by Sarah Noffke
The study area was surprisingly peaceful and inviting, with many Chesterfield couches lining the space and Tiffany lamps on neighboring tables. Under the long rows of windows that looked out on the Enchanted Grounds were low cases filled with books.
Pulling out a random book, Paris flipped it open, unsure why she had picked it or what it was. The volume was a book of spells for studying.
“Seems like a helpful book for this space,” Paris muttered to herself and sat on the sofa. She often spoke to herself because, well, there wasn’t anyone around to talk to most of the time. It was fine with her. She was a great conversationalist and always laughed at her jokes.
Expecting that she’d tire of the book within a matter of seconds, Paris was surprised to find herself suddenly engrossed. The material was fascinating, offering tips and tricks and spells for ways to maximize studying. There was specific music that could be played to dramatically increase information retention, exercises one could perform to master a particular skill quickly, and a spell that allowed a reader to absorb material through osmosis. Of course, all of these were either difficult to obtain or very costly on magical reserves, but their benefits seemed worth it.
Paris was surprised to have read almost the entire book by the time a large and ornate grandfather clock chimed on the far wall, pulling her attention back to the present moment. In less than an hour, she’d almost read her first book—ever. Whereas nothing had ever kept her attention for long, for whatever reason, this one had been fascinating, making her quickly devour it. Strangely, it wasn’t a thrilling fiction tale or something else riveting. No, it was a book on studying techniques and hopefully had filled her with knowledge she could use.
Clapping the book shut, Paris peeled herself off the cozy sofa. She didn’t know what had changed that she suddenly didn’t simply like reading but was very good at it. However, she looked forward to exploring many more books, especially now that her new tricks and spells would make her more efficient. For now, it was breakfast time.
Chapter Thirty
Paris realized that she could avoid getting all the strange looks and unwanted attention if she caved and put on the blue gown. She didn’t want to. She liked her clothes, and she’d given up her life, her home, and decided to attend a school that didn’t interest her. At the very least, she was going to dress the way she wanted. However, she wasn’t going to allow herself to complain when all the other students and faculty members stared at her when she entered the dining hall. She’d brought it all on herself by being stubborn.
Still full from last night’s dinner, Paris wasn’t overly excited about breakfast until she looked at the spread. Chef Ash had outdone himself once again. There were trays piled high with creamy scrambled eggs, mounds of bacon and sausage, stacks of pancakes and waffles, huge bowls of fruit, heaping piles of crispy hash browns, and so many other delicious foods that she didn’t know where to start.
“Try the maple bacon,” an unfamiliar voice said at Paris’ shoulder.
She looked up to find a student about her age standing beside her. The woman had straight bluish-gray hair, freckles, and bright green eyes.
“I don’t know how Chef Ash does it, but it’s the best I’ve ever had,” the woman continued. “I try and fail not to fill up on it every morning, but I think it counts as a dessert because it has all the maple syrup on it.”
“Thanks for the recommendation,” Paris said. “I didn’t know where to start, so overwhelmed by options.”
She nodded understandingly. “I’ve been at Happily Ever After College for a year, and the spread never gets old. I don’t think it will although some of the other girls seem less impressed.” Angling her head, the woman who Paris guessed had red hair when not wearing the blue gown due to her complexion, freckles, and eyes indicated the table where Becky Montgomery and a bunch of refined-looking students sat talking excitedly.
“How could this ever get old?” Paris piled several thick strips of bacon onto her warm plate.
“I know, right?” the woman agreed. “I swear, when I go home, I’ll probably just stand in front of my refrigerator, completely lost for how to feed myself.”
The idea that at some point she’d go home from the college suddenly struck Paris. This was only for her education. Then what? She’d work cases, she guessed, but from Roya Lane. She didn’t know how everything worked yet, although Headmistress Starr had said that Saint Valentine’s organization, Matters of the Heart, oversaw the agency that assigned cases. She had a lot to learn.
“My name is Christine.” The woman moved behind Paris in line, piling tons of bacon onto her plate. “Many here call me Chris, which I don’t like at all. Some call me Christina because they forget. It’s cute in the way that it makes me want to butcher their name.”
Paris laughed, instantly liking Christine. “My name is Paris. People call me…well, usually no one calls me.”
“Oh, what a nice name.” Christine slid a piece of perfectly browned waffle onto her plate. “Are you French?”
Paris shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so. My last name is Westbridge.”
“Well, I wish I had a name like that, which is much cooler and not confused with similar ones.” Christine pointed at a set of seats. “Want to sit with me over there?”
Grateful for the invite and unnerved by it, Paris nodded, having filled her plate with bacon, potatoes, a slice of quiche and a buttery biscuit, and zero sugary pastries. She knew she was supposed to eat sweets, but the idea of putting a bunch of sugar in her stomach made it rumble with unease. Plus, as Christine said, the bacon was loaded with maple syrup.
Once Paris took a seat, and before she’d picked up her fork, an envelope with an embossed wax seal materialized beside her plate. She looked up at Christine, hoping she’d fill her in on what that was.
“Oh, your schedule has arrived,” Christine said excitedly.
Paris grabbed the ice water beside her plate, suddenly nervous, and drank. She remembered what Wilfred had said about her having a rigorous schedule and tensed, unsure what she’d find inside the envelope.
Maybe sensing her nervousness or trying to give her privacy, Christine dug into her food.
Breaking the seal on the envelope, Paris pulled out a thick card with flowery writing. It read:
Class Schedule – Day One
First: Cotillion
Second: Ballroom Dancing
Third: Astrology
Fourth: Gardening
Fifth: Cooking and Baking
Sixth: Exam
Paris read the card three times through and flipped it over, thinking there had to be more. Or maybe a note that said, “Just kidding. Here’s your real schedule.”
Glancing up at Christine, who was doing a poor job of pretending not to be paying attention, Paris held up the card. “I think there’s been a mistake. None of these classes seem relevant.”
Christine scanned the card. “Those are all first-year classes.”
“I thought we were supposed to help people find love,” Paris argued. “Not dawdle in strange hobbies meant for seventy-year-old women. Like, ballroom dancing? How does it make sense that I learn that?”
Christine smiled understandingly. “In year one, you’re not to learn the art of matchmaking yet. Not until you know what a good match should be like. Our Cinderellas have to learn how to be a great catch before we can find their Prince Charming.”
Paris pushed her plate away, suddenly not interested in eating. “Does that mean we have to become a seemingly great catch first?”
“Exactly.” Christine took a bite of bacon and closed her eyes briefly as if having a heavenly moment. “We have to master these things so we can teach them. It’s a little weird, but I guess it makes sense.”
“Are you telling me that I have to teach Helen the Housekeeper how to garden before I can land her a husband to keep house for?” Paris wondered where the hidden cameras were and when the host of this prank show was going to jump out and yell, �
�Haha, we got you!”
Christine giggled. “Yeah, I was surprised too. It’s not only matching true loves together. A Cinderella has to be of what they call ‘top stock’ before she’s ready to meet her Prince Charming.”
Paris laughed abruptly, gaining the attention of many at the tables for a moment. When they looked away, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to keep an open mind, but this all seems ridiculous. And the idea of me learning ballroom dancing and baking is atrocious. I don’t even like to sway to my favorite songs.”
Christine nodded and leaned closer. “I’m bad at it too, but you only have to know the basics so you can instruct your Cinderellas.”
“Because why would Prince Charming want to marry Wifey Whitney unless she could tango?” Paris joked.
Christine covered her laughter. “I get that these methods seem weird, but it’s how things are done here. We mold the perfect Cinderella so she can land the perfect Prince Charming. Then they fall in love, and the world is a better place.”
“I like the last part of that whole equation, but nothing else,” Paris muttered and drank more water.
“Well, maybe after you attend your first day of classes, things will make more sense to you,” Christine offered thoughtfully.
Paris nodded although she didn’t think that was possible. None of this seemed like it could ever make sense to her. She admittedly didn’t know much about love and romance. Were only those refined in arts and culture destined for love? She thought it was everyone’s birthright, but again, she apparently had a lot to learn.
When she glanced up from her plate of uneaten food, Paris found Mae Ling watching her from the far side of the table. The fairy godmother gave her a challenging look.
Returning her attention to her pile of food, Paris considered that maybe she had tons to learn. Or perhaps she simply had a lot to rebel against.
Chapter Thirty-One
Cotillion class was in a classroom that looked like a dining room with a table set for what looked like tea service. The room also had furnishings that Paris would have expected to find in a regular classroom, not that she’d ever been in a real one. There were rows of desks and a dry erase board at the front.
Hanging back, Paris took the remaining desk after the other students had chosen theirs. She wasn’t seated for more than a minute when a figure appeared suddenly beside her, seemingly out of nowhere. It was the professor who had questioned her the night before at dinner. The one with the frizzy hair and a disapproving look on her pinched face.
“I see that you’re still not wearing the uniform,” the woman said smugly, her chin held high.
“It doesn’t work for me.” Paris responded with conviction, trying not to be intimidated by being stared down.
Many of the students exchanged hushed words in front of Paris and glanced over their shoulders at her.
“I think you’ll find that your job here at Happily Ever After College is to do what we’ve proven works,” the professor stated. “Wearing the fairy godmother gown makes us appear more trustworthy and presentable to our charges. If you were to show up to advise a Cinderella looking as you do, do you think they’d take you seriously?”
“They would probably think she was lying,” Becky said with a rude laugh.
“Or not want help from a fairy godmother who can’t dress properly,” another woman said with a supercilious grin.
The professor nodded in agreement. “That’s my thought as well. We are to instill trust in our charges.”
“Or maybe they’d think that I’m the real deal and there to help them rather than keep up some fake appearance,” Paris said before she could stop herself, earning gasps from the students in front of her for being so bold.
She slumped but immediately felt bad for it. What she said was how she felt, so why should she feel disgraceful for it?
The woman standing over her narrowed her brown eyes. “I’m Professor Shannon Butcher, and this class is Cotillion, where I’ll teach you about proper etiquette and how to present yourself appropriately so if appearances are a problem for you, maybe you’re at the wrong college.”
“I heard that Tooth Fairy College was accepting rejects,” Becky called from the front of the class.
Paris tried to hide the shiver of disgust that ran down her back. She’d rather go to jail than Tooth Fairy College. Talk about gross, having to retrieve teeth from children’s pillows.
Professor Butcher pulled a red satin-covered hardback book from her robe and placed it on the desk in front of Paris. “Our textbook. I expect for you to read the first couple of chapters by tomorrow to catch up with the class.”
Paris slumped again. Just when she was starting to enjoy reading, now she would have to bore herself with table manners and proper social behavior.
“There will be a test at the end of the week,” Professor Butcher continued. “Although you’re new to the college, I don’t think that grants you any leniency.”
“No, why should being brand-new to the college and not knowing how any of this works give me any breaks?” Paris retorted sarcastically, earning many more gasps from the classroom. She did it again, that thing where she meant to say stuff in her head, but instead opened her mouth and let it fall from her lips.
Professor Butcher apparently wasn’t a fan of sarcasm as she stared down at Paris with contempt. The first class wasn’t going well…
“If you don’t pass my class,” the fairy godmother began, “you’re not qualified to progress to other classes that teach skills crucial for our Cinderellas to know to behave correctly and find love, which means you’ll fail Happily Ever After College. If that happens, what will happen to you, Paris?”
The flare of anger on Shannon Butcher’s face was palpable.
Paris straightened in her seat. “I guess I’ll take up my second career option of working at a bowling alley. It was this or that, and the coin toss sent me here.”
The professor’s eyes turned to tiny slits. “Funny, because I heard that if this didn’t work out that you’d find yourself in jail.”
Internally Paris groaned, but she worked to keep her facial expression neutral. So the truth had leaked out. Maybe Willow had shared it with the faculty. Paris didn’t think she had said this was to become public knowledge. That didn’t seem like the sensitive headmistress who had said that Paris was to have a fresh start here, which meant that Professor Angry Pants was using this knowledge as ammunition.
The students were now talking above a whisper, all their voices full of shock and conspiracy.
Paris knew that she couldn’t contend with this indictment so she needed to take a different approach with this professor, who obviously didn’t like her from the beginning. She probably was one of those that Willow had said would be hard to win over, Paris guessed.
It made sense that professors and students who were overly prideful about Happily Ever After College would find the fact that Paris was there very offensive. They were about to get a rude awakening because she felt the same way about many of the practices at the college and Mae Ling had told her when she thought something or disagreed that she should voice the concern.
“As I’m new to this, please help me to understand how this works,” Paris began, leaning forward, pretending to appear confused. “In this class, you teach us etiquette and manners, correct?”
“That’s right,” Professor Butcher answered in a high-pitched tone.
“You do that so we can relay those behaviors to our charges, right?”
“You might be teachable after all,” the fairy godmother responded.
Paris smiled. “So then are you telling me that only women who can behave ‘right’ should find love?”
The furious expression that had receded flared again on the professor’s face. “Only those who can behave ‘right’ can keep love. What self-respecting man would want a woman who doesn’t know how to serve an afternoon tea or do an opera fold on a napkin?”
Paris laughed loudly,
making many of the students in front of her widen their eyes in shock. “What self-respecting woman would waste her time learning such drivel when there are so many other more awesome things to know?”
Professor Butcher pressed her hands together and pushed them against her mouth, appearing as if she was trying to decide what to do with Paris at this point. “I realize that your uncle pulled a few strings to get you into Happily Ever After College.”
An eruption of whispers from the students interrupted the fairy godmother, but she didn’t seem put off by it. Paris thought she was happy to have leaked this information. Now the secrets were all out and would probably spread across the college quickly.
“But now that you’re here,” Professor Butcher continued, “you’re going to have to earn your place at Happily Ever After College. There will be no coasting by in my class. I don’t care who you’re related to or that if you flunk out, you’re going to jail.”
This woman was trying to get a rise out of Paris, and she knew it, but she wasn’t giving her the satisfaction. Glancing at the red book lying in front of her, Paris had an idea. She’d beat Shannon Butcher at her game.
“You’re right,” Paris began with a sideways smile.
“Of course I am,” the fairy replied snobbishly. “Everyone must earn the grades, and something tells me that you simply don’t have what it takes.”
“You might be right,” Paris stated flatly. “So why don’t we make this fast and easy for both of us? You don’t want me here, obviously, and I don’t want to be here. Let’s simply be honest.”
“I’m listening,” Professor Butcher said.
Judging by the sudden silence in the classroom, all the students were listening as well.
“Tell you what,” Paris began and placed her hand on the book, recalling one of the spells she’d read about earlier. “Give me a pop test. If I flunk it, I’ll go to whatever other beginner class is before this. Table manners for toddlers or trolls or whatever.”
