Saturday, Atlantean Royal Palace

"Are you ready, Ariana? Come out from the bathroom NOW! I need to use the toilet!" I shouted. Ariana had been inside for half-an-hour already. I had only ten minutes before the rose ceremony.

Ariana came out in a cloud of steam. I stared at her in shock. She was wearing a turquoise dress that matched her eyes perfectly. Pearl-drop earrings hung from her earlobes, and a glistening crystal necklace was around her neck. The dress was modest, but formal. She even put on make-up, and curled her hair, so she looked like Ariel the Mermaid without the shells.

"Nice dress," I commented. My ponytail was in a mess, and I was sweating like a stuck pig. C'mon, I made it from Cal's wing to my room, which was on the other wing of the palace in ten seconds flat. Of course I gotta sweat.

"Uh, aren't you going to dress up? I mean, you're not really going to see Cal in frayed jeans and white T-shirt?" Ariana asked tentatively, looking me up and down. Ariana's hair might be redder than mine, but I have a fiercer temper than hers.

"Yeah, I'm gonna wear a slip dress with a chic French twist in a minute," I said sarcastically.

Ariana's eyes grew round, and without a word she pushed me into the shower and flicked the switch.

"AAAAAAaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!" I screamed, hot water hitting me.

"Murder!"

Ariana then took out a symmetrical red and black tube and asked me to put it on. "With a mini-skirt," she said, taking out a layered white bubbly skirt that was TWO INCHES ABOVE THE KNEE!

I have to put it on. I mean, I'm naked in the shower, and the only clothes are those she passed from under the cubicle. What was I going to do, wrap myself up with toilet paper? I slipped on the dress and the skirt. I've never wear anything so revealing in my life. I practically wear no skirt except for school. And the skirt is an inch below the knee. No tube tops either, plain blouses. But that's not all.

Oh no. Ariana tortured me with a brush from her make-up kit, and dumped blusher, foundation, concealer, eyeshadow, mascara, lip gloss, lip balm, and God-knows-what else onto my face. Then she took out a comb, and brushed my hair furiously. My frizzy red hair with black highlights looked like I've got a black aura around my head. Then she twisted it into a FRENCH BRAID!

Ariana cut off my screams by pushing me onto a pair of HIGH-HEELS! I wobbled and crashed down on the carpet. "Ooouch!" I protested.

Ariana ignored me, and hauled me up. I hung onto her arm for balance. "Relax, girl. Just look straight ahead and shake your butt, instead of staring at the ground."

"But I'll trip and fall! I can't see where I'm going! I've never wear heels before!" I shouted. "I bet I look horrible.

"No you don't. You look nice. Like Emma Watson in the ball in Goblet of Fire," Ariana assured me.

Yeah, right. If Emma was thirteen, five feet four tall with red-black hair, small eyes, nose, and mouth with frizzy hair. Come to think of it, she does have frizzy hair. But you get what I mean.

I looked into the mirror. Oh. I looked…OK, I guess. Not ugly. OK. But they don't want OK people. They want pretty girls. Like Amelia. Who was dressed like J. Lo, in a short tulle dress with heavily eyeshadowed eyes and purple highlights in her blonde hair on three-inch heels. I'm not kidding.

She flashed a mega-watt smile at the camera, and pecked Cal, who was standing by the door, greeting everyone, on both cheeks. Cal flushed again, just like when she kissed him on the beach. He looked awkward in suit and tie.

"Hi, Cal. Made it in time, I see," I said, taking small strides in order not to fall down. Left, right, left, right…

"Yeah, thanks to you. And, um, you look…nice..." Cal mumbled. My heard did a cartwheel, I jerked, and I managed to fall in front. Cal ut out his arms to stop me, but instead we just spinned around and around. Wait. did he just say I look nice

I grabbed the doorpost and held on. Cal spinned out of control and fell onto his butt. I held out a hand to pull him up.

"Whew. You don't half-spin, Lia," he joked. I felt sorry for landing him in such a spectacle. I mean, he was the bachelor, after all.

"Yeah, I guess/ See ya later," Ariana and I entered the hall, which was now full of twenty other girls.

"Ladies and gentleman, we are ready to proceed," the host, Peter Crenshaw, began. "This is the second rose ceremony of the day. Due to unforeseen circumstances,"—i.e., the bachelor almost getting eaten by a shark—"four contestants will be eliminated today. After the ceremony, there will be a dance. One lucky winner can dance with the prince. All night long till twelve, from eight o-clock onwards, after dinner." My stomach rumbled. Dinner!

"And now, we welcome Prince Michael Alfrenzo Esconthias Laurence!" Everybody applauded, and Cal went up the stage. He gave a nervous smile and stuttered.

"Th-thank you, Peter." He picked up a rose. "Um, Amelia, would you like to get to know me?" Amelia squealed, strutted seductively up the stage, showing the slit up to her navel, and threw her arms around

Cal. Then she flashed a 'V' shaped sign at me. I grimaced. Amelia? What was Cal doing, letting Amelia stay?"

This went on until there were four girls left, Cora Tyron, Isis Xenos, Kara Marc, and Sophia Otis. Wow, three Atlanteans! I bet Cal didn't let them stay 'cause they're too young.

"I'm sorry, but you're not my type. I wish you good luck in the future. Goodbye," Cal said as he gave each of them a hug. The innocent little girls looked confused and left.

"Well, now for the dance draw! We're see which lucky girl was picked… It goes to…" drumroll, "Aurelia Atlanto of Atlantis!" Peter said.

Oh, man. What had I done to deserve this? I was looking for a evening of merry feasting, instead of four hours of boring dancing! I don't even know how to dance! Oh, damn!

Cal shrugged at me as we headed for the mess hall. The food was nice, but suddenly I had no appetite. I glanced at my watch. Eight already!

"C'mon, Lia, we gotta dance. The filming crew's gonna take our pictures," Cal said softly. I sighed and got up.

"But I don't know how to dance!" I said.

"Don't worry, I've got a private dance instructor over the weekends and he taught me how to dance. It's easy." Cal took my hands and brought them around his neck, and his put his hands around my waist. "Now sway."

I felt…really weird. I mean, his arms were around my waist! No guy had ever…touched me like that. It felt…right. I don't know. What does this mean?

I swayed. "See?" Cal said. "You're doing it."

"What's this dance called?" I asked, taking care not to step on Cal's foot with my heel. I once read somewhere that having a 50 kg woman wearing stilettos step on your toes was worse than having an elephant step on your toes.

"Slow," Cal said. "It's called a slow dance."

Slow? Well, the tempo sure was slow. Which was a relief, because I don't know how to waltz, tango, or do hip-hop.

We didn't say anything much after that. I, for once, did not act like a klutz and step on his toes. And Cal didn't look bad slow dancing. I didn't know how long we danced, but I sure liked it to stay that way forever. Because it felt right, and even though I'm taller than him, we somehow…fitted together. Like two puzzle pieces.

And we danced the night away, until the dreaded midnight ring of the nearby grandfather clock. Because I know now how Cinderella must have felt when she had to go. I'm living in my own weird version. Not unlike the one in my story, Cin de Rella