by Jen Calonita
Hates: Being disrespected. “Most of the kids in detention are there because of Professor Harlow,” an anonymous said before hearing a bird squawk and fleeing our interview.
Love life: Need we bring up that poison apple again? Harlow’s love affair is solely with her own milky-white reflection. And possibly Aldo.
Check back next week for more FTRS anniversary coverage!
CHAPTER 6
Who’s the Real Poison Apple Here?
“Roomie! Jax! Wait up!” Kayla surprises me the next morning when she emerges from a hall that just popped up to the left of us.
As a thief, I’m impressed with the layout of this joint—rooms and walls seemingly shift in front of you almost hourly, making it impossible to come up with a clear escape route. It’s like they don’t want us to ever be too comfortable. I can see I need to stay on my toes and keep my head down if I want to get out of FTRS quickly. I just witnessed two sprites getting hauled off to detention for having a wand battle that lit a chair on fire.
“Are you guys okay?” Kayla whispers hurriedly. She’s practically floating, her toes barely touching the ground. “Did you get detention with the Sea Witch? Don’t hate me! I’m sorry I bailed.” Her face scrunches up like my brother Hamish’s does when he’s feeling guilty. “I cannot get my third detention in a month.”
“And I can?” Jax asks, slinging his book bag over his shoulder. “If it weren’t for your new roomie here, I’d be doing the waltz this afternoon with Madame Crazy. Thankfully, this one can spin a good yarn.” Jax high-fives me and I blush. No one usually compliments me on my lying skills, even if they are stellar.
“She’s the best,” Kayla seconds and squeezes my arm. Her hand is ice cold.
If I were that great, you’d think Kayla would have slept in our room last night. Instead, I had to find my way to the girls’ dorm tower on my own after Professor Wolfington let us go with a warning. Then after I got to the tower, I found a note on the magic chalkboard on our door that said: “Sorry, pulling all-night study session. Have a great first sleep in our room!—K.”
“If you’re that good at covering for people, maybe you can bail me out next time I’m in a jam,” Kayla suggests, and Jax’s laugh echoes down the long hall that keeps swaying. I feel like I’m walking on a balance beam.
“You’re always in a jam because you’re never where you say you are,” Jax says.
“True,” Kayla says with a sigh.
“Where do you always sneak off to anyway?” Jax asks.
Kayla smiles mischievously. “A good crook never reveals her secrets. You should know that.”
“Former crook! Former crook!” Jax repeats as if he’s reading from one of the many self-help textbooks I found in our dorm room with titles like Three Steps to Good and Sinister to Sweet.
Bells chime to announce class is starting, and I cover my ears because they’re so loud. They’re probably deafening to keep anyone from using the famous lateness excuse: “I didn’t hear the bell.” Well, I did, and I am about to get my first tardy.
“I should get to troll hunting before the classroom door evaporates.” Jax winks at us, then hands Kayla the handkerchief in his shirt pocket. “Have fun in therapy, girls.”
Kayla groans. “Of all the classes for you to have first, the Evil Queen’s class is the worst.” Kayla clutches her stomach. “Professor Harlow makes you talk about your feelings and makes kids cry. She’s evil.”
“Maybe that’s why she’s called the Evil Queen,” I say breezily as we hurry into the classroom, dodging shifting castle walls. I dive through a door that is bricking itself shut and throw my butt into the seat closest to the exit. “How mean can a therapy teacher really be?”
“Pretty mean,” Kayla whispers as she runs past me to a seat in the back. “Don’t say anything about—”
“Miss Gillian Cobbler, how nice of you to grace us with your presence this morning,” I hear someone interrupt in a voice that practically purrs.
The Evil Queen is definitely intimidating. I’ll give her that right off the bat. She’s much taller than I imagined—even taller with that elaborate feather-and-crystal headpiece—and her clothes are stunning. (She’s wearing a plush green velvet gown with silver crystals around her tiny waist.) Her looks could rival the princesses’ if not for her sour puss and long, pale face that makeup does nothing to hide. Harlow’s elaborately beaded gown drags along the cobblestone floor of the drafty room as she walks toward me.
“Do you think just because you’re new, you can get away with being late?” She purses her lavender lips and leans on my desk, drumming her purple nails. Her eyes are as dark as coal.
I try not to sound nervous. “No, but you could go a little easy on me. You need a map to get around this place.”
I’m expecting someone to laugh—like they would in my trade-school classes—but the rest of the class is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
“Is that supposed to be funny? Therapy isn’t funny.” The Evil Queen snaps her fingers and my name shows up on the board behind her desk. The word “tardy” appears. “Your first tardy in your first class! Well done, cobbler’s daughter!” She applauds halfheartedly, and the crow on her shoulder squawks in agreement. “I can see you’re another fine feather in the cap of our school.”
Behind me, I hear someone snort. “What do you expect from someone whose dad makes cheap shoes for a living?”
I whip around. No one insults my family. The girl behind me is dressed in black from head to toe. She’s wearing a skirt covered in a strange pattern of moons and stars. Why doesn’t she have to wear a uniform? “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she says coolly, her jet-black eyes staring right through me. “Think you can do something about it? A lowly cobbler’s daughter?”
I’m thunderstruck. The Evil Queen may seem evil, but is she really going to let this girl talk to me like that? I look around for allies.
This is the first chance I’ve had to size everyone up. Trade school was mostly made up of humans and your occasional troll. Here I see students who are ogres, goblins, mermaids, fairies, gnomes, and magical creatures I’ve only read about in storybooks. There are even desks in giant fish tanks! Two mermaids zapped into them while this girl was being rude to me. Other than her, the mermaids are the only two not forced to wear these itchy navy uniforms.
“For starters, I can deck you hard enough to knock you out of your chair,” I say, anger bubbling up inside me. I rise from my chair. “That should keep you from insulting people you don’t even know.”
I hear a high-pitched laugh and then long fingers digging into my shoulder. “Sit down, Miss Cobbler, before I send you to detention. First a tardy, and now you’re threatening my sister?”
This girl is the Evil Queen’s sister? If Harlow’s sister is in FTRS too, she must be really bad news.
My professor tsks. “You certainly want to get on my bad side, don’t you? I’m not sure that’s wise.” She snaps her fingers, and behind her the board starts to write more notes. “Gillian Cobbler—Anger issues, problems with authority, threatening other students. Recommend extended stay.” My heart plummets. Professor Harlow leans close to my face. She smells like roses. “Do you two need to take this outside?” she asks. “I’m fond of students working out their issues with a little fencing. After all, I do coach the team, and my sister, Jocelyn, is our star fencer.”
Fencing was one of the after-school clubs I actually wanted to try out for—before I knew the Evil Queen was the coach. I’ve only practiced fencing with our fireplace poker, but Mother said I have a knack. Looking at Jocelyn, I’m not sure having a knack is enough, and the last thing I want are problems that will keep me at FTRS longer. As much as it kills me, I can’t help but sigh. “No.”
“Smart choice,” Professor Harlow coos.
Jocelyn leans forward so that her hot breath is on my neck.
“You better watch yourself, cobbler’s daughter,” she whispers. “People who cross my family don’t live to tell the tale. Or haven’t you heard what we can do with an apple?” I turn around to shoot her a nasty look, and Jocelyn smiles evilly.
“Since this is your first group session, Miss Cobbler, maybe you’d like to share how you wound up at FTRS.” Harlow moves back to her desk and takes a seat. I notice a clear glass case with a tiny gold mirror inside. What’s so special about that thing that it needs to be locked away? I wonder—and I feel a chill when I realize Harlow’s eyes are on me. I look away at a large crystal bowl on her desk. Almost every student dutifully brought the Evil Queen a bright red or green apple that looks as if they’ve been polished with shoe lacquer. I didn’t bring one, which is probably another sore spot.
“Umm…” There is no way I’m sharing anything in here.
“Umm?” Professor Harlow mocks in a high-pitched voice. “Umm? Is that all you have to say for yourself?” She drums her fingernails on the crystals on her sleeves. “How proud your parents must be of your remarkable intelligence.”
A few people laugh. Jocelyn is the loudest.
My eyes narrow, even though I know they shouldn’t. “I said ‘umm’ because there really isn’t anything I want to share.” Weakness is not a characteristic you want to share with the world, I can hear Father say.
Harlow snaps her fingers and I feel a cold swirling sensation come over me. The room is suddenly windy and my hair blows in front of my eyes, preventing me from seeing what is happening. Then just as suddenly, the wind dies away, and our desks have been arranged in a circle. It must be time for group sharing. My classmates look somber and it’s easy to see why. From the windowless walls and numerous torches that cast eerie shadows on the wall to the black bird perched on Professor Harlow’s shoulder, the vibe is sort of creepy. How is this a room for bonding?
“Maybe a casual group setting will make you more eager to ’fess up.” Harlow appears in front of my desk again as if by magic. No one can move that fast. “Share, Miss Cobbler. Now,” she says sharply.
I open my mouth, knowing another obnoxious comment will just land me in hotter water, but a short, stocky troll girl beats me to the punch. “I don’t mind going first,” she says. I smile at her gratefully.
Harlow whirls around, her cape flying in the air behind her like it’s going to give her wings. “Then go.”
“Hi, everyone. I’m Maxine.” She tugs on one of her large ears, which are covered in earrings of every gem and stone found in the Enchantasia mines.
“Hi, Maxine,” we all say like we’re supposed to.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about the Troll War. Maybe because I lived through it,” she says softly. I watch as one of her eyes goes down as she speaks while the other stays in place. “The things I saw still keep me up at night.”
“You’re a troll,” Jocelyn pipes up. “You’re supposed to be up at night lurking around.” A girl next to her snickers, and I give them both the evil eye.
“Jocelyn,” Harlow says in a light tone. “Let her finish. And no name-calling,” she adds. “That’s my job. Go on, Maxine.”
“I keep wondering when the war will finally be over.” Maxine side-eyes Jocelyn, one eye rolling in its socket. “When no more lives will be lost.”
“Never!” Jocelyn jumps in. “We should let trolls and goblins all kill each other. Who needs either of them?”
Poor Maxine looks like she’s going to cry, and I snap. Who does Jocelyn think she is? “We could say the same thing about your family,” I speak up. “A lot of people think the Evil Queen should have been banished after what she did to Snow White. Who wants your family in Enchantasia either?” Jocelyn stares at me darkly, and I feel a deep pinch sink into my right arm.
“Ouch!” How’d she do that?
“Temper, temper, Miss Gillian,” Professor Harlow tsks, but she sounds pleased. “You wouldn’t want me to give your first detention for telling lies, would you? Excellent sharing, Jocelyn.” Jocelyn smiles smugly and I roll my eyes.
Squawk! Aldo the crow swoops in and lands on my desk. Squawk! It’s like he’s reporting me for eye-rolling, which is just plain insane, and yet…
Professor Harlow puts out her hand, and Aldo flies back onto her shoulder. The two stare at me disapprovingly. Harlow’s eyes travel down to my lace-up boots. “What are those?” she asks. “Those shoes are not proper uniform attire. Surely, the shoemaker’s daughter can afford shoes at least.”
“They hurt my feet,” I say. And they’re ugly.
Harlow snaps her fingers, and my favorite boots are gone and the ugly black school shoes are on my feet. What the…? “Too bad. You can have your old boots back when you learn how to fly like Aldo. Now, Miss Maxine, let’s talk about being a troll. Do you feel ashamed to be such a creature?”
“What?” Maxine cries. “That’s such a mean thing to say, Professor.”
“I was just joking, darling,” the Evil Queen says. “I wanted to see where your emotions were, and now we know, don’t we? You’re ashamed of being a troll.”
Thump.
We all look up. I’m thankful for the distraction.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Professor Harlow looks up at the ceiling in annoyance, but ignores the sounds. “Maxine, tell me your darkest moment being a troll.” Her eyes flash green. “Actually, why don’t you all recall your darkest moment in a thousand-word essay that must be finished before the end of the class. Start now.” She snaps her fingers and the torches brighten. She uses the opportunity to go to the mirror behind her desk. I watch her examine her face and then reach for one of the purple bottles on her desk. She begins applying lotion to her cheeks.
Thump! Thump! Thump! THUMPThump! Thump!
The Evil Queen’s hand slips, and lotion gets all over the bodice of her dress. She emits a low growl. “What is that racket? Miri!” she yells. Aldo flies off Professor Harlow’s shoulder and dives over people’s heads. “Miri! Where are you?”
The mirror in front of Harlow begins to glow green, then orange, then purple. “Harlow, we’ve been over this,” a voice inside the mirror says with a sigh. “Only Headmistress Flora can demand my appearance.”
“Well, I’m demanding it anyway,” Professor Harlow seethes. “What is that God-awful noise interrupting my group’s therapy session?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t dismissed class already,” Miri says, sounding anything but nervous at Harlow’s tone. “Didn’t you get the memo from Flora this morning?”
“What memo?” Harlow yells over the continuing banging, which only seems to grow louder by the minute. Harlow’s head whips around to the class. “Write!”
We all look down at our papers. I grab a quill and my ink.
“Psst.” I look over at Maxine. She offers me a quill. “Use this.”
I hold mine up. “Thanks, but mine works fine.”
“Oops!” I hear Miri sing. “I was supposed to give you the memo. Just like you were supposed to tell me about the meeting in Flora’s office yesterday.”
Maxine shakes her head and her lazy eye does a quick bounce. Her thick-rimmed glasses match the color of her light brown hair. “Use this. There’s a message in it from a friend.” She passes the quill over as Harlow and Miri argue. “Write with it. You’ll see.”
What does she mean the quill has a message in it? I look at it, wondering if there is a secret compartment, but I don’t see one. I dip the quill in the ink and nothing happens. Then I try putting the quill to paper. That’s when things get weird. I know what I want to write, but instead, different words come out.
Hey G! It’s me! K! Cool quill, huh? Sorry I didn’t warn you about Jocelyn. I’m not feeling great. Going to skip the next class and lie down for a while. Can you give me some peace and quiet? I’ll give you the grand tour of FTRS later! I promise!
After the words appear, the ink slowly disappears again, leaving a blank page.
That. Is. So. Cool. I write her back.
Feel better! We’ll hang out later. —G
The words appear, then disappear. Amazing. “Psst.” I pass Maxine the quill. She grabs it when Harlow isn’t looking.
“I have never seen this memo before!” Harlow is yelling. “Flora canceled today’s classes to paint the castle? That’s ridiculous!”
“What’s ridiculous is that we haven’t done it already,” Miri tells her. “The princesses have agreed to Royal Day happening in less than two weeks, and there is a lot to prepare before their arrival.”
“I’m not canceling classes for a paint session!” Harlow says incredulously. “They’ll have to paint around us!”
We put our heads back down to write, but the banging only gets louder. It’s hard to concentrate. I see the mer-boy’s water quill fly out of his hand at the hammering, which must be amplified in his tank. Then there is a knock at the door.
“’Scuse me, ma’am?” A peasant in paint-splattered clothes and a cap stands in the doorway with a brush and a bucket. The smell of the paint hits my nose almost instantly. “We need to get started in this room.” He looks around. “Wow, Murray, get in here,” he calls to someone. “This room is the worst yet!”
I hear Miri muffle a laugh.
“Do you mind?” Harlow says, and with a flick of her wrist, the door slams in the peasant’s face. She sighs. “Children, it seems that our time together needs to come to an end.”
A small cheer is quickly extinguished as Aldo nosedives at the boy who is the loudest.
“But,” Professor Harlow says, letting the word linger in the air, “I expect this paper on my desk tomorrow.” Everyone groans. “Enjoy your afternoon, class.” She opens the door again and Murray enters slowly.
I gather my things and think about how I’m going to use my time now that there is no class and I can’t go back to our room. I guess I could practice fencing near the woods. Sounds like I’ll be dueling Jocelyn in our classroom soon enough.