Chapter 33
They won’t let me go back.
They’ve flipped through this book, read it aloud like it was proof I did something wrong, instead of love letters to the only friend I’ve ever had.
And now, next year...
Next year, I won’t be there. What does that mean?
The boy with the hard scales and soft heart waits and waits, but the girl doesn’t return.
No, it’s not fair! Not when I was so close. I can hear them yelling talking through the walls. Aunt Andrea keeps saying I’ll thank her one day.
I won’t.
In all the versions of Cinderella, is there anyone where she’s grateful her stepmother didn’t allow her to go to the ball?
No…
No.
If Aunt Andrea thinks that keeping me from this place, from him, will make me want it any less, she’s wrong. Gale is waiting. pretend.
I won’t forget.
I know what’s real!
He’s real.
I didn’t lie.
I wouldn’t–I wouldn’t!
And I think both her and Uncle Orson must know that.
That…
I’ve never always been a liar.
That it was all just a story, that’s it.
The lonely girl—her unexpected friend.
It was all just pretend.
Or at least, that’s what I’ll tell them.