Current Occupation: “She’s such an intelligent woman that she doesn’t need to terrorize people to make an impact,” Flora said. (Harlow declined to be interviewed.) Today Harlow is one of FTRS’s strictest professors. She loves pop quizzes, so maybe terrorizing still applies.
Hobbies: Fashion (Jasper’s Tailoring is where she orders custom gowns). She also loves to spend time with her sister, Jocelyn, who is an FTRS student, and coach the first-place fencing team.
Strengths: Some say Harlow still dabbles in witchcraft, but Flora says that’s nonsense.
Weakness: Her lack of a crown. Sources say that is still a sore spot.
Likes: Beauty. “She’s determined to stay young!” says an anonymous student who was worried that Harlow’s pet raven, Aldo, would know she was being interviewed. (“He knows everything going on in her world.”)
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—”