I lean in to the purple mirror. My frizzy brown hair and oval-shaped eyes that look nothing like Mother or Father’s are reflected back at me. Mother says I got Father’s stubborn chin, which juts out when I’m making a point. According to her, I’m always trying to make a point. I think I’m doing that right now actually. I look closer. Is that a hair sticking out of my chin? How did that get there? I should pluck it. I look like the old peddler that tried to trick Snow White. I lift my handcuffed hands to my chin and attempt to yank the hair out, but it won’t budge. Pete looks at me like I’m crazy. I lean even closer, my nose practically touching the glass.
“Do you mind?” a voice inside the mirror snaps.
I jump back. “Sorry! I didn’t realize this mirror was…occupied.”
“Show some respect,” says Pete, who is leaning against the far wall peeling an apple with a pocketknife. “That’s Miri the Magic Mirror you’re talking to.”
“Miri?” I look closer at the mirror and still only see my reflection. But wow, I’ve heard of this mirror. Everyone has! Seeing it is like spotting a princess in the flesh. If you cared about that sort of thing, which I don’t. “I thought you lived in Royal Manor with Ella and the other princesses.”
The mirror snorts. She seems as snobby as the royals. “You think those are the only places I hang? I can come and go between mirrors as I please—unlike you, my little thief, once you’re checked in here.”
“Who said I’m a thief?” I ask as I use a bobby pin (a crook’s best friend) hidden in my shirtsleeve to pick the lock on my handcuffs. I hear a little click and ahh…the cuff grips loosen. I keep them on though so Pete doesn’t make them tighter.
I walk away from prying Miri the Magic Mirror and find myself in front of a rack of FTRS brochures. I pick up the one titled Parents’ Guide. I open to the first page and read the top line: “How to Know If Your Child Should Be Enrolled at Fairy Tale Reform School.” I read the letter that follows from the school headmistress, glancing hard at the line that reads: “The path between right and wrong can easily be blurred in a fairy-tale community where magic and wishes can be used in ways that can turn good children into wicked ones.” The headmistress goes on to list what she calls “warning signs for delinquent behavior.” I wonder how I match up.
Constant lying. Check!
Unexplained, frequent absences. Check!
Anger over one’s class in life. Well…the royals’ privileges do set me off sometimes, so I figure I have another check for that one.
Bullying. No check. I never roughed anyone up in my life.
Turns friends into toads. No check. (How mean would that be?)
Thieving. A fourth check.
I check my score.
“Three or More Checks: Signs your child should be enrolled at FTRS immediately.”
Ugh! What does this headmistress know about my life? I had good reasons for my stealing. I cram the brochure back in the stack and walk away, stopping next in front of a wall of photos. There’s a picture of students smiling in a potion-making class while something green and fizzy bubbles out of a bottle nearby…another of boys flying on Pegasi through the sky above the school…kids fencing, students in front of a crystal ball…the list goes on.
Next to the school photos is a plaque: FTRS Esteemed Graduates. Underneath are photos of teens out in the real world. Some girl got an internship at the Fairy Fashion Institute of Design. That’s pretty cool. A guy in goggles is working part-time at the Enchantasia Elfin Science Institute. Not too shabby. My eyes fall on the third picture. It’s of a girl working with Ella’s fairy godmother. The photo is of them conjuring up glass slippers. I feel my blood begin to boil.
“Copycat!” I yell at the picture, hoping for a reply.
“What are you talking about?” Miri sounds almost bored.
“This picture!” I say bitterly. “This is the whole reason I’m stuck here in the first place. My family would be more than fine if the princesses hadn’t given Ella’s fairy godmother all the formal-wear shoe orders. Now whenever someone wants a glass slipper for a proposal or a ball, she just poofs them up!”
“The pink ones are gorgeous!” Miri chimes in. “I ordered a pair just to look at.”
“Hey! You will not disgrace one of our princesses by speaking of her like this,” Pete tells me. “She is royalty and doesn’t have to explain her reason for doing things.”
“She owes us!” I complain. “My father came up with the glass slipper, and then her lousy fairy godmother ripped it off and took all the credit.”
I think of all we’ve given up since Ella’s shoe policy changed. How much my brothers and sisters have done without. That’s why I started stealing. Not to hurt people, but so I could bring in the extra cash Father no longer could. I was trying to help. But my parents don’t see it that way, and I’m not sure they ever will.