The Cinderella Theorem (14 page)

“Certainly,
Your Majesty.” Macon answered, trying hard to look as if he had not noticed my
unfinished greeting. He bowed and left.

“So,”
my father said, sitting down, “your mother is still waiting for the West Coast
to call?”

“Yes,”
I nodded and sat also. I considered adding more to this answer, but just when I
was about to say something like “I’ve never seen Mom wait for the West Coast
past seven-thirty,” an annoying thought flitted through my mind. When we do
move here, it will be like this every time Mom has to wait for the West Coast
to call: awkward and weird. It was so much easier when it was just Mom and me.
We could be eating and talking while she waited for the call, and there was no
awkwardness and no strange father person.

If
my father noticed the lack of additional information, he did not show it. “I
hear, Lily, that congratulations are in order.”

I
looked at him.

“Grimm
says you were very successful at cheering King Arthur this afternoon.”

“Yes,
I was.”

“He
also said you were faster than even some of Calo’s attempts.”

“Really?”
Beating Calo should be in my file as something known to cheer me.

“Yes.
Grimm was rather pleased. He told me your creativity in making Happiness Plans
was a sign of good things to come with you as the Protector.”    

I
smiled, blushed, and was saved from answering by Lubcker and company bringing
in the food. We continued to have awkward and halting conversation until Mom
joined us thirteen minutes later. She was full of news about the West Coast
publisher and the plans for her book. It was a relief to have her back. She was
the middle of the Venn diagram of our family–the one thing that both circles
have in common.
[39]

My
annoyed mood continued for the rest of the evening. I was annoyed during the
apple pie made of non-poisonous apples from Hemlock, Lady Potio’s estate. I was
annoyed while we sipped hot chocolate and watched Shaherzhad’s latest movie.
(According to Mom, she is the premier Smythian filmmaker.) And I was annoyed
when we all said good night, and the good night I gave to my father was the
only one without a name attached to it.

After
I closed the door to my room, I collapsed in my squishy chair. My family’s lack
of normality was one factor in my mood. The moving issue was a large factor,
also. But, upon examination, I was surprised to find another factor. I was
annoyed at myself for being annoyed. I created an equation for the annoyance:

abnormal family + 2(stealthily moving Lily to Smythe)
+ being annoyed = annoyance

I
decided to sleep it off.

~~~

Saturday
morning began in a better mood, but it was a lost cause after the dragon
attack. Macon rushed in during breakfast to tell us Naga was in the third wood,
breathing fire, and destroying things. She was also headed straight for our
castle. My father jumped up, kissed my mother, hugged me and ran out of the
breakfast room shouting, “Get to the fireproof room!”

In
the next instant, Mom grabbed my hand and took off running. A voice began to
speak over a PA system (
We have a PA system?
), “Please do not panic.
Make your way to the fireproof room, immediately. This is not a drill.” The
same message was repeated over and over again. After three full minutes of
running, we came to an elevator. Mom pulled me on and pushed the button labeled
fireproof room
.

While
breathing deeply, I managed to say, “I’ve never seen that button on the
elevator before.” I had traveled the elevators in the castle several times, and
so far I had only seen normal elevator buttons.

“It’s
the Enchanted Elevator,” Mom said, between breaths. “Only takes you to magical
rooms.”

The
doors opened to let on two guards and a very frightened maid. Mom smiled
encouragingly to her. The elevator opened again this time to let on an ancient
man. Mom whispered to me that he was the court wizard. (Shouldn’t the wizard be
fighting the dragon or something? What is his magic good for, if he can’t fight
the dragon?) Finally, the doors opened to the fireproof room.

I do
not know how to mathematically define the fireproof room, but I do know that
“room” is not sufficient. It was the largest “room” I had ever seen and was
full of bunk beds and couches. Mom led me over to a corner couch. She took a
book off the coffee table. “Here, Lily. This will keep you busy while I make
sure everyone else is comfortable.” She smiled and winked, “A queen’s job is
never done.”

After
she walked away, I looked at the book. It was Descartes’
Discourse on Method
.
A nice, logical book to read while waiting for a dragon attack. I sighed and
opened it.

~~~

Around
midnight, we were finally able to leave the fireproof room. Mom woke me up and
walked me back to my room. She said it had taken St. George and most of HEA to
take care of the problem.

“So
did they kill it or whatever?” I yawned.

“Kill
it?” Mom looked scandalized. “Of course not! Dragons are also citizens of the
realm. They deserve to have the same respect we would offer to any
human
citizens. Really, Lily.”

I
closed my eyes and sighed. Clearly we were having trouble with the values of
the variables in my dragon equation. I thought taking care of the problem equaled
killing the dragon. Mom had a different idea. I tried again, “So what do you
mean by ‘they took care of the problem’?”

“They
talked to Naga, determined what had upset her, and helped her find a more
constructive solution.”

“Oh.”
Smythian logic is too tiring at midnight. I said good night and went to bed.

I
woke early the next day. I hadn’t done my homework yet, and evidently, I could
never be sure a dragon wouldn’t ruin my plans. It was a wonderful day for
homework, too. My father and Macon were busy with some sort of paperwork
dealing with Naga and her attack. Mom spent the day in the throne room
listening to the citizens’ claims for property damage. So while my royal
parents dealt with the aftermath of Naga’s tantrum, I finished all my homework without
any magical interruptions and still had time to read about Newton. Reading
about Newton helped me to break out a little from the annoyed mood I was in.
(Newton = negative degrees of annoyance.)

Mom
came by late in the afternoon to get me for tea. On our way, she said, “Lily, I
don’t think I’ve mentioned this to you, but as a gesture of goodwill and
openness to our subjects, your father and I have decided to issue invitations
each week for our Sunday tea. It really goes a long way towards building trust
between the royal family and the citizens.” She patted my shoulder. “So
remember to be on your best behavior.”

I
managed to get through the tea with lots of fake smiles to cover my annoyance.
For normal teenagers, it is annoying to spring guests on them at the last
minute. For me, it is infinity annoying to expect me to entertain fairy tale
guests when I haven’t had a chance to review their stories or find out who they
are.

I
passed the cookies to Minerva, who was a goddesses from Olympus. I made small talk
with Paul Bunyan, and avoided the Erlking, who, Paul told me, liked to steal
children away from their parents. The other guests were three bears (mother,
father, and cub) and a girl with curly blonde hair. I made several attempts to
interact with them, but each try met with failure. Every time I got close to
one of them, they all got up and changed chairs. I heard the little bear
whining about wanting the chair the blonde girl had.

An
hour and a half later, the guests had all gone home. There had been a bit of
drama, when the Erlking nearly succeeded in enticing the bear cub to come home
with him, but Paul stepped in and broke the spell. Mom and I made our way to
Arrivhall (My father had to give Macon a few more instructions). Portaling home
was made (annoyingly) easy by our lack of luggage. (Lack of luggage = constant
reminder that my parents are slowly moving me and destroying my life.)

I
went to bed on Sunday night with hopes that Monday would begin a new week, with
less annoyance and more math. As I slept, I dreamed I was back at Ella’s, in
her sunny hallway. I went to the table under the mirror to look through her
mail.

A
black envelope was addressed to me.

I
opened it.

Lily,

Don’t
get too comfortable, dear. You’re just a step away from vanishing.

Levi

P.S.
I’m airing out a dungeon just for you…

I
dropped the letter and woke to the sound of myself screaming. Peridiom was
jumping on my bed, chanting, “Get up! Get up!” I lay there, breathing rapidly
for a few seconds, before hurling my pillow at him. Both he and the pillow
landed on the floor.

“You’re
late!” he yelled and ran out of my room. I looked at the alarm clock. I
was
late. Why hadn’t my clock gone off? I checked the back. Somehow, the alarm had
been turned off. I touched the alarm button to see if it was still functioning
and I felt a sick sensation in my stomach.

I
looked at the finger that had pushed the button. It was greasy.

In
spite of my lateness, I sat on the edge of my bed for a few moments; I was
tired of being a part of Levi’s evil scheme and I didn’t think I could handle
much more of him and his grease. I got up and washed my finger in the bathroom.

I
came back and rushed around, throwing on some clothes and grabbing my book bag.
After checking the time, I calculated there was just enough left to brush my
teeth and walk quickly to school. (Breakfast would have to be skipped.)

My
father was already in the bathroom, but since he was only using the
mirrorphone, he didn’t bother to close the door. He should have. He was wearing
no shirt; only the shorts he slept in and his hair was wild. He stood in front
of the mirror, waving his hands and yelling at Macon Mind. It seemed Levi had
messed with their alarm too.

I
left my improperly clothed father and went to get my extra toothbrush from the
hall closet. I could brush my teeth at the kitchen sink. However, when I opened
the closet door, I remembered my extra toothbrush was in my bathroom at Smythe.
I sighed, annoyed about fathers without shirts, toothbrushes in different worlds,
and alarms that don’t work because greasy sycophants turned them off. I went
downstairs and grabbed some gum, not at all cheered by its dual role as
breakfast and breath freshener.

Corrie
did not help my annoyed mood. This was unfortunate, because as my best friend
she has the greatest probability of solving that equation. Corrie was, in fact,
annoyed herself, and she was annoyed at me. She tried to call me this weekend,
apparently. Several times. No one ever answered the phone. (I wonder why.)

“I
kept getting your machine. Did you go out of town?”

“Why
didn’t you leave a message?” I asked avoiding the out of town question. I
needed time to think of an answer.

“You
know I can’t leave messages, Lily!”

“Oh.
Right.” I had forgotten, but it was true. In addition to being obsessed with
punctuality and the effective use of time, Corrie’s father is also extremely
concerned with saving money. He says one of the secrets of the phone company
tyrants (as he calls them) is that if you don’t leave a message on an answering
machine, then you won’t be charged as much. Whether this is true or not, I
don’t know, but Corrie told me once she suspected him of listening on the other
phone to make sure she didn’t leave messages when she called people.

“So
where were you?”

The
bell rang, and we started walking to our lockers.

I
panicked. I had hoped Corrie would never notice I was unavailable from
three-thirty to five every day or that I was gone for entire weekends. I
couldn’t think of anything that I could twist around to make truth. “Mom and I
were in and out a lot. We probably just kept missing each other.”

“Yeah,
I guess.” Corrie picked up her bag and closed her locker door. “See you at
lunch?”

“Yeah.
See ya, Corrie.” I sighed. Corrie (quite normally) walked to her first class,
and I was left alone with an abnormal mess of half-truths and fairy tale
people.

~~~

Mrs.
Fox was in a terrific mood. She hopped around in her exclamatory way, asking
about everyone’s weekends. She would have loved mine. My mind strayed for a
moment, thinking about Mrs. Fox planning a field trip to Smythe’s SFL. “Make
sure you bring your keys, everyone!” “Now, remember, don’t upset Morgan le
Faye!” “Who can tell me a story this handsome wolf is in?!”

“Alright,
class! Let’s begin!” The real Mrs. Fox called my attention away from the
imaginary one. “Get out a sheet of paper! Put your name on it; then write the
topic of your fairy tale paper!”

Fairy
tale paper! Oh no. In response to the exasperated sighs from some of the class,
Mrs. Fox said, “Remember?! I gave the assignment on Friday! You are to turn in
your topics today!”

I
did not remember. A lot of things had happened since Friday. I ripped a sheet
of paper out of my notebook, annoyed that I had let a massive storm, magical
doors, tea with Cinderella, a dragon attack, tea with bears, and greasy Levi
make me forget a homework assignment.

Mrs.
Fox circled the room, winding up her exclamation point. “Don’t forget to start
your topic with either ‘Legendary Literature is worthy of study because’ or
‘Legendary Literature is
not
worthy of study because’!”

I
stared at my paper, searching my brain for any kind of topic. My mind rebelled
against the abnormality of writing about fairy tales. I couldn’t think; it’s
not a normal thought process. In fact, since my birthday, nothing had been
normal. A life filled with magic is
not
normal. My parents
are not
normal. Dragons
are not
normal. Practically lying to my best friend
is
not
normal. Fairy tales
are not
normal!

I
sat up. My mind turned that last thought over and over again. Fairy tales are
not normal. They can never live completely Happily Ever After
because
they’re not normal. They have poisoned apples and glass shoes and really long
hair. No wonder HEA is so busy; the citizens don’t stand a chance of being
happy (Normality = happiness). Yet, their stories are still read to children
night after night. And those children grow up thinking that to be Happily Ever
After is some magical thing that can happen to them. I grabbed my pencil and
started to write.

Legendary
Literature is not worthy of study because it presents a false idea of
happiness. Children, who read this kind of literature, associate “happily ever
after” with these stories. Fairy Tales, especially, should not be studied,
since the children cannot relate to the characters. The magic and enchantment
of the tales separate them from the reader. Fairy Tales can never present a
normal picture of happiness, because they are not, in fact, normal.

~~~

Calo
was out when I got to work. A note on my desk read:

I
had to take an emergency case. Not sure when I’ll be back. Use the afternoon to
brush up on some stories–you definitely need it.

Calo

I
crumpled his note into a ball and threw it away.

I
had just finished highlighting the citizens who were in danger on the latest
report when Lane (the little man dressed in blue) entered the cubicle.

“Got
a letter for you, Princess.” He handed it to me.

I
opened the envelope, relieved it was not black; it was from Cinderella. She
thanked me for a pleasant afternoon last week, and hoped I would visit again.
She was available at any time, she said, because, unlike Aven (who probably
couldn’t join us, because he was so busy), she had nothing occupying her at
present.

Again,
that hint of something that was always in her tone. Bitterness?

I
grabbed the three o’clock report. Ella was only Less than Happy, just below
Happy. I mentally processed the past reports I had highlighted. I could not
remember a time when Ella had been above Less than Happy. I found the other
reports for the day on Calo’s desk and looked through them. She’d been Less
than Happy all day.

I
felt close to making a hypothesis or even a conclusion, but I stopped myself; I
needed more data. (Hypothesizing with insufficient data is really unacceptable.)
I grabbed the inter-office phone and called Hannah.

“How
can I help you, Princess?”

“Can
you connect me to The Observatory?”

“Of
course.”

I
heard a clicking on the line; then; “This is The Observatory, Doug speaking.”

“Hi,
Doug. This is Lily…uh, Princess Lily.” I added, stupidly.

“Certainly,
Princess. How can I be of service to you?”

“I’m
processing some past Happiness data for a report. Could you tell me when
Cinderella’s levels were last over Less than Happy?”

“Sure.
One moment.”

I
could hear Doug typing in the background. “Uh, Princess?”

“Yes?”

“We
only keep observation records in our files for three months, and I have no
record of Cinderella being over Less than Happy in that time. She dipped a
couple of times but never to Could be Happier.”

“Oh.”
I paused. “So, there’s no way to know when she was last Happy?”

“No.
Well, after three months, we transfer our files to The Archive. They’ll be able
to help you, and you’ll have the advantage of looking at the whole file–you
know, Happiologists visits and notes, things like that. Ask for Kikika. She’ll
help you.”

“Kikika?”

“She
runs The Archive. She’s Sirena’s oldest sister.”

“Who’s
Sirena?” The name sounded familiar.

“The
Little Mermaid,” Doug said slowly, like he wasn’t sure why I didn’t already know
that Sirena was the Little Mermaid.

“The
Little Mermaid has sisters?”

“Yes.
Five to be exact.”

I
decided to end the conversation before Doug found out I truly know nothing
about this world. “So, I should ask Kikika for the Cinderella File?”

“Yeah.
She organized the entire Archive when it opened. She’ll be able to find
whatever you need.”

I
thanked him and said goodbye.

I
sat back in my chair to think. If I was right about Ella, her file would show
she hadn’t been Happy in a while. In every encounter with her, I’ve felt that
odd bitterness. She’s not Happy. And if that was true, I could use her for my
paper. I could use her to prove fairy tale characters aren’t happy because they
aren’t normal.

~~~

Kikika,
for all her organization, was not in The Archive. She was not even in the
building, her replacement, Debra, told me.

“She’s
on vacation.”

I
was a little disappointed. Even though I didn’t know that The Little Mermaid
had five sisters, I knew Sirena would be the only one to have legs. I was
curious to see how Kikika managed to be working in an office. A rolling tub of
water? A controlled flood? Some magical apparatus that defies all logic and
math?

I
smiled at Debra. “Perhaps you can help. I need to see Cinderella’s complete
file.”

“Certainly,”
Debra came out from behind the counter. “The C file cabinet is over here.”

“Thanks.”
I wondered what story Debra was from, but didn’t think I knew her well enough
to ask. Debra went back to the counter, and I turned my attention to the first
drawer, Ca–Cm. Cinderella (Ci) would be in there. I found Ella’s file without
any problem; I was about to close the drawer when something caught my
attention. Every file had a round yellow sticker on it, right after the name.
Every file, except one: the Candlemaker’s Daughter (Ca). It had an orange
sticker. I took both files to the desk.

“Did
you find what you wanted?” Debra asked.

“Yes.
I want to check out Cinderella’s, and I have a question about this one.” I held
up the Candlemaker’s Daughter. “Why does it have an orange sticker? All the
other files have yellow ones.”

“Hmm.
I don’t know.” Debra took the file from me and looked at the sticker. “Yellow
stickers mean the story is active, but I’m not sure what an orange sticker
means.”

“Do
you know how to find out?”

“I
guess I could look in the notes Kikika left. It might be there.” Debra flipped
through a well-organized three-ring binder. Her finger jabbed at something in
the middle of a page. “Orange stickers mean the story is inactive.”

“What
does inactive mean?”

“It
means the story’s been vanished.”

~~~

I
decided to take both files. The orange-stickered one intrigued me. Logically,
of course, my interest was only a natural and mathematical result of the
sensation of seeing
only one
orange sticker in the row of yellow ones. Besides,
something about a story that had vanished was intriguing.

Calo
still wasn’t there when I returned to our cubicle. I was glad; I wanted to ask
some questions about orange stickers and vanishing stories and was relieved I
didn’t have to ask him. Grimm was never condescending when I asked questions.

Grimm
waved me into his office when he saw me at the door; he was on the phone.
“Absolutely, Kara. I totally agree…. But…. No, but if he hasn’t broken
international law, then we’ll have no case…. No. I don’t think so. I think
Tallis will argue that Marshall Road is an extension of Smythe’s SFL, because
it’s a portal point.”

Apparently,
Grimm and Kara (from the Agency) were discussing Levi and his alarm clock
trick.

“I
realize the King is calling for action, but we both know the law is unclear on
this point. If we pursue this, Tallis will have the excuse he needs for a full
assault…. What excuse? The unlawful detainment of one of his operatives…. Okay….
Sure…. Alright. I’ll be there. Thanks again, Kara. Goodbye.” Grimm placed the
phone on its cradle and turned to me. “Well, Lily, Levi’s latest stunt is
causing an international uproar.”