Somehow, he’s managed to stick around. He also figured out I was the one to snitch about the rule-breaking. This earned me an enemy instead of an ally. But he threw me under the trolley, accusing me of taking it when management questioned him.
See? The guy is a jerky jerk face.
In my Cinderella-slippered feet, I glide toward a shady spot. It’s near a fountain, so I have to be careful because of my costume, but I’m afraid that if I don’t find some relief from this heat, the next unsuspecting little kid that wants to meet Cinderella will find Cinder-egg-a fried on the sidewalk.
I shouldn’t complain. At least I don’t have to roast in a full costume with an oversized bobbly character head. Being naturally fair-skinned, I wear heaps of sunblock, which causes a breakout every two weeks.
A couple of boys toss coins in the fountain next to me. I hesitate, worried about them splashing my gown, but it’s somewhat cooler the closer I get to the water—much like the park’s guest heat-relief stations, but without the cooling mist.
I pose for another photo with a little girl dressed in an identical, though miniature version of my blue dress. She also wears a blonde wig, which I know from personal experience is awful in the heat. Have to give the little girl credit for dedication.
She tells me her name is Tiffany and she’d recently finished cancer treatment. “I’ve always dreamed of meeting Cinderella.”
Tiffany’s mom has tears in her eyes, probably at helping to make her daughter’s wish come true. We chat for a moment, and then the little girl waves goodbye before skipping toward a lollipop stand.
Drawing my hands together, I ball them up under my chin. It’s moments like that which make me love my job. My character can bring so much joy to a person’s life.
I sigh, watching the pair disappear into the crowd, when a hand lands on my waist. “Hello there, Mozzarella.” A sweaty kid with greasy hair and a chocolate ring around his mouth wheezes in my direction.
Mozzarella? My stomach flip-flops because this can’t end well.
He waves a giant chocolate baton, a new treat from a hit movie, in my face. “Have a bite.”
“No, thank you.”
“Come on, you have to.” Then he whispers, “My friends dared me.” He grips my wrist.
“Hands off,” I warn.
“I’ll give you a kiss and wake you from your slumber,” the kid says, puckering his lips.
“You’ve got the wrong princess,” I mutter, having already lost my patience for his antics.
I eye Elmo. We’re a team, and if a park visitor acts inappropriately, he’s supposed to step in and notify security. Useless, he stands there on his phone looking bored or amused, I can’t tell.
The kid’s grubby hands reach for me again. “Do you know what Prince Charming called Snow White when the shoe didn’t fit?”
I blink a few times, confused.
“Big Foot.” His eyes are unfocused, like he’s been working his way through all the sugar the park has to offer.
“Definitely not me.”
He grabs my wrist. “Come on, my friends dared me to get a kiss with you.”
Ew. My nostrils flare as anger sweeps through me. How old is he? Ten? Twelve? Eighteen? I can’t tell. He’s obviously hopped up on sugar. Where are his parents? His chaperone?
When he moves in for a hug, breaking character, I say, “Back off.”
He reaches his sticky hands for me, teetering closer. As I step to move away, my slipper catches on the inside hem of my dress and my heel hits the edge of the fountain. There’s nowhere for me to go.
No, no, no. Please no.
My arms windmill as I lose my balance. Although it’s the last thing I want to do, I reach for the kid’s shirt to keep from falling. But it’s too late. I topple backward into the fountain.
Splash.
The warm water spills over the side. It smells like disinfectant as it quickly saturates my gown. Already unstable, the kid lands partway on top of me as though we’d been embracing.
