Cinderella's Endgame

“Do you believe in fairytales?” I was pulled out of my thoughts when our teacher suddenly spoke. My mind had been occupied by a certain jerk for a while now, so I wasn’t paying much attention to the lecture. But that single word was enough to grab my focus. Fairytale. Without realizing it, I looked around the classroom. A few of my classmates raised their hands. I couldn’t help but sigh at that. I was about to look back at the front when my eyes accidentally met his. A playful smirk was plastered on his lips. I glared at him, rolled my eyes, and quickly looked away. Oh, right. They were discussing fairytales for our theater play two months from now. I wasn’t interested anyway since I already knew what my role would be—nothing. “Fairytales are something that shaped who we are now,” our teacher continued. “Little girls wanted to be princesses, and boys wanted to be prince charmings who save damsels in distress. Whether you admit it or not, when you were kids, you once dreamed of being part of a fairytale.” I lowered my head, feeling slightly embarrassed. She didn’t have to call me out like that—because, ugh, gross. Me? A princess? Yuck. “Miss Parisi.” I nearly jumped in my seat when I heard my surname. I looked up and found our teacher staring straight at me. I gulped nervously. “Y-Yes, Ma’am?” “Why did you say yuck?” she asked, making my jaw drop. Did I really say that out loud? I was about to answer when a loud laugh interrupted me. I didn’t even have to look to know who it was. I closed my eyes tightly and pursed my lips, trying to control my emotions. “Mr. Sarvida, what’s so funny?” our teacher asked him seriously. I opened my eyes again, waiting for his answer. He let out a soft chuckle before replying, “Ma’am, she said yuck because she doesn’t suit being a princess.” I looked away, hiding my eye roll. I hate to admit it, but yeah, he had a point. Still, he didn’t have to announce it in front of everyone. “How do you say so, Mr. Sarvida?” He laughed again, which made me glare at him. I shot him a warning look, silently telling him not to continue—but of course, he ignored it. “Ma’am, instead of a princess, I think she’d pass better as Mother Gothel from Rapunzel,” he said proudly. My lips parted in disbelief. What?! Mother Gothel? Me? I hissed and looked away, subconsciously touching my hair that really did resemble Mother Gothel’s—super curly and dark as night, like pancit canton noodles. My classmates laughed, and I didn’t even bother to react anymore. It wasn’t new. What else was new from him besides his daily dose of insults? Breakfast: bitterness. Lunch: mockery. Dinner: evilness. If anyone deserved the role of Mother Gothel, it would be him. I’d only be the understudy. “Oh, really?” our teacher mused, then turned to me. “How about you, Miss Parisi? Do you think Mr. Sarvida could pass as a Prince Charming?” My classmates instantly cheered. I sighed loudly and sat up straight, thinking about whether to say yes or no. If I say yes, his so-called ‘fans’ at school will murder me. If I say no, they’ll still murder me. After a moment, I looked up. “No, Ma’am. I don’t think so.” The class erupted in boos. Instead of taking it back, I just met our teacher’s raised eyebrow with my chin up. Unlike everyone else, she looked more intrigued than angry. “The audacity of that maid,” someone whispered, but I didn’t flinch. “She’s got some nerve saying that to Gideon when his family’s literally the reason she’s studying here for free.” “Care to justify your answer, Miss Parisi?” the teacher asked again, her tone amused. I glanced at her, unsure if I should answer. Instead, I looked straight at him. My face was blank, my eyes cold, before turning back to our teacher. “I think he thinks he’s like Aladdin, but honestly, he’s more of a Jafar. His humor’s dry, and he’s clearly narcissistic. Prince Charming? Not a chance, Ma’am. Maybe a wannabe villain, that fits better.” . . . “Cindy! Cindy!” I stopped walking when I heard my name being called. I looked around, confused, until I heard a sinister chuckle from above. I looked up— “Holy crap!” I screamed as red paint suddenly poured all over me. I froze, drenched from head to toe, eyes wide in disbelief as I stared at the culprit above. The bucket had been tied to a rope, and someone—obviously him—pulled it. “There, now your hair matches Ariel’s. Well, her entire body, actually,” he teased, laughing loudly. My jaw clenched. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped, clearly annoyed. He slid his hands into his pockets and casually walked closer, stopping right before stepping into the puddle of paint. I glared at him, but all he did was flash that smug grin. I exhaled sharply to calm myself and glanced down at my red-stained uniform. Great. I had another class next—guess I wasn’t attending that one. I gave him one last glare before turning and storming off. People were staring as I passed by, but I didn’t care. They were used to it anyway. Instead of blocking my way, they moved aside—probably scared I’d stain their clothes too. I went straight to the locker room to grab my extra clothes. I had no choice but to shower and change—no way was I going home looking like a tomato. The bell rang just as I stepped into the gym bathroom. Thankfully, our school was fancy enough to have decent facilities. I sighed as the water from the shower washed the red paint off my body. “Cohen Gideon Sarvida,” I muttered irritably, “if I really were Mother Gothel, I’d lock you up in a damn tower and never let you out, you jerk.” I didn’t know how long I’d been there, but when I looked up at the door where I hung my clothes, my eyes widened. They were gone. “Of course,” I muttered in frustration, massaging my temples. “Just my luck. What now?” I stood there for minutes, trying to think. My paint-soaked clothes were useless, and it was getting quiet outside—meaning everyone probably went home. “Cindy? Are you still here?” My eyes widened at the familiar voice. “H-Hunter?” I stammered. Before I could even react to why he was in the girls’ restroom, someone hung a P.E. uniform over the stall door. “I heard some girls talking about stealing your clothes. Go change,” he said from the other side. I quickly grabbed the uniform. He saved me… again. After changing, I stepped out. He was leaning casually against the wall, waiting. I cleared my throat to get his attention. He looked up and smiled faintly. “Everything good?” I nodded. “Thanks. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t hear those girls. I didn’t even notice when they took my clothes—I was too busy washing off the paint.” “No problem. Besides, Gideon would’ve wondered why you were still inside if I didn’t show up,” he chuckled. “He’s just got too much free time, that’s all. Don’t take it too hard.” I sighed and shrugged. “I’m used to it. Not a big deal,” I said with a small smile. “I’ll go ahead. He said earlier we’d go home together since he needs me for something.” He nodded, still smiling. “Take care, Cinderella. You’re working too hard—see what it’s doing to you?” he joked, and I laughed lightly. After saying goodbye, I went straight to our classroom where Gideon was waiting. A few students still glanced at me, probably remembering the earlier scene. Before I could even step inside, two bags flew toward my face. I caught them just in time—of course, it was him. “You could’ve just handed them nicely,” I muttered, slinging my own bag over my shoulder and holding his. “Hurry up. I still need to lecture you when we get home.” I couldn’t help but shake my head. I followed him, even though his bag felt ridiculously heavy. I peeked inside and instantly grimaced. One notebook… and three big rocks. I shut it immediately as he stopped walking. “What? Any complaints? That’s your job, isn’t it?” he said smugly. I bit my lip and forced a fake smile. “None, Sir Gideon,” I replied sarcastically. He scoffed. “Don’t act innocent. I know you were with Hunter—that’s why you’re late. What, you think he’s your Prince Charming or something? Keep dreaming.” I rolled my eyes as soon as he turned his back. This—this right here—is why I don’t believe in fairytales anymore. They’re just stories. Fiction. Not real. I looked up at him again as he walked ahead, acting like the world revolved around him. I scoffed and shook my head in frustration. I don’t think I can stand his presence anymore. I just can’t. Because unlike in fairytales, there’s no such thing as a Prince Charming anymore. They don’t save the princess—they’re the ones who humiliate and hurt her. Well… except for Hunter. He’s the real-life version of a prince charming—handsome, kind, protective, and genuinely good. He told me he liked me. Over and over. I sighed, eyes still fixed on the guy in front of me. If my life were a fairytale, Hunter would definitely be the Prince Charming. But sometimes… I can’t help but ask myself— why did I end up falling for the villain of my story?