Free Just Ella by Margaret Peterson Haddix

silken. The curls that had escaped from my ribbon looked as though theywere supposed to be that way. The dress clung in all the right places, and as slender as I’d become, I was still plenty large where I needed to be.
    I was beautiful. Truly beautiful.
    I was still reeling from the shock of that notion when a fussy little man in a velvet waistcoat approached me.
    â€œAnd how shall we announce you?” he asked.
    â€œA-announce?” I stammered, as stupidly as Griselda or Corimunde.
    â€œYour name, ” he said, as though he expected women to be stupid.
    I watched an exquisitely dressed woman in front of me stand in an entryway while a deep voice called out, “Esmeralda Maria von Drappia.”
    She curtsied, and it sounded as though an entire village was applauding her. Then she glided into the ballroom.
    So, I was to be announced too. The Step-Evils would know I was here. Well, so be it. My chin shot defiantly into the air.
    â€œJust say Cinders-Ella is here,” I said.
    The man raised one eyebrow but nodded. He gave me a little push, and then I was standing in the entrance, blinded by the spotlights.
    â€œCinderella,” the voice called out.
    Numbly I moved forward, trying to get into the shadows so I could see. But almost instantly, a man took my hand.
    â€œMay I have this dance?”
    I nodded, too stunned to speak. Evidently no words were needed.The man took my other hand and whirled me along with the music.
    I have not danced much, so at first it took all my concentration to follow his lead. But he had all the skill I lacked. Soon I could think and dance both, just by letting him take control. I examined my partner. He had a wide chest, a cleft chin, a strong jaw, brilliant blue eyes, golden hair, a gleaming crown. I gasped.
    â€œYou’re the prince,” I said.
    â€œYes,” he said, and I liked the way he said it, very simply. He didn’t boast. He didn’t apologize the way I thought I would have if I’d been royalty: “Yes, but please don’t let it make you think any differently of me.” My heart beat fast. I hoped Lucille saw me dancing with the prince. But when I tried to look around to see if any of the Step-Evils were watching, I began to lose the time of the waltz, and nearly stumbled. I focused on the prince again. Because of my fragile glass slippers, I had to lean into him. I hoped he didn’t think me forward.
    The song ended with a whisper of violins, and I expected the prince to move on to another girl. But he peered deep into my eyes and murmured, “Again?”
    I felt a thrill and murmured back, “Yes.” Surely Lucille would see me now.
    Somehow we ended up dancing every dance together. My feet were practically bloodied with the rubbing of the slippers, and I asked to sit down. The prince led me out onto a terrace, just him and me. From there I could see the moonlight and starshine and fields of roses. I looked back towardthe castle and saw suddenly that there were two ballrooms facing the terrace. The first, where I’d been, was small and intimate. The other was large and packed. I caught sight of a fuchsia ruffle—yes, Griselda and Corimunde were in the other ballroom. So they hadn’t seen me.
    The prince began gently tracing the outline of my face with his finger, turning my face toward him.
    â€œYou’re very beautiful,” he whispered in a reverent tone.
    I wanted to say, “You are too,” but I knew that was wrong, because he was handsome, not beautiful. And then I couldn’t say anything, because his hands had moved to the back of my head and were pulling me closer, and then suddenly he was kissing me, and I couldn’t think of any words, only of him. Somehow he lifted me up, and we were dancing again, out on the terrace, under the stars. I could hear the music from the ballroom, light and beautiful. And then I heard something else, a rumbling Dong, dong, dong . . .
    I pulled back