Free If the Shoe Fits (Whatever After #2) by Sarah Mlynowski Page A

out, she can start a taxi service.
    “We can always take the parriage,” Cinderella says.
    “I hate porridge,” Jonah says. “Stick to brownies, please.”
    “The what?” I ask.
    “The parriage! Don’t you have parriages in Smithville?”
    “I don’t know what that is,” I say.
    She looks at me with disbelief. “This Smithville place sure sounds backward.”
    Humph. At least we have brownies.
    “Oh, look,” she says, pointing down the street. “Here comes a parriage now!”
    Up ahead is a green carriage being pulled by two horses. On the front of the carriage it says 5: CROSSTOWN .
    “Oh!” Jonah exclaims. “It’s a bus!”
    “It’s a parriage,” Cinderella says. “You know. Public carriage.”
    “Cool,” I say. “But how much does it cost? We don’t have any money.”
    “Fifty cents a person,” she says. “Each way.”
    “Maybe we can pay in brownies.” I wave at the driver as the parriage approaches, but he doesn’t stop.
    “Don’t be silly,” Cinderella says. “You have to be picked up at the parriage stop.”
    “Where is it?” I ask, annoyed. We’re never going to make it!
    “At the end of the street,” Cinderella says.
    I see a sign in the shape of a diamond at the corner. “Jonah, you run, and I’ll help Cinderella. Go, go, go!”
    Jonah runs up ahead, carrying his share of the brownies. I don’t know if he’s going to make it.
    Cinderella and I follow behind as fast as we can.
    “Ouch,” she says with every step. “Ouch, ouch, ouch.”
    “We’re almost there!” I encourage. Poor Cinderella.
    He runs … he runs … and he makes it!
    Jonah steps onto the carriage. He steps back out a second later. “He’ll take us,” he shouts. “For a half dozen brownies!”
    “Six brownies? That’s highway robbery! That’s six dollars’ worth!”
    “It’s worse than that. I had to give him a whole brownie to taste first. He liked it — a lot — but that’s his final offer. He says take it or leave it.”
    “It’s not like we have a choice,” Cinderella says.
    Grumble. Sounds like brownie blackmail to me. “All right. Six more brownies it is,” I say. I wish we had saved some of our gross ones from last night.
    We reach the bus, hand over the brownies, and squish into a seat.
    “These are really good,” the driver says. Crumbs are caught in his beard. “What are they called again? Crownies?”
    “Brownies,” Jonah says.
    Hmm, I kind of like crownies . And since no one here knows what brownies are we can call them crownies if we want. Why not? We invented them! And then we could call the store Cinderella’s Crownies!
    “Cinderella’s Crownies,” I announce. “We’ll be at the market. Tell your friends.”
    Cinderella puts her foot up on the seat. Her toes are still the size of marshmallows.
    Hmmm. Marshmallow crownies?
    I look back at her toes. Yuck. Never mind.

T he market has all kinds of cool stuff. Food, clothes, furniture, old people in puffy outfits. We set up on the ironing board. Jonah hangs a sign that says, C INDERELLA’S B ROWNIES ! $1 EACH !
    I take out the marker and turn the B into a C . Much better.
    The brownie-crownies look amazing. They smell amazing.
    Only problem? We’ve sold:
    Zero.
    “Why is no one buying any?” Jonah whines, finishing off a brownie-crownie.
    “Maybe they’re too expensive,” Cinderella says.
    “Yes, but this way we don’t have to sell as many,” I say.
    “Yes, but right now we’re not selling any,” she says. “If they cost less, more people will buy them.”
    When did she get so business-savvy? “Fine. We’ll try selling them for fifty cents apiece.”
    I change the sign to two for a dollar. It doesn’t help.
    Do you know what’s also not helping? Jonah eating all the brownie-crownies.
    “What time does the market close?” I ask.
    “We have a few more hours,” Cinderella says. “We have to get home and make dinner.”
    “At least we have dessert,” Jonah says.
    One older woman comes up and