Flunked (Fairy Tale Reform School, #1)(14)

“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?”