I flop back on Etta Jo’s plush, blue velvet couch. “Nope. This is what I imagine lying on a cloud is like. Those big, puffy cumulus ones.”
I sink a little deeper and close my eyes. Falling into the fountain flashes there like a high-definition recording. I imagine staying here for a while, letting my little inner troll take over and go full goblin mode, or some other fairytale beast with poor hygiene and a fierce chocolate cake habit.
When I blink my eyes open, they’re both staring at me.
“You can’t tell me there isn’t an itty-bitty—” Etta Jo starts.
“Teeny tiny,” Giselle adds.
“Sliver of attraction between you and Declan?”
I frown. “Swoony? Blissy? I don’t know what you’re talking about. No. That’s a ridiculous question. As for the first two text reactions, Etta Jo, you’re probably right, but the third is silly. “For the bajillionth time, Declan and I are only and always and forever friends.”
“Mmhm. Sounds like famous last words.”
“Speaking of famous. Guess who just messaged me?” Giselle flashes her phone and we squeal at fifty-seven’s text to Giselle about wanting to tackle her with strawberries and whipped cream.
With the spotlight off me for a moment, the wordfamouslodges in my chest and has a hard time going down, because Etta Jo is right about my response whenever I text my parents. I gofrom a seconds-long high of elation like a little kid on the edge of the pool saying,Mom, Dad, watch me, to the plunge into the frigid water of our non-relationship as I remember where I stand in their lives. Forget cloud nine, I’m at the back of the line as far as they’re concerned.
I haven’t seen or spoken to them in months, or has it almost been a year? Usually, texting them is better because they’re so busy. In fact, for my last birthday, their assistant phoned to wish me well on their behalf. They were traveling, so they couldn’t connect. Likely story. Still, I feel the need to do so. There’s probably a deep psychological explanation for my desire to be seen and have their approval. For a relationship. A family. That’s not too much to ask, is it?
While Etta Jo and Giselle discuss Garrison’s text, I type up a quick summary of the job opportunity in Concordia, asking my parents what they think. Then, in a fit of annoyance at myself for caring about their opinion when they’ve made no effort to involve me in their lives, I delete it.
From across the room, Etta Jo whispers. “Quick, scroll away. Scroll away. Don’t let her see it.”
“But it’s gone viral. She can’t avoid it,” Giselle hisses back.
“It’s bad enough that some creepy kid pulled her into the fountain. So, embarrassing. She doesn’t have to relive it along with millions of viewers.”
Forget clouds of bliss and elation. Nope, I just dropped through them and am in a free fall. Of course, my friends have the best intentions to shield me from the video. But the fact of it remains, and will forevermore, on the internet. A strong sense to flee rushes from my head to my toes.
Then I freeze in what feels like midair. If millions of people have seen my disastrous drop into the fountain, that means Declan will too. Perhaps he has.
Perspiration beads across my forehead. Could this get any more humiliating? I’m actually shocked he didn’t tease me about it in our brief text exchange—he and I tease each other about everything. It’s the nature of our friendship.
Sadly, the Orlando area is practically at sea level, so there isn’t a cave for me to hide in or a rock for me to hide under. Rumor has it, Space Mountain is the highest point, but no way am I heading back there. An overwhelming desire to run seizes me.
Thumbs hovering over the miniature keyboard on my phone, determination shoots through me and I tell my parents where I’m going, instead of asking for them to weigh in.
In the split second that I clicksendand the message goes from a white box to blue, a dense and foggy sense that I just sealed my fate and altered the course of my future flies through me like fast-moving clouds.
What does that look like? I don’t know.
Where is it? I’ve never been there.
Is this a huge decision? For sure.
But if Cinderella taught me anything, it’s time to be bold and daring as I leave today’s defeat behind me and persevere for my future.
I already had my dream stolen from me. There’s nothing else to lose. I’ve felt aimless since Sly drove off with my future, leaving me in the dust. It’s a cloud of humid dust that I can’t seem to wash from my skin.
I’m not elated like I’m on cloud nine, as Etta Jo suggested when I was done texting Declan. She’s been inhaling too many paint fumes. Rather, I’m resolved to take this leap into the unknown.
Wheee!
Here I go. Hopefully, my landing isn’t like plunging into a cold pool—or as hot as Orlando.
I tuck my phone in my pocket. No sense in waiting around for a reply from my parents—it might take another year. Not that they care.
