If the Shoe Fits (Meant To Be #1) by Julie Murphy

All the rooms are upstairs in a long corridor with two large dorm-style bathrooms.

If I wasn’t so busy with my own luggage, I would find it highly entertaining to watch all these women dragging huge overstuffed suitcases up the expansive spiral staircase. In fact, one contestant loses a grip on one of her suitcases and it comes barreling down the stairs, nearly taking me and one other girl out.

At the end of the hallway, I find room six, where Sara Claire is already hanging up her suitcaseful of colorful dresses. “There she is!” She turns to Addison. “This is Cindy!”

“Oh, we’ve met,” says Addison dryly. “Cindy seems to know everyone.”

I smile tightly. “Hi, Addison.”

Perched on the bed across from her is a Black girl with springy curls dressed in an adorable floral crop top with matching skirt and a pair of white Air Jordans. Her skin is perfectly dewy with just the right amount of highlighter, and her black liquid eyeliner is the most precise cat-eye I’ve ever seen.

“And this is Stacy!” Sara Claire tells me.

“Hey,” Stacy says nonchalantly. And I immediately know that Stacy is the exact kind of girl I gravitate toward. She’d totally fit right in with Sierra back in the city. They’re both the kind of girls whose confidence and calm energy make them the coolest people at every party.

“Hi! I love your shoes. Where are you from?” I ask.

“Thanks. I’m a total sneakerhead. Chicago. Born and raised. Librarian by day. Makeup artist by night.” She pulls a small oil diffuser from her bag. “Will this bother anyone if I use it?”

“Oh Lord, no,” says Sara Claire. “I welcome it!”

Addison wrinkles her nose. “I guess not, as long you don’t use any patchouli. Bleh.”

I turn my back to Addison and give Stacy a wide-eyed look. “Doesn’t bother me at all.”

Stacy chuckles at my expression as she continues to unpack her bag. “So, Addison, what is it that you do?”

“I’m an actress and model.”

Sara Claire gasps. “Would you have been in anything we’d know?”

“Oh my God!” Stacy says. “I knew I recognized you!”

“I’ve done lots of things,” Addison says quickly. “I’m going down—”

“‘He got me a FitBike. It’s all I’ve ever wanted,’” Stacy says in a robotic voice, quoting the now-infamous FitBike commercial that released last Christmas. In it, a woman receives a FitBike for Christmas, and with a glazed-over expression, she drones on about how all she’s ever wanted is a FitBike. Pretty soon #RobotWife was trending and the internet had its holiday-season meme.

“I’ve also been on CSI: New Orleans before, and I did a few Target swimwear campaigns, so that dumb commercial is, like, the bottom of my résumé, just for your information.” And with that, Addison turns on her stiletto heel and stomps off down the hallway.

The three of us are quiet for a second after the door closes before bursting with laughter.

“In my professional opinion,” Sara Claire says, “she should embrace her meme status. Fame like that rarely strikes twice.”

“Right!” Stacy agrees.

I kneel down in front of my suitcase to unzip it. “Honestly, that GIF of her creepy robot smile was one of my favorite reaction GIFs last year. Too bad she’s so snotty.”

Stacy plops down on my bed. “Ho-ly…is that your shoe collection?” She reaches in for a pointed powder-blue satin Stuart Weitzman stiletto with a crystal brooch. A total dupe of the shoe my mom wore on her wedding day, which was actually from Payless.

“I guess you could say I have a thing for shoes?”

“I thought I was obsessed,” Stacy says as she turns the shoe over. “We wear the same size!”

I smile. This is what I love about shoes. I love that I could potentially be wearing the same size as this gazelle-like goddess sitting before me. There may not be much we can bond over in the clothing department, but shoes are an exception. In middle school and high school, I would spend hours shopping with friends, and I’d always end up browsing the accessories and shoes, because there was no chance any of those stores carried my clothing size. But shoes? I could make shoes from just about anywhere work. Shoes aren’t perfect. A lot of brands don’t carry wide widths or go above a size ten, but for me, they’ve always been comforting.

“They might be a little stretched out, because my foot is on the wide side, but you’re welcome to borrow any pair you want,” I tell her. “As long as you can help me make my eye makeup half as gorgeous as yours.”

“Deal,” she says.

There’s an abrupt knock on the door, and Mallory, with thick, wavy hair bunched into two pigtails, sticks her head in the room.

“Hey there, Mallory,” says Sara Claire.

“Ladies, we need everyone ready for introductions in an hour and a half.”

“Introductions?” I ask.

“To the suitor,” Mallory calls as she shuts the door behind her.

I look to Sara Claire and then Stacy. “Is this really happening?”

“You bet your tush it is,” Sara Claire shouts as she jumps up onto her bed and begins to use it as a trampoline. “Y’all ready to meet my future husband or what?”