Upon hearing her name, Duchess jumped to her feet, ready to charge to the front of the class and plead her case.
This is a huge mistake.
I don’t have an evil bloodline.
I’m not villain material. I’m a ballerina!
But Mr. Badwolf did not invite her to introduce herself. Nor did he offer an explanation as to why she was there. “Sit down, Ms. Swan,” he said.
What the hex? Everyone else got the opportunity to speak. “But—”
A low growl rumbled in Mr. Badwolf’s throat. His eyes flashed. Duchess sat. The morning was not going as she’d planned. And one student had already earned hextra credit. She had nothing but frustration and questions.
Mr. Badwolf proceeded to hand each student a thick hextbook, A Guide to General Villainy. Then he wheeled a chalkboard to the front of the class and, with a piece of white chalk, began to draw. The students watched in silence, except for Sparrow, who’d started snoring. Lizzie prodded him with her scepter. He woke up and yawned.
“Can anyone tell me what this is?” Mr. Badwolf asked as he pointed to the board. He’d drawn a triangle. Inside the triangle was a stick figure with a curly tail.
No one answered. Faybelle shrugged. Ginger licked frosting from her fingers. Duchess fumed.
“This is a pig,” Mr. Badwolf explained. “And this is its newly built straw house.”
“Good thing you’re not teaching Arts and Crafts,” Sparrow said with a snicker.
“I like your drawing, Mr. Badwolf,” Faybelle said. “It looks exactly like a pig.” She waved her pom-poms. “Give me a P. Give me—”
“Not now, Ms. Thorn.” Mr. Badwolf pressed his long, furry fingertips together. “The question I pose to you, students, the future creators of chaos, is this: What would you do if you wanted to eat this little pig but it was hiding in its house made of straw?” Faybelle’s hand shot up. “Yes, Ms. Thorn?”
“I would order takeout,” she said with a smile.
Mr. Badwolf scowled at her. “That is not the correct answer.” He turned to the next student. “Ginger, I pose the question to you. If you wanted to eat the pig, how would you get it to come out of its house?”
“I don’t eat pigs,” Ginger said. “I know a few, and they’re very nice.”
“Incorrect,” Mr. Badwolf snarled. “Mr. Hood?”
“Dude, it doesn’t matter to me,” Sparrow said with another yawn. “Get the pig, don’t get the pig. I really don’t care. Unless you want me to write a song about it.”
A little white cloud burst from Mr. Badwolf’s hand as he crushed the piece of chalk. “That. Is. Incorrect!” His upper lip rose, exposing his sharp teeth. “Ms. Hearts? Surely you know the answer!”
Wheezy, deep breathing was coming from Lizzie’s book bag. Her hedgehog had eaten so much cinnamon troll she’d fallen into a sugar stupor. “I’d knock on the door and ask to come in,” Lizzie said with a smile.
Mr. Badwolf growled in a most displeasing way. Lizzie grabbed her scepter and jumped to her feet. “I meant to say that I’d pound on the door, real hard, and yell as loud as I could, ‘In the name of the queen, I command you to come out of that house or you shall lose your piggy head!’” Then she sat back down. “But I wouldn’t really chop off its head. I agree with Ginger. Pigs are nice.”
Mr. Badwolf looked as if he might explode. If he’d been a teapot, steam would have shot out of his ears. “That is the worst answer I’ve ever heard!” He stomped both of his feet, which were rather large. The chalkboard trembled.
“Wow,” Lizzie whispered to Duchess. “He’s better at temper tantrums than I am.”
Mr. Badwolf whipped around and faced Duchess. “Ms. Swan, what is your answer?”
Duchess didn’t care that Mr. Badwolf was practically foaming at the mouth. He’d had his rabies shot, after all. What she cared about was getting transferred from this class. “I don’t think I should answer that question. I’m not a villain, and—”
“Wrong, wrong, wrong!” Mr. Badwolf ended the sentence with a howl.
Duchess sighed. This was a total waste of time. She could be practicing her arabesque at the dance studio, or writing her deepest thoughts in her diary.
Mr. Badwolf smoothed his hair and took a long, deep breath, composing himself. Then, his voice steady and calm, he looked toward the dark corner. “Surely you know the answer, Ms. Queen?”
Raven fidgeted on her stool. She sighed, then hung her head. “The answer you’re looking for is to huff and puff and blow the house down.”
“Yes,” Mr. Badwolf said with much relief. “Yes, indeed. Finally, a correct response.”
Duchess was immediately alarmed. Was Raven trying to get a good grade in this class? Maybe the best grade in the class?
Duchess’s hand shot up. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to answer the question.” She slid off her stool. As she smoothed her white embroidered skirt, her thoughts spun like a dancer who’d lost control. What do I say? What’s better than huffing and puffing? She cleared her throat. “I would… I would…” Her legs went a little weak as she realized she had no answer. Mr. Badwolf stared at her, waiting.
Raven broke the silence. “I’ve also changed my mind,” she said. “The pig worked hard building his house. Hard work should be rewarded, not destroyed. I would let him live in peace.”
Mr. Badwolf sank onto the edge of his desk, his head shaking with frustration. “You are the worst group of future evildoers in the history of this school. You will all bring shame to yourselves, to your families, and to fairytales everywhere.”
Shame to my family? Duchess practically wilted.
“I hope it is not too late to save you from your goodness,” Mr. Badwolf said. He walked over to the chalkboard, grabbed a new piece of chalk, and wrote:
Thronework assignment:
Do something rotten and nasty by the end of the school day Friday.
“Yay!” Faybelle cheered as she rustled her pom-poms. Everyone else groaned.
“The one student who does the rottenest and nastiest thing by the end of school Friday will get an A for the week. The rest of you will get an FF.” FF stood for “fairy-fail.” “To make it more exciting, the student who earns the A will have the opportunity to pick a prize from my own personal treasure vault.” He crossed the room, and, after whispering a secret password, a section of the stone wall slid open. Gold and silver light filled the cauldron room.
Suddenly interested in the proceedings, Sparrow Hood leaped from his stool and ran to look inside the vault, his fingers twitching as he gazed upon the piles of gems and jewels.
“Is that a silver muffin pan?” Ginger asked.
Faybelle pointed to a golden megaphone. “I’d love to cheer with that.”
Lizzie liked the heart-shaped pendant, while a golden quill caught Duchess’s eye. “Look at all that loot,” Sparrow said. “One of those golden arrows could buy some sound equipment and a new set of drums for the band.”
Mr. Badwolf plunged his hand into a chest of gold coins. “Practice your thieving skills, Mr. Sparrow, and one day you will possess your own treasure vault.”
Raven was the only student still sitting on a stool. “I don’t care about treasure,” she said.
“Of course she doesn’t,” Faybelle whispered to Lizzie. “Her mother’s the richest woman in the world.”
Having overheard Faybelle’s comment, Duchess narrowed her eyes. Raven Queen did seem to have everything, and all she did was complain about it.
The school bell rang, indicating that class was over. The students grabbed their book bags. Sparrow grabbed his guitar.
“Look to your family stories for inspiration,” Mr. Badwolf called as the students headed for the exit. “And remember, only one of you can earn an A for the week.”
Failure was not an option for Duchess Swan. If she couldn’t get transferred, then she’d have to do her best. And her best meant perfection.
Guess I’ll be doing something rotten and nasty.