Read Online Just Ella by Margaret Peterson Haddix - Free Book Online Page A

leaned his head close to mine. “Just don’t come down too hard on the heels.”
    â€œI won’t,” I promised. I bit my lip, then said the words I’d been rehearsing since I left the market. “But if I win the money for you, I get to keep the glass slippers.”
    Jonas squinted, sizing me up. I tried to look resolute. I must have succeeded, because Jonas slowly nodded.
    â€œAye,” he said. “If you win.”
    I turned around, and it seemed that every man, woman, or child within three blocks was lined up outside the glassblower’s door.
    â€œSix steps,” Jonas said. “That’s what Harold and me agreed on.”
    I took a deep breath and slipped the shoes on. They were not comfortable. But they held together as I stepped out the door.
    â€œOne!” the crowd shouted. “Two!”
    I kept my eyes on my feet, trying to avoid getting the heels caught between cobblestones.
    â€œThree! Four!”
    For the first time, I considered what would happen if the shoes broke. Would I be digging shards of glass out of my feet the rest of my life?
    â€œFive!”
    I stepped gingerly, my ankles wobbling.
    â€œSix!”
    The crowd burst into cheers, and Jonas let out a triumphant whoop. For the first time I looked up. Those who weren’t cheering were giving me strange looks, and I realized what a sight I must be, in rags and glass slippers. I stepped out of the shoes and went to find Jonas, who was collecting money not just from Harold, but from a whole lineup of men.
    â€œThank you,” I said.
    â€œI’ll take those now,” he said, reaching for the shoes.
    â€œBut you said—,” I protested.
    â€œA misunderstanding,” he said, his grip tightening on the shoes. “What’s abeggar like you need glass slippers for? I can sell these for good money.”
    I drew myself to my full height and glared.
    â€œYou think I misunderstood my deal with you?” I asked. “Perhaps all these people did too, then. You said I could keep the shoes if I won the bet for you. If I don’t keep the shoes, you must not have won the bet.”
    I could remember my father attempting to teach me logic, years ago, and I didn’t think my argument would hold up as a formal proof. But it worked against Jonas, because the crowd around him began to grumble. “What? We don’t have to pay?” “You trying to cheat the girl, Jonas?” “You cheating us?”
    Jonas let go of the shoes.
    â€œVery well,” he said tightly.
    I turned and ran, before he changed his mind. It wasn’t very dignified. But I had my shoes now.
    The day of the ball came. Griselda and Corimunde spent the entire day preparing or, rather, demanding that I prepare them. I curled their limp, mousy locks at least six times apiece, trying to get the curls to hold. At six o’clock, I helped them into their dresses, which were so covered with ruffles and ribbons that they both looked like giant wedding cakes with heads on top. I stitched up the back of Corimunde’s dress where she ripped out a seam getting into it. I fastened and then unfastened and then refastened the hook at the back of Griselda’s neck when she complained, “It’s too tight—it’s too loose—it’s too tight. . . .” I personally placed forkfuls of food in their mouthswhen they got hungry and Lucille admonished them not to eat for fear of mussing their dresses.
    If I hadn’t hated them before, I truly despised them now. I thought I could never be happier than I was at half past seven, when their hired carriage drove up and Lucille crowed, “Girls! Time to see and be seen!”—and they were off.
    Lucille leaned her head back in the door and bellowed, “Remember! Scrub the entire cellar before we’re back!”
    I made a face she couldn’t see. And as soon as she let the door close, I scurried up the stairs, scrubbed my face