by Sarah Noffke
Paris’ gaze shot down, but she relaxed at once. “No, that tear was there already. I ripped it on a giant’s teeth recently.”
The guy arched a curious eyebrow at her. “You’re not our usual student.”
She laughed. “I’m not anyone usual anywhere…ever.”
He rubbed his lips together, a smile hiding behind his eyes, and held out a hand. “I’m Hemingway Noble.”
Unable to stop herself, Paris grinned. “Talk about a name.”
Hemingway chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, it’s better than Rude Awakening’s for sure, but sets a precedent for me usually. And you would be?”
She eyed his hand still hovering before her. Finally taking it, she said, “I’m Paris Westbridge.”
Shaking her hand gently, Hemingway gave her a curious sideways expression. “Paris, huh? That’s a nice name.”
“What do you do here?” She suddenly felt nervous and pulled her hand from his, which was calloused but not too rough.
“I’m the jack of all trades for the college. If something needs to be done and no one wants to do it, it’s my job. I’m the gardener, stable boy, groundskeeper, handyman—you name it and I do it.”
She pointed over her shoulder to where Rude Awakening had thankfully disappeared into the forest. “And you tame the wild animals.”
He nodded. “Sometimes successfully. That one is stubborn.”
“Again, maybe a different name,” she offered. “How about Overly Cooperative or Doesn’t Stampede? Just suggestions.”
Hemingway rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I like this new naming structure. It explains why the bunnies keep eating all the radishes.”
“What are they named?”
“Gobbles and Gulps.” He laughed.
Paris nodded. “Yeah, but that also might be because they’re hungry bunnies who don’t know the radishes are off-limits.”
Hemingway gave her a sideways, appraising look. “I like the way you reason, Ms. Westbridge. It’s not like most here.”
“Why?” Paris knew she was different because Willow and Mae Ling had told her that, but she wanted to drill down into how.
He shrugged. “I don’t think reasoning is much in the mindset of fairy godmothers in training. If it is, it’s what embroidery pattern would look best on a pillow.”
Paris’ eyes widened with horror. “Oh, please tell me that I don’t have to take embroidery?”
Hemingway nodded while giving her a commiserating expression. “I think it’s part of the first-year curriculum.”
“I’m going to have to be sick on the day of that class.” Paris wasn’t at all joking. She didn’t understand the curriculum at Happily Ever After College. She knew that Willow had asked her to keep an open mind. However, that was in direct contradiction to Mae Ling stating that she needed to voice her opinion if she didn’t agree with something. She couldn’t understand why a fairy playing matchmaker would need to know how to embroider or anything about astrology or gardening.
However, Paris thought that she needed to follow both fairy godmothers’ advice in this instance to get the best results. She reasoned—since her reasoning skill was something she prided herself on—that she should always be herself while also keeping an open mind.
She was about to ask Hemingway more about the college when a bell sounded from FGE.
His face lit up with a smile. “Oh, my favorite part of the day. It’s dinner time.” He pointed up at the large building and offered, “Shall I show you the way to the dining hall?”
Paris pretended that she didn’t know where it was from the earlier incident and nodded, allowing herself to be led back toward FGE.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Unlike the first time that Paris was in the dining hall, now it was packed with students and professors wearing the pale blue silk gown and excitedly chatting as they took their seats. The rooms smelled heavenly of freshly baked breads and roasted meats and other savory aromas, all in covered dishes at the far end of the room on the sideboard. To Paris’s relief, also sitting on the buffet table was a new banana cream pie as well as many other scrumptious desserts.
As soon as she and Hemingway entered the room, the chatter subsided, and everyone turned to look at her.
Beside her, Hemingway nodded. “Oh, man, did I track fertilizer in again?” He picked up one boot and looked it over. “I’m such a goof, always the clown attracting all the attention.”
Many shook their heads and returned their attention to filling their plates or their conversations.
“I think they were staring at me,” Paris offered from the corner of her mouth.
“Aren’t we full of ourselves?” he teased with a wink. “Why would they have any reason to stare at you when I’m over here tracking in horse manure?”
Paris glanced down at his clean boots and shook her head. “Right. As you said before though, I’m not the typical student here.”
Hemingway led her to the end of the buffet line and handed her a warm plate. “I can’t argue with that. I’ve yet to see anyone here in a tree.”
“It was my first time,” she admitted, overwhelmed as the line dispersed from the buffet, revealing all the delicious-looking meal options.
“Word of warning,” Hemingway said as she loaded up on mashed potatoes, smothering them in gravy.
Paris paused and glanced at him tentatively.
“Don’t fill up on dinner,” he stated.
“Oh, because of all the dessert options?” She shrugged. “I’m not really a sugar type of person.”
He shook his head and put a slab of roast beef on his plate. “That’s probably going to change. Chef Ash provides the main courses more out of custom, but do you notice a difference between the savory and sweet options?”
Paris stepped out of line and looked at the desserts on the far side of the buffet. “There’s, like, three times as many desserts as main courses.”
He nodded. “Fairy godmothers are required to eat a three-to-four ratio of sweets every single day. I’m pretty certain that filling up and not having enough room for dessert is a punishable offense.”
Paris put back the ladle of braised Brussel sprouts she was about to load onto her plate. “I can’t believe I’m being told not to eat my vegetables.”
“It’s strange for sure,” he agreed.
“Why are we supposed to eat mostly sugar?”
Hemingway shrugged. “You’re the fairy godmother in training, not me. I mow the lawn and chase horses. I think it has to do with magical reserves and being as sweet as possible.”
“Are you a magitech AI too?” Paris narrowed her eyes to try and see his wings if he’d glamoured them.
He shook his head. “No, I’m a bona fide fairy. As real as they come. I need meat and potatoes to sustain myself. But I also use my energy to clean the gutters and wash the windows and not to create true love, so what do I know?”
Paris eyed the macaroni and cheese that looked so yummy swimming in a thick sauce and wished that she could load up on that instead of banana cream pie. She’d never liked sugar because it made her stomach violently angry. It looked like she would have to take Mae Ling’s advice in this instance and not do as she was told and instead be herself.
When Paris turned away from the buffet, she suddenly tensed, not knowing where to sit at the long table. Thankfully, she didn’t have to stand with indecision for long.
Hemingway glanced over his shoulder, nodding toward the end of the table. “There are some open seats down here. If you don’t mind sitting next to a dirty farmhand, you’re welcome to occupy the space next to me.”
Paris contended that she was probably dirtier than Hemingway, having been hugging a tree earlier. She was pretty sure she still had leaves in her hair.
As soon as she took her seat, Headmistress Willow Starr stood at the far end of the table and tapped the side of her glass with her spoon, making a chiming sound. “May I please have your attention? I’d like to introduce our newest student to Hap
pily Ever After College. You all may have noticed Paris Westbridge around today.”
Willow held out a hand in Paris’ direction. Having just taken a large bite of a steamy roll, Paris smiled nervously, waving at the many pairs of eyes on her suddenly.
“Seems like a good time for a speech,” Hemingway muttered in her ear as she strained to chew the dense starchy roll.
She narrowed her eyes at him before turning her attention to the headmistress, nodding like a squirrel with nuts in their cheeks.
“I hope you all will make Paris feel comfortable here,” Willow continued. “I think that she’ll make a great contribution to the college since she has a diverse background.”
Paris nearly choked on the roll that refused to be chewed and swallowed. A diverse background was one way of putting life on the streets and a bare-bones education.
“I don’t know the family Westbridge,” a professor between Mae Ling and Willow said. She wore the blue gown with the pink ribbon around the collar. Her grayish-blue hair was frizzy and half-straight and half-curly as though she couldn’t decide what fashion she preferred.
“There haven’t been any fairy godmothers from a Westbridge family,” Becky stated smugly. “I’m sure of it.”
“Paris comes to us through untraditional means,” Willow stated carefully.
“Is she a scholarship kid like Penny?” Becky rolled her eyes at the girl across from her.
Penny looked better than before, mostly because she wasn’t crying and had her glasses, but her gaze immediately dropped to the table in shame.
“How a student enters the college shouldn’t matter,” Willow stated. “The point is that once given the opportunity, they do the best they can, and I trust that Paris will make the most of things.”
Many around the table muttered, not at all sounding accepting of Paris.
“She can climb a tree, so that’s pretty cool.” Hemingway sliced through the tension.
“You climbed a tree?” Willow asked curiously.
“Well, more like climbed down from a tree,” Paris admitted.
“What a strange thing to do,” a student said down the table.
“Why would anyone want to do that?” another asked.
“Is that why you’re not wearing a gown?” a girl with soft red hair asked. “Did it get ripped when climbing?”
“Ummm…” Paris looked at Mae Ling for reinforcement. “The gown may not be for me. I can’t throw a roundhouse kick in a dress.”
That produced mixed reactions around the table. Hemingway and the guy across from them both laughed.
Willow shook her head. “I think you’ll find there isn’t a need for fairy godmothers to use violence. We promote love after all.”
Paris took a quick sip of her water, trying to cover her embarrassment. “Right. Of course. I have much to learn.”
Whereas before Mae Ling hadn’t offered her any encouraging looks, now she shot her one of disappointment. Apparently, this wasn’t the reaction she was hoping Paris would have. The girl didn’t know what else she expected. On her first day, at the first meal, in front of the entire college, she couldn’t outwardly disrespect the rules of Happily Ever After. There was time for that.
Thankfully many returned to their meals or got up to get dessert, not having eaten most of their dinner.
“So you’re the reason I had to remake the banana cream pie,” the guy across from Paris said.
Now that she was looking at him, she noticed he was wearing a white chef’s outfit. Behind his ear was a short pencil and his head was bald and his eyes full of kindness.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said in a rush. “You must be Chef Ashton. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”
He grinned and tore into his roll. “No, no. It was no biggie. I dare say, the reason for its destruction was worth the effort to remake it.” The chef glanced down the table to where Becky was talking loudly about something.
“Wait, what happened here?” Hemingway cut in, leaning forward.
“I heard that Paris dumped the first banana cream pie on Becky’s head because she’d stolen Penny’s glasses, yet again,” Chef Ash stated.
Hemingway’s mouth popped open, and his eyes widened with delight as he regarded Paris. “You didn’t…”
“I did,” Paris confirmed. “In, like, my first hour at the college.”
“Taught that rich snob a lesson and escaped a wild stallion all in your first hour?” He shook his head, looking impressed. “I’m going to keep my eye on you.”
“I promise I won’t cause trouble for you all,” Paris offered. “I’m really sorry, Chef Ash.”
“Like I said, not a problem in the least.” He waved her off. “I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time when I heard what happened.”
Hemingway nodded. “I’m keeping an eye on you out of pure amazement and entertainment.” He looked at the chef across the table. “When was the last time we had any excitement around here?”
The chef shrugged. “It’s always the same thing, day in and day out. Studies, meals, lounging, and blissful boringness.”
Hemingway grimaced. “Bliss is so boring. Yeah, what we need is a bit of adventure.” He turned to look at Paris directly. “I can’t tell you the last time one of my horses broke loose like that.”
“I have a way of attracting drama,” she admitted. “If there’s trouble, it will find me.”
He nodded proudly at her. “So far, it looks like you’re getting rid of the trouble.”
Paris pushed her plate away, accidentally having eaten all of it because it was so delicious. She had no room for any dessert. “Well, we’ll have to wait and see. I’m not necessarily here because I get rid of trouble on a regular basis.”
Hemingway tilted his head and gave her a look that said, “Go on then.”
She shook her head and looked at Chef Ash. “That meal was…well, probably one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”
“Why, thank you.” He smiled wide. “It’s nice to hear a compliment about my creations now and again.”
“I tell you that your food is good,” Hemingway complained, pretending to be offended.
“You tell me that my food needs more cheese,” Chef Ash replied good-naturedly.
“Well, everything needs more cheese,” he argued.
Not caring that she wasn’t going to touch a dessert, Paris ran her finger over her plate, soaking up more of the cheesy mashed potatoes that had filled her up. “I couldn’t agree more.”
The guys, as well as the other students around them who had witnessed this impolite behavior all paused, regarding Paris as if she was a Martian.
However, Hemingway and Chef Ash broke the tension, laughing loudly.
“I’m going to keep an eye on you too, Paris.” Chef Ash smiled again. “I suspect you’re going to shake things up.”
Paris glanced down the table at Mae Ling, who wasn’t pretending to be watching the whole thing. She nodded and gulped. “I think that’s why I’m here. But I don’t really understand any more than that.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Paris felt like she’d run a marathon when she crawled into her pink canopy bed that night. She didn’t know what running a marathon was like since she’d never done one. Paris didn’t run unless she was chasing down a thieving elf or a gnome who had mouthed off one too many times.
However, she knew that what she was experiencing was a new level of exhaustion. It proved that mental and emotional strain could do a number on one’s body.
“Do you snore?” Faraday asked from the sock drawer.
A laugh burst out of Paris’ mouth. “How would I know? I’m always asleep.”
“Excellent point,” Faraday replied. “I hope you don’t, but I’ll let you know if you do. I’ll wake you up.”
“It’s cute that you rode my coattails into this place, now you’re freeloading off me, and you tell me not to snore,” Paris said dryly.
“I don’t know if you understand wha
t the word ‘cute’ means,” he stated. “It’s defined as attractive, charming, pretty, or delightful, and I’m under the impression that you don’t find my behavior any of those things.”
Paris laughed again. “It’s called sarcasm, Faraday. You’ve heard of it, right?”
“Yes, that means irony, mockery, or cynicism,” he stated matter-of-factly.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh good, I brought a furry dictionary along for this adventure.”
“I also am good at other things,” he stated smugly.
“I’m sure that I’ll learn.”
“Like, I prefer a nice aged cheddar or smoked cheese to this Swiss you got on my sandwich.” The squirrel poked his head out of the sock drawer while nibbling on some of the rye and Swiss sandwich that Paris had retrieved from the kitchen, explaining to Chef Ash that she required a midnight snack. He had seemed skeptical and also impressed about this since she’d polished off her plate of carbs and declined dessert, much to the disappointment of Headmistress Starr. Still, Chef Ash had obliged, saying that he wished the other students had such a healthy appetite. Apparently, they hardly ate much of his food if it wasn’t desserts and only picked at those, wanting to maintain their “girly” figures.
Paris never had a problem with that. As a fairy, her magic relied on her food intake. She was always so active running after bullies and criminals that she maintained a pretty athletic build. However, she guessed that since none of the students ever climbed trees or anything similar that they didn’t get the same exercise.
“Oh my,” she groaned and rolled over in her bed, trying to get comfortable. “A walking dictionary who has preferences on cheese and thread count.”
“The socks are quite nice,” he said with surprise.
“Will you not get crumbs in my socks?”
He looked down suddenly with surprise. “Oh, you’re still planning on wearing these?”
She sighed. “I was…”
“I hope you like holes in your socks.”
“I don’t.”
“I’ll find you more tomorrow,” he offered. “I’m guessing you’re an Under Armor sporty sock type of person.”