Page 5 of If The Shoe Fits (A Howlin’ Good Fairytale Retelling #2)
chapter four
I can’t help but wonder what fresh chaos awaits me as I hustle my fluffy butt down the corridor and then down three flights of stairs— yes, three —to the principal’s office on the first floor.
Who decided to put the most intimidating room in the building at the bottom of this architectural nightmare?
When I’m happy, I like the mansion just fine. When I’m not, well, you get the idea.
By the time I hit the last step, my calves are burning, my lungs are staging a rebellion, and I’m seriously rethinking my life choices.
Two muffins might have been overkill.
I pause just outside the office door to catch my breath, pressing a hand to my chest like a fainting heroine in one of those overly dramatic romance novels my best friend is obsessed with.
Only, instead of a dashing duke appearing to sweep me off my feet, I hear muffled sobs through the heavy wooden door.
Fantastic.
Taking a deep breath— not nearly as deep as I’d like, considering my sprint-induced wheezing —I push the door open, bracing myself for whatever awaits on the other side.
And there she is.
Cyndi Tremayne.
The queen of crocodile tears herself is putting on a performance so convincing, I half expect someone to walk in with a bouquet of roses and an award for Best Actress in a Drama.
Her sobs are delicate yet audible enough to tug on even the coldest of hearts—well, not mine, but that’s beside the point.
She’s practically draped across her father, the principal, like a tragic damsel in distress.
Principal Tremayne, bless him, looks every bit the doting father as he pats her shoulder and rubs soothing circles on her back.
He’s murmuring soft, comforting words that I can’t quite make out, but I’m pretty sure they include “poor thing” and “it’s going to be okay.”
Meanwhile, Cyndi peeks up at me through her ridiculously long lashes, a single tear slipping down her cheek like a perfectly timed special effect.
Her lips quiver, her chin trembles, and for a moment, I almost believe she’s genuinely upset.
Almost.
But this is Cyndi we’re talking about.
The same Cyndi who put a tadpole in my tea and magicked Wicked Witch onto my classroom wall.
She’s about as innocent as a hungry gremlin at a midnight buffet.
I stand there, taking in the scene, wondering if I should say something or just quietly back away.
But no, I’ve been summoned, and there’s no escaping now. Principal Tremayne looks up, spots me hovering in the doorway, and gives me a strained smile.
“Ah, Professor. Thank you for coming so quickly.”
Quickly?
Oh, honey, if you saw me running down those stairs, you’d know quickly wasn’t exactly the word for it.
But I just nod, plastering on a polite smile and stepping inside, bracing myself for whatever absurd accusation Cyndi is about to lob my way.
Let the games begin.