ME, CINDERELLA?(48)

“Whose cat is that in the kitchen?”

“He was here when I got here!” I said brightly, turning to her with a smile of good intentions. “His name is Lucky. I’m Brynn.”

“I don’t give a shit what his name is,” she said, pressing her lips together and letting me finish her sentence for her in my mind: and I don’t give a shit what your name is either.

“The landlady said it was okay as long as we keep the rooms clean—”

“No.” The girl shook her head from side to side so definitively that my hands began to clench in my lap.

“What do you mean, no?” Karen spoke up.

“Are you allergic?” I asked.

“I’m not living with a goddamn cat,” the girl spat out.

“Seriously?” Karen said. I could have hugged her right then and there for sticking up for Lucky.

“Okay,” I said. I hated confrontation. “Okay. We’ll find him a new place to stay tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow,” the girl said. She picked up her bag and swung it onto the empty bed beside her, turning again to leave the room. “Now. I’m putting him out back in the alley.”

“What the hell?” Karen said, the other girl’s footsteps echoing through the hallway as she went. “That’s so not cool.”

“I have to make sure he’s okay,” I said, standing up to follow the new girl to the kitchen.

I passed her in the hallway as she was coming back from the alley exit. She didn’t even look at me as she brushed past, the scowl still plastered on her dark, beautiful face.

“Lucky?” The night air outside felt brisk, and I hadn’t put a coat on. A few snowflakes drifted down under the alley streetlights. “Lucky?”

A plaintive meow came from the other side of the alley, and a small blur of gray and white came dashing over to my feet. I picked up the kitten.

“You poor thing,” I said, holding him close and feeling him shiver through his thin coat. What could I do? Maybe I could leave a blanket outside for him, make him a bed. I didn’t know if that would be enough. I couldn’t leave him to freeze to death outside. He might get run over by a car, or attacked by a stray dog. All of the terrible possibilities ran through my mind, and I stood there, motionless, not knowing what I could possibly do to save him.

“Brynn?”

I turned to see Mark in the doorway, his dark hair haloed by yellow light.

“Brynn, you’re nuts! Where’s your coat?”

“I—I—” My voice caught on the first syllable, and then I was sobbing, letting all of my frustration and anger and pity boil up and out of me. Mark stepped down and put his arms around me in an uncertain embrace, with Lucky caught between us. He meowed, butting his head against Mark’s chest and expecting a pet.

“It’s okay,” he said, obliging the kitten by scratching his head. “It’s going to be okay.”

“God, who the hell does she think she is?” I said. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Brynn, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” I nearly yelled the last word, and Mark glanced back at the open apartment door. “Lucky could die, and she wouldn’t care!”

“Brynn, shhhh,” Mark said. “She’s the director’s daughter. The director of the Academy.”

“His daughter? So what!”

My eyes must have blazed with anger, because Mark immediately held up one hand to quiet me.

“I know, I know,” he said. “But the guy’s important. I just thought you should know. And hey, Brynn?”

“What?” I wiped at my eyes with my free hand. My nose ran, and Mark dug in his pockets, holding out a crumpled paper napkin. I took it gratefully and held it up to my face. A tissue to stop a leaking dam, it was entirely ineffectual.

“I can take the cat,” Mark said.

I looked at him, uncomprehending.

“We can sneak him into the boys’ room. At least for tonight. And we can take him to a humane shelter tomorrow. ”

“I’m not taking him to a pound,” I said, hugging Lucky to my chest protectively. “That’s almost worse.”

“Okay, we’ll figure something else out,” Mark said. “Alright?”

I nodded, my face now flushing at how much I had cried in front of Mark. He had only ever seen me break down once before, and I had promised myself never to do it again. I don’t know if it was the cold or the strangeness of the country, or perhaps simply Eliot, but I had felt more emotional here than I ever had in California.

“Put him in my pocket,” Mark said. He turned sideways, holding his front coat pocket open. I tucked Lucky into the coat and he immediately tried to claw his way out. Mark held him down in the pocket by the scruff of his neck.