of black tissue paper.

  For Princess Lily Sparrow

  May your life last as long as this gift…

  — Tandem Tallis

  Hoping it was something sturdy and long-lasting, like a rock or the Pythagorean Theorem, I moved the tissue paper to uncover the present.

  It was a dead sparrow with a dead lily in its beak.

  8

  The Trellis and the Tango

  I looked up from the death threat birthday present. Levi smiled at me; then he disappeared.

  No popping noise or smoke. He was simply gone.

  The seven guards were taken by surprise, and several lowered their swords a few inches. One stepped cautiously forward into the area where greasy Levi had been. (Perhaps he thought Levi had just turned invisible.) His feet slipped out from under him and he crashed to the floor. The others tried to help him up and fell themselves.

  My mother sighed. “It’s always like that when Levi vanishes.”

  I looked at her, confused.

  “Levi leaves a grease spot when he disappears. The floor will be slippery for days.”

  My father was not in a happy mood. He walked over and grabbed the gift. (Perfect cube box and all.) He read the note, saw the bird, and showed it to my mother with a grim look. “Macon, I should like to meet with my council to discuss this threat upon the Princess.”

  “Certainly, Your Majesty. I will summon them at once.” Macon bowed himself out.

  My father turned to me and asked softly, “Are you all right, Lily?”

  “Honestly, Matt.” Mom answered for me. “It is only a dead bird and a dead flower.” She smiled. “It could have been much worse.”

  My father hesitated.

  “Matt,” she continued, “go. Lily and I will be fine.”

  His Majesty looked at Mom for a moment, nodded, and said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then, he turned to address the still gathered populace. He assured them that the evil at the edge of the kingdom would be ke
pt back and that this was just another example of the childish pranks that entertain Tandem Tallis. When he finished, he went off toward the door, avoiding the greasy spot, which was being roped off by two servants. Several other servants were collecting gifts from those who hadn’t been presented yet. The dead bird and flower had ended the ceremony early.

  My mother stayed a little while longer, greeting friends and thanking them for coming to welcome me. I followed her around, being introduced to people, and being amazed at my mother. She wasn’t behaving like my mother. She behaved differently, almost like a queen or something.

  Of course, mathematically speaking, she is a queen, (marriage to a king = status of queen), but I still thought of her as my famous author/distracted mother. It’s weird to think that she had this whole other life and personality I didn’t know about. A life that includes making sure her fairy tale subjects aren’t overly panicky about greasy Levi’s present.

  I felt very unmathematical. Maybe that stupid bird affected me more than I realized.

  Once we were alone on the elevator, my mother sighed. “Well, that was certainly not supposed to happen today.”

  “What wasn’t supposed to happen?”

  “Your gift from Tandem Tallis. That whole disgusting Levi incident. I can’t stand that greasy little man and his sarcastic smiling.”

  Ah…my mother was ranting. I’m glad to know she still rants as a queen.

  “Why did he come, if he wasn’t invited?”

  Because the Levi thing happened so quickly, there were several things that I still didn’t fully understand.

  (1) Why did he come, if he wasn’t invited?

  (2) Why is he greasy?

  (3) Why is his picture in the forbidden library?

  (4) Who is this Tandem Tallis person, and why did he send me my dead name?

  “Oh!” I said out loud, not waiting for Mom to answer my first question. “I just realized. The Sphinx’s riddle—”

  “‘Because of a gift, a name becomes a threat,’” my mother quoted. “She’s pretty accurate with her riddles and predictions. Too bad she couldn’t tell us anything else. Maybe we could have stopped that greasy sycophant.” She spat out “sycophant” like it was disgusting to have it in her mouth.

  “What’s a sycophant?” I asked.

  “Levi is a sycophant. A lackey. A toady. A stooge. A minion. A servant Tallis keeps around partly because of his flattery. Because he’ll do whatever Tallis wants and do it while saying ‘Yes, Master.’” She imitated Levi’s greasy voice as she finished.

  The elevator doors opened, and we started toward my room.

  “But why did Levi come, if he wasn’t invited?” I returned to my original question.

  “I imagine he came just to give you that dead bird. Levi works for Tandem Tallis. Tallis is the Lord of Uppish Senna, a kingdom in the south of Smythe’s SFL. Tallis, you’ll learn soon enough, loves to try to make people unhappy. He probably thought you’d be distraught enough to vanish after seeing the bird.”

  “To vanish?” No one had said anything about me vanishing before. “What do you mean vanish?”

  Mom looked distracted, like she does when she’s trying to solve one of her story world problems. “Lily, I’m really not the best at explaining all this. Can you just wait for Grimm to explain it to you at work on Monday?”

  I stopped walking. “What do you mean ‘at work on Monday’? I have school on Monday.”

  “After school, Lily. Your after school job.”

  “I don’t have an after school job.”

  “Oh no!” Mom’s exclamation was followed by a distracted: “Matt wanted to wait and tell you on Sunday when we were back in the other world. Fiddlesicks! It can’t be helped now.”

  Mom continued walking. I stayed where I was, stuck to the floor by Mom’s refusal to discuss this job thing, and the fact that she referred to the real world as the “other world.” This is the “other world.” The real one is home.

  Is it mathematically possible for me to come to the point where I feel that Smythe is home, and the real world is the “other world”?

  Surely not. Right?

  The rest of the afternoon was pretty uneventful compared to the excitement at my presentation. I tried to get Mom to answer some questions about the after school job or Levi, but she was distracted. (Laurel of the story world was apparently figuring out how she was going to keep Tressa from stealing the prince.)

  When my father came in, he distracted my mother from her distraction. They talked quietly by my window about heightened security. After murmuring together for a few minutes, he left with a nod to me and a “See you at the ball.”

  Mom went to my closet. “Alright Lily. Here is your green dress for tonight. And Beryl has brought in your glass slippers from Cinderella. I’m going to go change; then I’ll be back for you in about twenty minutes.”

  Twenty minutes later, the Sparrow family was assembled in the hallway.

  The Sparrow family now = 1 kingly father + 1 queenly mother + 1 princessly daughter complete with green dress and glass slippers. My father straightened the tiara on my head with a proud smile; Mom cried.

  As we made our way to the ballroom, a pure mathematical fact came to mind. “I don’t know how to dance.”

  Mom grinned. “That’s okay, Lil. Those aren’t just glass slippers you’ve got on. They’ll take care of you.”

  Here’s a fact, Mom: a cryptic message does not equal comfort and reassurance.

  Right before our grand entrance into the ballroom, Mom gave final instructions. “There’ll be refreshments all night long–that’s what we’re doing for supper. Don’t worry about having a dance partner. You’ll have plenty of people asking you to dance, but don’t decline too many of them. Later you can, but right now, it would seem a little superficial if you refused, because you don’t really know any of them. You know, princess etiquette and all. If you have any questions, your father and I will be around.”

  I wanted to ask about my shoes, but the herald spoke first, loudly announcing: “The Sparrow Family!”

  After we sat on our thrones, Macon came forward, bowed and said, “With your permission, Your Majesty, we will commence the dancing.”

  My father stood and made another of his wordy speeches. I could only focus on it for a few moments at a time, since I was nervously calculating the number of people in the room and the probability of embarrassing myself in front of them. He finally finished with, “Let the dancing begin.”

  But before the dancing began, Macon once again stepped forward. “Would it not please the assembled parties if our ball began with our king and our newly returned princess sharing a dance?”

  What? I haven’t had a chance to scientifically or mathematically determine how to work these “magic” dancing shoes. I don’t want to dance in crazy glass slippers with all these people watching. Not to mention how strange it is to be dancing with a father I only met two days ago.

  The assembled parties cheered enthusiastically at Macon’s suggestion. Reluctantly, I came down off my throne and took my place with King Daddy in the center of the ballroom.

  “I don’t know how to dance,” I muttered.

  “Trust your shoes,” he whispered.

  The music started. My father bowed to me, and as I began to make a curtsey, I felt the oddest sensation in my shoes. As unmathematical as this sounds, the shoes were taking over, leading me, and I followed, trusting them. Trusting my shoes.

  I have to admit, all mathematical and scientific implications aside, it was kind of cool to have these magic dancing shoes leading you around through any dance.

  And I do mean any dance. After my father and I danced a waltz, I danced three English country dances with various princes. I also participated in (and, here I should point out that I only know the names of the dances because Macon Mind called them out as they started): two hulas, the Charleston, the jitterbug, a Congo line, the Polish Marzuka, four polkas, a quadrille, three reels, a rumba, a mamba,
and a tarantella. Pretty amazing shoes.

  After the tarantella (which is hard to dance, even if you have magic shoes), I stepped onto the balcony for some fresh air. Also, I wanted some time to think logically about why I was having a good time at this ball. Shouldn’t polka-ing with one of the Three Little Pigs upset a person? Does the irrationality of dancing in a Congo line with both Paul Bunyan and Thumbalina mean it can’t also be fun?

  The balcony was cool and refreshing. And empty. The perfect place for thinking and catching your breath. I was just hypothesizing about the scale factor ratio of the heights of Paul and Thumbalina when a movement to the right distracted me.

  Specifically a person climbing onto the balcony from the trellis.

  Climbing person = a boy, a little taller than me with curly brown hair and dark eyes and his foot stuck in the ivy on the trellis

  “Have you seen Grimm?” he asked, agitatedly as he pulled his foot free.

  “Anderson Grimm?” I asked, instead of some other normal question like Who are you?

  “Yes,” the boy said impatiently. “Have you seen him?”

  “He’s dancing.”

  The boy didn’t respond. He just continued picking leaves off his clothing.

  “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you come in through the door?” I asked.

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  I asked two questions. His reply, therefore, was lacking in clarity. And judging from the annoying smile on his face, I would say it was intentional.

  “Which? Why didn’t I come through the door?” I can be annoying, too.

  “What are you doing here? I have a highly classified rendezvous with Grimm here in…” he looked at his watch, “well, now.”

  “A highly classified rendezvous on the balcony during a ball that nine/tenths of the kingdom are attending?”

  “Look. I’m not expecting a girl like you to understand official HEA business. But could you please go away, if you don’t mind, so I can meet with Grimm….”