Glass Slipper
THE TRUCK RUMBLED down the hill, the engine loud enough to wake the sun. I resented the fact it woke me so early every Saturday morning, with its tires crunching up gravel like breakfast cereal. The thing looked like it had driven straight out of The Grapes of Wrath and onto the gravel road behind our house, its paint the same dusty color as the road except for one egg-shell-blue fender.
I resented the fact that the egg-shell blue fender was the exact color of the prom dress hanging in my closet. I resented the fact that the man driving the truck was the great uncle of the boy who was no longer taking me to prom.
Once upon a time, that boy and I were best friends. Once upon a time, we did everything together. Somehow, along the way, we’d lost that once upon a time. But tod
