If the Shoe Fits (Meant to Be, #1)

by Julie Murphy

Men like him are a species I have no interest in acquainting myself with.

Erica couldn’t make it across the country—in the peak of casting season for Before Midnight—with the triplets in tow. She sent Anna and Drew in her place, who showed up to my graduation with literal cowbells and made enough noise when I crossed the stage to rival the large Italian family behind them.

Her lower lip quivers for a moment and then she bites it, holding it in place. “Cin, the moment those girls walk into that château, they become internet fodder. I know you’re beautiful and perfect, but others might not be so kind. I can’t guarantee you any kind of special treatment once you’re at the château. Cameras start rolling and that’s it. I don’t think I could live with myself knowing that your father left me to take care of you, and I let you become just another thread on Reddit about why some loser hates…plus-size people.”

As I stand, I take a deep breath and a quick moment to smooth out my dress, and for just a millisecond, I think, What if…What if this random guy really is the love of my life? What if fate is actually real and the two of us are meant for this moment?

“Anna, stop pretending he’s your type,” Drew tells her. “You like them a little dirty and underemployed.”

My blood turns to lava, and I think I might just explode. Being called brave is one of my biggest pet peeves. When someone calls me brave for going out or wearing a fitted dress or for some other normal thing that every other girl does, what it really means is: I would be mortified to look like you, but good for you for merely existing even if all I can think about is how fat you are and how I’m terrified I’ll one day look like you. So brave.

Girls like Addison have never been threatened by girls like me, and I can’t help it. I love watching these tables turn.

“Oh, yay, more waiting around for men to do something.”

She giggles as she settles down beside him, fitting perfectly under his arm, and I hate that I hate her right now. It’s a disgusting feeling that goes against everything I thought I’ve ever believed about women empowering each other and lifting each other up. But maybe this show is too much of a feminist wasteland for anything like that to even be possible.

I let out a guttural Viking-style scream and run at her full force. She ducks a moment too soon, thinking that I’m going for her head, but instead I slide across the mat and take her out at the knees just like Druscilla said I should. Before she has a second to move, I throw my body down on top of her. She wiggles beneath my weight, but Tony is already mid-count. “Seven, six, five…” “Get off me, you cow!” Addison says just loudly enough for me to hear. I grin down at her as I take out my mouthpiece. “Just playing by the rules. Moo, bitch. Moo.”

I feel on top of the world, like I’ve just solved global warming, fixed the health care system, and I still have time to read a good book and put on a face mask before bed. I am invincible.

I’m not a first-move kind of girl. Not because I don’t want to be or because I think there’s anything wrong with it, but because I’ve never been courageous enough. The fear of rejection has always pinned me in place, waiting for the guy to go out on a limb first. But I’ve come all this way, and if I go home tomorrow night without having kissed Henry Mackenzie, I’ll wonder for the rest of my life what could have been.

There’s nothing I can do to prepare for this. No homework or studying. All I can do is the hardest and most terrifying thing of all. Be myself.

My choice was to innovate or walk down the runway naked. Backed into a corner and left with no other alternative, I created…something. Something that, it turns out, I was quite proud of.

“How do you know her type?” I ask. “Her type could be Stanley Tucci for all we know.” “Actually,” Stacy says, “Stanley Tucci is everyone’s type.” I nod in solidarity. “Amen.”

Anna knows the way to my heart is through peel-and-eat cherry Twizzlers and The Lizzie McGuire Movie. (Closely followed by the High School Musical franchise.)

could fill pages with all my wishes, but instead I’ll just say to you, my lionhearted girl, that you are my wildest dreams come true. And if I had to choose from a full, long life without you and only seven sweet years with you, I’d choose you every time. My greatest hope for you, my love, is that you choose yourself as well. Choose what makes you happy. Things, places, people. Only choose the ones that bring that delight to you. Don’t be a hostage to duty or obligation. I didn’t carry you and birth you and raise you to waste your precious life on anything except unbridled joy. Choose joy. As I lie here, I can tell you my only regrets are the times I did not choose myself.

Without looking up, he says. “Use it,” he says. “Whatever it is that had you hung up. An ex, a death, or just plain old depression. The best part about crossing any bridge is the chance to look back and be able to fully understand where you came from. You’re not a machine. You’re not a computer. You’re an artist, and any good artist knows life feeds into art and art feeds into life.”

Crow was right. Crossing one bridge had allowed me to look back and see all that I had been through, and when I sat down to sketch a few days after the finale, things started to feel more and more natural. I was designing again. Really designing. Some of it was bad. Some of it was okay. And some of it was even great. But I was thankful for it all. Most importantly, I was relieved to have the thing that brings me so much joy back in my life. I think for a while there, I began to wonder if I’d made it all up, and that the inkling of talent that had gotten me through the first three years of fashion school was just a fluke.

still don’t know if I believe in fate and if everything happens for a reason, but I do know that the best thing I can do is find purpose in everything, as well as joy, like Mom wrote all those years ago. Whether it’s living as fully as I can to honor my parents or if it’s just being thankful for the friends and connections I found on a silly reality television show. Anything can have a purpose. Anything can have a meaning if you make the choice to give it one.