Once upon a time, in a faraway forest, there lived a tree that was different from all the other trees in the woods. While the other trees grew perfectly straight toward the sky, this particular tree grew in loops, twists, and turns. It was known as the Curvy Tree by all who saw it, and many humans and animals came from far and wide to see its splendor.
When the humans and animals were away, in a language that only could be heard by the plants of the forest, the other trees would taunt the poor Curvy Tree. ‘We hate your bark and your branches and your leaves that twist and turn! One day they will chop you into firewood and you will forever burn!’ It made the Curvy Tree very sad, and if you spoke Plant you would hear it cry itself to sleep every night.
Years later, on the last day of winter before spring began, loggers traveled to the forest looking for wood, not to burn, but to build with. They cut down every tree in the woods to build houses, tables, chairs, and beds. When they finally left the forest, only one tree remained, and I bet it will come as no surprise when I tell you it was the Curvy Tree.
The loggers had seen how its trunk and branches twisted and turned and they knew they could never use its wood to build with. And so the Curvy Tree was left alone to grow in peace now that all the other trees were gone. The end.
The English speakers met the conclusion of the tale with thunderous applause.
Conner kept his hands at his sides. “How amazing,” he said to Bree with a guilty chuckle. “I came up with almost the exact same story as the Brothers Grimm. I must be a better writer than I thought.” He was all fake laughs and smiles but he could tell this was no laughing matter to her.
Bree side-eyed him like she had on the plane. “Yeah… amazing,” she said through the corner of her mouth, but amazing was far from the word she was looking for.
Sofia retrieved the second scroll from the chest, also tied with a white ribbon, and began reading it in German. She eventually finished reading it in French, and began her English translation.
“The second story is titled ‘The Walking Fish,’ ” Sofia declared to the eager crowd.
Conner’s eyes grew twice in size—he was in serious trouble now. Bree shook her head; surely she had heard it wrong.
“Wait a second, did she just say the second story was called ‘The Walking Fish’—” Bree began, but before she could finish Sofia had already started the second story.
Once upon a time there was a fish who lived in a deep lake all by himself. Every day the fish would watch with envy as a boy from the nearby village played with the animals on the land. The boy would run with the horses, wrestle with the dogs, and climb the trees with the squirrels. The fish wanted so badly to play with the boy, too, but he knew that as a fish it was impossible.
One day a fairy flying high above the lake dropped her wand in the water. The fish, being the gentleman he was, retrieved the wand for the fairy.
‘As a reward for this kind gesture, I will grant you one wish,’ the fairy told the fish. He thought long but he didn’t think hard, for the fish knew which wish he wanted the fairy to grant him.
‘I want legs, just like all the animals on the land, so I, too, can play with the little boy from the village,’ the fish said. With one simple flick of her wand, the fairy magically turned the fish’s fins into legs and feet and he walked on land for the first time.
The next day when the boy appeared, the fish happily showed him his new legs. The two became very good friends and every day they ran with the horses, wrestled with the dogs, and climbed trees with the squirrels. However, one day the little boy was playing too close to the edge of the lake and fell into the water. The fish ran to the edge of the lake and tried to save him, but he couldn’t go in the water without his fins. The little boy couldn’t swim, either, and drowned in the lake.
The fish wished he had never wished for legs, because had he just stayed the normal fish God had intended him to be, the little boy would still be alive to this day.
The English speakers, including Mrs. Peters and the Book Huggers, all made an aww sound at the sad ending. Conner and Bree were the only ones who didn’t make a sound. Both their mouths had dropped open while the story was read.
“Wow, another coincidence” was all Conner could say to Bree, but she didn’t respond.
“It’s a very sad story, but I think we can all agree that great lessons come from tragic tales,” Sofia said to the crowd. “ ‘Be careful what you wish for’ is what the Brothers Grimm are trying to tell us with this story, I presume.”
Mrs. Peters was inquisitively furrowing her brow. “I swear I’ve read these stories before somewhere,” she said to herself, and Conner’s pulse rose. “Didn’t you write similar stories, Conner?”
“I did!” Conner said, deciding it was in his best interest to seem excited about it. “My stories are creepily similar—it’s crazy.”
The Book Huggers unanimously rolled their eyes at him. Mrs. Peters smiled and patted Conner on the back, thankfully not spending any more thought on it.
Bree was as quiet as ever but her expression was so intense Conner could practically hear her trying to logically assess the situation. She was a girl who loved a good mystery, but this was baffling. How could Conner have known these stories before the rest of the world did? Bree must have known this was more than a coincidence.
Conner couldn’t believe his bad luck. What were the chances that two of the three stories the Brothers Grimm had locked away in their time capsule were stories Conner had tried passing off as his own? At least the odds were in his favor: The situation was so unlikely that the worst thing he could be accused of was psychic plagiarism. But from the way Bree was looking at him, he knew plagiarism was the last thing on her mind.
“Now it’s time for our third and final story,” Sofia regretfully told the crowd. “Since our English-speaking friends have been so patient, I will read this one in English first.”
Conner let out a long, heavy sigh, bracing himself for whatever trouble the third story might cause him. Sofia removed the last scroll from the chest. Unlike the others, this scroll was tied with a red ribbon.
“This must be a very important story if it was tied with a different ribbon from the rest,” Sofia said. She opened the scroll. “The last story is called ‘The Secret Castle.’ ”
Conner slumped a few inches with relief. He definitely had never heard or written a story about a secret castle. With any luck, the third story would be so good Bree would forget about the first two. He looked at his feet, wanting this whole event to end as soon as possible.
Sofia cleared her throat again and began reading.
Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there lived two brothers who liked to tell stories. Everyone in their village loved to hear their stories and thought the brothers were very creative, but the brothers had a secret. The stories they shared with their village didn’t come from them, but from someone else.