Charmed, I'm Sure Read online

  “It must be all that time I waste reading books,” I say sweetly.

  Okay, a little sass leaks out. Nobody’s perfect.

  Phillipe doesn’t even notice.

  “Vraiment!” he agrees, and the Minions nod like two matching bobbleheads.

  They actually took me seriously when I said reading books was a waste of time. This day is getting more surreal by the minute.

  The Minions pack up a week’s worth of outfits for me to carry home, and Phillipe arranges for the rest to be sent to our apartment. He won’t let me change back into my jeans and T-shirt.

  “If I had my way, I would put these in ze garbage”—he pronounces it gar-bahge—“but since I don’t have my way, I forbid you to wear them except in the privacy of your home. Nevaire, nevaire, in public.”

  He gets so worked up with his “nevers,” or “nevaires,” I worry that if I slip up and wear my jeans—or accidentally wear the top of one outfit with the bottom of another—that the cosmic disturbance to Phillipe’s world will be so great he’ll implode into a quivering mass of Gallic goop.

  The responsibility lies heavy on my shoulders.

  “Now go, ma chérie,” Phillipe says, kissing one hand as Minion Two comes and places the heavy shopping bag in the other. “Make us proud.”

  I smile, weakly, and promise to do my best. Phillipe reminds me about my posture. “Wings back, chest out!” he commands, and sends me on my way.

  As soon as I emerge from the revolving doors of Très Cher, something is different. It takes three blocks for me to figure out what it is. I might be on the honor roll at school, but when it comes to this stuff, I’ll be the first to admit I’m clueless.

  The first thing I notice is the smiling. As any native New Yorker knows, people never smile during rush hour, especially at a teenager with a backpack and a big shopping bag impeding their progress toward the nearest subway entrance. But people are smiling at me. I wonder if there’s something funny about the way I look, like maybe I accidentally tucked the skirt in my underwear when I went to the bathroom before I left the store.

  I glance at my reflection in a store window and get a shock. Not because my skirt is accidentally tucked up in my underwear, but because the girl I’m used to seeing isn’t there—and the girl I do see is someone I’d probably check out too. There’s something about her that draws the eye.

  The Fairest in the Land . . .

  I shake my head, turning away from my reflection.

  Why do I keep hearing things? Maybe all the chemicals from the highlighting are affecting my brain. Or maybe I’m allergic to all this makeup. Whatever it is, it’s freaking me out.

  “Hey, what’s happening?”

  A guy about my age starts walking next to me and chatting as if we know each other, except I’ve never seen him before in my life.

  “Uh . . . nothing much,” I say, glancing at him briefly and then looking away.

  “How’s your day been?” he asks.

  Why does he want to know? Why does he care? We just met five seconds ago. And technically we haven’t, really.

  “Okay,” I say. Well, except that all these people are smiling at me during rush hour, which is weird, and now some random guy on the street is talking to me, which is even weirder.

  I kind of want to ignore him and hope he goes away, but I can hear my mother’s voice saying: Charming men love charming ladies. Mind your manners! So I ask him how his day has been, even though I don’t particularly want to know the answer because I don’t even know you, random dude walking next to me.

  “It’s awesome, now that I’ve laid eyes on you,” he says, flicking his hair back with his hand for effect and flashing his teeth in a wide smile that looks like he’s trying out for a toothpaste commercial.

  At which point I can’t contain a really loud snort and start cracking up, which apparently is not the response he’s expecting.

  “Fine, be that way,” he growls before calling me something not very nice. He stomps off and jaywalks across the street.

  What way? I wonder. Is it my fault for laughing if he says something that sounds like a line out of a really corny romcom?

  Whatever. I decide to keep my eyes on the sidewalk to avoid eye or smile contact until I get to our building. It feels safer that way.

  Victor, the doorman, is standing under the awning doing what he loves best, watching diverse New Yorkers in their interesting fashion choices walk by. Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve loved hanging out with him and listening to his observations. He’s always got Tootsie Rolls in his pocket, and he’s not afraid to share them.

  “Hi, Victor,” I say, grateful to have made it home without any more random weirdness.

  “Good a-fternoon?” he replies, looking at me curiously, as if trying to figure out who I am.

  What? This guy has known me since the day my parents brought me home from the hospital.

  “Victor, it’s me, Rosie! Rosie Charming.”

  The look of recognition as it dawns on his mustachioed face is almost comical.

  “Goodness gracious, Miss Rosie, I didn’t recognize you all dressed up like that! You look . . . quite the young lady.”

  “Yeah, it’s a little different, isn’t it?” I say, trying to dispel the awkwardness. “Mom thought I needed a bit of ‘styling.’”

  I do air quotes with my fingers, because I don’t want him to think I’m taking this whole makeover thing too seriously.

  “But I’m still the same old me,” I assure him.

  “Of course you are, Miss Rosie,” he says. “You look lovely.”

  He reaches into his pocket as if he’s going to offer me a Tootsie Roll like he usually does, then stops and shakes his head.

  “I suppose you’re too sophisticated to want a Tootsie Roll now, Miss Rosie.”

  He sounds sad.

  “No way!” I tell him. “I’ll never be too old or sophisticated for that.”

  Victor smiles and hands me a piece of candy, just like always. It’s comforting after all the strange stuff that’s been happening since I left the department store.

  “Thanks, Victor. See you tomorrow!”

  I head to the elevator, but when I glance back, he’s staring at me, shaking his head, like he still can’t believe I’m the same kid he’s known since she was a baby.

  My reflection freaks me out when the door opens and I see her looking at me from the reflective glass in the elevator. I quickly turn my back, press the button for our floor, and stare fixedly at the elevator door, willing it to open so I can get out and away from Mirror Girl.

  Fairest in the Land . . .

  No. Stop it. Lalalalalalalala! I can’t hear you! Lalalalalalalalala!

  I escape as soon as the door opens, and let myself into the apartment. I can hear Mom and Dad in the living room.

  “Hi, I’m home!” I call out.

  “Rosie, come!” Mom orders, like I’m a puppy in obedience school. “Let’s see the results of Phillipe’s magic.”

  I drop my bags outside the kitchen, take a deep breath, and walk into the living room.

  Not even the rush hour smiles and being chatted up by a random boy on the street have prepared me for Dad’s reaction.

  “Rosamunde White Charming! What have you done to yourself?”

  He looks like a disapproving school principal, and not just because his reading glasses are perched on the end of his nose. Yes, ladies, sorry to disappoint you, but it’s true. He had to get them when he hit forty. Even Prince Charming isn’t immune to the ravages of age and time.

  “Relax, Ivan,” Mom says, putting her hand on his arm and petting him like he’s an overwrought sheepdog. “She looks beautiful. Who needs a fairy godmother when Charming Lifestyles offers Phillipe.”

  She gets that “aha!” look that’s all too familiar.

  “That would be a great tagline. Where’s my pad and pen?”

  “Just use the voice memo on your phone, Mom,” I tell her. “That’s what it’s for.”<
br />
  “Good idea,” she says.

  Of course it takes her almost as long to figure out where the voice memo app is located, how to use it, and to repeat her moment of inspiration as it would for me to go to the kitchen and get her a pen and paper. And in the meantime I’m standing there like a Très Cher store mannequin while Dad regards me in awkward silence.

  When Mom finishes recording herself, she surveys me again.

  “Maybe we should put before and after shots of you on the website. It would be a great advertisement for Phillipe’s work.”

  “NO WAY!” I shout.

  “OVER MY DEAD BODY!” Dad shouts at the same time.

  At least we agree on something.

  Mom stares at us like we’ve gone insane.

  “What’s the matter with you two?” she inquires, her voice taking on that deceptive sweetness that covers up a will of tempered steel.

  “No way are we putting pictures of Rosie looking like that on the website,” Dad says.

  “Looking like what?” Mom says. “Are you saying she isn’t beautiful?”

  Hello, parents? I’m standing right here!

  Dad glances at me and gives me a weak smile.

  “Darling, you look lovely. Really. Absolutely, totally breathtaking.” He sounds sincere enough when he says it. But then he adds, “It’s just . . .”

  And I want to crawl under a rock. It’s just what?

  “It’s just that your father can’t handle the fact that his little girl is growing up,” Mom says, her voice tinged with irritation. “He wants you to stay a tomboy. He’d be happy if you never had a date, ever.”

  “That’s not fair!” Dad says.

  “Isn’t it?” Mom asks, her midnight dark eyebrow arched questioningly. “So what, exactly, is the problem here?”

  “I . . . I . . . ,” Dad sputters.

  “I’m going to my room,” I tell them. “Let me know when the fight is over.”

  “We’re not fighting, Rosie dear, we’re discussing,” Mom says.

  “Whatever. Just call me when it’s time for dinner.”

  I grab my backpack and the shopping bag and head to my room. Luckily, Nicole and Katie are online, so I get them on group video chat.

  “Wait. . . . Is that really you?” Nicole says. “Rosie Charming?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” I sigh.

  “Wowza!” Katie exclaims. “You look so . . . different!”

  “Good different or bad different?”

  “Amazing,” Nicole says.

  “Totally,” Katie agrees. “I can’t believe your hair. And that outfit is adorable.”

  “There’s more where that came from,” I say, holding up the shopping bag.

  “Let’s see!” Katie squeals.

  Luckily for me, the Minions packed each outfit wrapped in tissue, so I don’t have the embarrassment of having to whip out my phone to check the pictures to make sure I’ve got the right components.

  “Love. It.” Nicole says.

  “Me too!” Katie agrees.

  They like the next three just as much.

  “I can’t believe your parents bought you all those clothes at once,” Katie sighs as I hold up the last outfit from the bag. “It’s like a dream come true.”

  I decide to keep quiet about all the other outfits that are being sent.

  “I know, right?” Nicole says. “And from Très Cher too. I can’t even imagine how much that must have all cost.”

  “Mom gets a special discount,” I say, not even knowing if that’s true. “You guys can borrow stuff.”

  Katie smiles.

  “I call first dibs on the flowery skirt,” she says. “It’s so pretty.”

  “Do you guys . . .” I hesitate, afraid to voice what’s bothering me.

  “What?” Nicole asks.

  “Do I still look like me?” I ask. “I mean, do you think it’s okay, this whole makeover business?”

  “You look great!” Katie says. “You look like you, but more . . . I don’t know . . . sophisticated. Polished. Like you could be in a magazine. Like you’d stand out in a crowd.”

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. . . .

  “How do you feel about it?” Nicole asks.

  I’ve been fidgeting with the jeweled compact Mom gave me, and now I open it to look at myself.

  Fairest in the Land . . . Own it.

  “I don’t know,” I say, suddenly feelingly myself drawn to the reflection of New Me like a bear to honey.

  “Well, as long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters,” Nicole says.

  You are the one that matters, Fairest in the Land.

  “I have to go,” I say, tearing my eyes away from New Me with difficulty to say good-bye to my friends. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I slam the compact shut and spend the rest of the night avoiding my reflection.

  Dad apologizes to me again at breakfast the next morning. It’s as awkward as it was the night before at dinner.

  “Honey, I’m sorry again about yesterday when you came home. I didn’t mean to make you feel . . .”

  I’m more than willing to fill in the blanks for him.

  “Uncomfortable? Like an idiot? Dorky?”

  Dad flushes. Mom gives him an I told you so smirk.

  “Any of those things.” He sighs and takes my hand. “I guess Mom’s right, like she always is. . . . Well, except when it comes to Stranger Danger. I’m not ready for my little princess to grow up.”

  I love my dad, but it’s waaaaay too early for him to be this sappy. I pull my hand away.

  “Sheesh, Dad, it’s not like I’m getting married. I just want a date for the Fall Festive.”

  “The kids at your school have to be idiots if they don’t ask you,” Dad says. “Right, Snow?”

  But Mom’s busy making her first filtered spring water biome organic fruit and kelp smoothie of the day. She alternates between kelp and wood betony.

  A mixture of land and sea keeps you holistically balanced, just like Mother Nature intended! claimed the article she wrote about it on CharmingLifestyles.com, complete with delicious smoothie recipes!

  I’ve tasted her health shakes, and personally, I’d rather go for a slice of pizza and being imbalanced any day.

  As I sit down I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in the polished chrome of the toaster. I’ve never noticed my reflection so often before.

  That’s because you weren’t as much to look at.

  “Mom, can I have some of your smoothie?” I hear myself saying.

  Dad lays his coffee cup warmed fingers across my forehead.

  “Are you feeling okay, Rosie? You hate that stuff!”

  He leans back and picks up his mug again, grinning. “Did Phillipe color your thoughts as well as your hair?”

  I’m starting to wonder that myself.

  Chapter Five

  I PICK UP AN APPLE to supplement my lunch at the fruit stand near the bus stop. We’re not allowed to have apples in the house, because Mom developed a severe aversion to them after the Not Quite Dead incident—even if it did lead to her meeting Dad and living happily ever after.

  It’s too bad, because both Dad and I love apples, especially apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Sometimes we sneak out to the coffee shop on East Seventy-Ninth Street for a pie à la mode fix. The waitresses get all giggly over Dad, which is super annoying, but the fact that they give us extra big slices almost makes up for it.

  You’d think Mom would be allergic to anything that resembles a stay or a girdle too, after Stepgrandmother tried to kill her with one of those, but instead she managed to transform that particular posttraumatic stress into her very profitable line of StaySvelte™ bodyshapers.

  Even though I don’t get a seat on the bus, I take out my Romeo and Juliet essay to reread it one last time before handing it in. Mrs. Minnich is probably expecting me to write about the romance because of my parents, not understanding that it’s because of my parents I think Romeo and Juliet are i
nsane. Maybe I just should have faked an appreciation of true love so I could get an A.

  Oh well, too late now. I sigh and try to stuff the paper back into my backpack without mangling it, which isn’t easy in a crowded bus at rush hour, let me tell you.

  The bus stops on the corner of the block where the Manhattan World Themes Middle School is located. Students crowd the sidewalk, treasuring their last few minutes of freedom before school starts.

  Hunter Farthington, Katie’s date candidate, is standing right near the bus stop with a bunch of his soccer teammates, one of whom is Quinn Fairchild, Katie’s new boyfriend. Just in case anyone might have missed that Hunter’s on the soccer team, he’s wearing a MWTMS Soccer sweatshirt, has a New York Red Bulls sports bag over his shoulder, and he’s attempting to spin a soccer ball on his finger.

  “Hey, Hunter,” I say as I walk by.

  The ball drops from his finger and rolls toward the street as he looks at me, his mouth open. I get to the ball before it reaches the curb and kick it back to him, which hurts my foot more than it normally would because I’m wearing ballet flats instead of my usual Converse.

  Thing that Mom never writes about on CharmingLifestyles.com but should: Putting your best fashion foot forward can be painful!

  “Uh . . . thanks,” Hunter says. He continues staring as I pass by. The guy is cute, but the gawping expression he’s sporting isn’t his best look.

  I spot Katie and Nicole and make a beeline for them.

  Nicole wolf-whistles.

  “Well, look at you, Miss Rosie Charming!”

  “Come on, give us a twirl,” Katie says.

  “Do I have to?” I groan. “People are already looking.”

  “Yes, you do,” Katie orders, and I give a reluctant spin.

  “Isn’t getting people to look the point of looking good?” Nicole asks.

  “Is it?” I mean, I know Mom always writes about putting your best self forward in her CharmingLifestyles.com pieces, but is that just so people will look at you?

  “You know what I mean,” Nicole says.

  I smile and shrug, but I’m not sure I do.

  “Yeah, Hunter Farthington actually took his eyes off the soccer ball when you walked by,” Katie crowed. “He’s totally going to ask you to the Fall Festive. I know it.”