“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.