CHAPTER 3

Time to Face the Music

“Let me go, Olaf!” I bark as the big guy swings me through the giant oak doors at Fairy Tale Reform School and drops me on the marble floor with a loud thud.

Ouch!

That’s the second time he’s dropped me today. The first time was when he put me in the carriage to take me to FTRS. If this is how they treat minor criminals, I can’t imagine what they’d do if they came across Alva, the fairy who cursed Princess Rose to all those years of slumber.

“Get these handcuffs off me,” I yell as Pete stands there calmly, chewing on a piece of taffy. He looks like he’s enjoying my tantrum. “I know my rights! I’m only twelve. You’re not supposed to handcuff me!”

“Normally we’re not supposed to cuff a kid, but you can’t be trusted,” Pete grumbles. “Last time I let you go, a ruby ring mysteriously disappeared from a visiting queen’s fat finger not five minutes later!”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” That pick freaked me out, but it bought us enough food to last a month. No regrets there.

“The handcuffs stay until the boss lady gets here,” Pete says.

Headmistress Flora. I’ve seen Ella’s former stepmother in the village. That woman never cracks a smile. I might as well enjoy whatever “freedom” I have left. “Can you give me a hand up at least?” I ask Pete. He nods to Olaf, who lifts me by my armpits. I shrug out of his grasp and take a look around the giant hall.

So this is what Fairy Tale Reform School looks like. Having heard the rumors all these years, I was expecting to see kids handcuffed to walls and torture chambers. The woman who runs this place supposedly made her own daughters cut off part of their feet to fit into Ella’s precious glass slipper, so I wouldn’t put anything past her. But if she’s hiding a torture chamber in this building, it’s not in the swanky foyer.

I can’t let my guard down, but I have to say…

This place looks cushy! The outside is. It took the carriage at least ten minutes to get from the gates to the castle, which is surrounded by a moat. Olaf said the moat is filled with hungry crocs to keep kids from escaping, but I think he was trying to scare me.

I hope.

The castle doesn’t look creepy at all—well, if you ignore the fact there are some gargoyle statues hanging around. With its trio of tall towers, mint-green roof, and ivy and rainbow-colored flowers everywhere, it rivals the courtyard of Royal Manor. Even the doors Olaf tossed me through were pretty—pale green with strange hand-carved panels that show pictures of a full moon, an apple, a mermaid, and a glass slipper.

The inside is inviting too. Olaf won’t let me go far, but I can make out a large fireplace in the sitting room that looks quite toasty. Velvet couches and leather chairs perfect for reading surround the fire and are also tucked into nooks next to large stained-glass windows. Candles are burning everywhere. Some are scented, which make me a bit woozy, and a bit hungry too. I can hear light music playing in the distance—something classical—but this room is silent, empty, and spacious. Ahhh. I take a moment to enjoy the space. Then I spot a large, gold sign above the doorway to the sitting room.

I burst out laughing. Are they serious? Turn a villain into a hero? That would be like asking a mermaid to morph into an ogre! I laugh harder, holding my belly, which is growling now that I missed what little we would have had for dinner.

The boot my family lives in gives new meaning to the word “cozy,” but this place is huge! My sisters and brothers could go wild without ever worrying about knocking over a candle and setting our boot on fire. It’s sort of fancy though, which could be a problem for Han and Hamish. I’ve never seen so many golden chandeliers and mirrors in my life. Large mirrors; small, ornately framed, creepy, jeweled ones; and a massive oval one with a purple gilded frame that hangs in the two-story entrance. I sense someone here is a mirror collector.

I lean in to the purple mirror. My frizzy brown hair and oval-shaped eyes that look nothing like Mother or Father’s are reflected back at me. Mother says I got Father’s stubborn chin, which juts out when I’m making a point. According to her, I’m always trying to make a point. I think I’m doing that right now actually. I look closer. Is that a hair sticking out of my chin? How did that get there? I should pluck it. I look like the old peddler that tried to trick Snow White. I lift my handcuffed hands to my chin and attempt to yank the hair out, but it won’t budge. Pete looks at me like I’m crazy. I lean even closer, my nose practically touching the glass.

“Do you mind?” a voice inside the mirror snaps.

I jump back. “Sorry! I didn’t realize this mirror was…occupied.”

“Show some respect,” says Pete, who is leaning against the far wall peeling an apple with a pocketknife. “That’s Miri the Magic Mirror you’re talking to.”

“Miri?” I look closer at the mirror and still only see my reflection. But wow, I’ve heard of this mirror. Everyone has! Seeing it is like spotting a princess in the flesh. If you cared about that sort of thing, which I don’t. “I thought you lived in Royal Manor with Ella and the other princesses.”

The mirror snorts. She seems as snobby as the royals. “You think those are the only places I hang? I can come and go between mirrors as I please—unlike you, my little thief, once you’re checked in here.”

“Who said I’m a thief?” I ask as I use a bobby pin (a crook’s best friend) hidden in my shirtsleeve to pick the lock on my handcuffs. I hear a little click and ahh…the cuff grips loosen. I keep them on though so Pete doesn’t make them tighter.

I walk away from prying Miri the Magic Mirror and find myself in front of a rack of FTRS brochures. I pick up the one titled Parents’ Guide. I open to the first page and read the top line: “How to Know If Your Child Should Be Enrolled at Fairy Tale Reform School.” I read the letter that follows from the school headmistress, glancing hard at the line that reads: “The path between right and wrong can easily be blurred in a fairy-tale community where magic and wishes can be used in ways that can turn good children into wicked ones.” The headmistress goes on to list what she calls “warning signs for delinquent behavior.” I wonder how I match up.

Constant lying. Check!

Unexplained, frequent absences. Check!

Anger over one’s class in life. Well…the royals’ privileges do set me off sometimes, so I figure I have another check for that one.

Bullying. No check. I never roughed anyone up in my life.

Turns friends into toads. No check. (How mean would that be?)

Thieving. A fourth check.

I check my score.

“Three or More Checks: Signs your child should be enrolled at FTRS immediately.”

Ugh! What does this headmistress know about my life? I had good reasons for my stealing. I cram the brochure back in the stack and walk away, stopping next in front of a wall of photos. There’s a picture of students smiling in a potion-making class while something green and fizzy bubbles out of a bottle nearby…another of boys flying on Pegasi through the sky above the school…kids fencing, students in front of a crystal ball…the list goes on.

Next to the school photos is a plaque: FTRS Esteemed Graduates. Underneath are photos of teens out in the real world. Some girl got an internship at the Fairy Fashion Institute of Design. That’s pretty cool. A guy in goggles is working part-time at the Enchantasia Elfin Science Institute. Not too shabby. My eyes fall on the third picture. It’s of a girl working with Ella’s fairy godmother. The photo is of them conjuring up glass slippers. I feel my blood begin to boil.

“Copycat!” I yell at the picture, hoping for a reply.

“What are you talking about?” Miri sounds almost bored.

“This picture!” I say bitterly. “This is the whole reason I’m stuck here in the first place. My family would be more than fine if the princesses hadn’t given Ella’s fairy godmother all the formal-wear shoe orders. Now whenever someone wants a glass slipper for a proposal or a ball, she just poofs them up!”

“The pink ones are gorgeous!” Miri chimes in. “I ordered a pair just to look at.”

“Hey! You will not disgrace one of our princesses by speaking of her like this,” Pete tells me. “She is royalty and doesn’t have to explain her reason for doing things.”

“She owes us!” I complain. “My father came up with the glass slipper, and then her lousy fairy godmother ripped it off and took all the credit.”

I think of all we’ve given up since Ella’s shoe policy changed. How much my brothers and sisters have done without. That’s why I started stealing. Not to hurt people, but so I could bring in the extra cash Father no longer could. I was trying to help. But my parents don’t see it that way, and I’m not sure they ever will.

“Rapunzel wore my father’s shoes to the Once Upon a Time ball two years ago,” I tell Pete. “He was so pleased when Happily Ever After Scrolls said everyone should have a pair of those pink pumps. Father could have made good money with those shoes, but instead Ella lets Fairy Godmother just copy them with a poof of her wand.” I don’t care that my voice is echoing in the grand foyer. “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” I hear someone say, her footsteps barely more than a whisper against the floor. “But then again, a lot in life isn’t fair.” The woman is concealed in the shadows. “It’s how you handle yourself in such situations and what you learn from them that will define you. That’s what you’ll learn to master during your time here.”

An older woman steps out of the shadows and I see a thin smile spread across her lips. It’s her. Princess Ella’s formerly wicked stepmother in the flesh.