by Sarah Noffke
She couldn’t very well say, “Mae Ling told me to be myself, which means to rebel against your curriculum and ways of doing things.” Without the head professor saying it, Paris knew that she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone the advice she’d given her. She had gone silent when Headmistress Starr entered the room upon meeting Paris. No, that conversation and her direction to Paris was between the two of them.
“Something is wrong,” Headmistress Starr guessed.
Paris nodded, chewing on her lip.
“Take a seat.” Willow held out her hand to the cushy armchair opposite her desk. “You look a little peckish. Have you been eating since you got to the college?”
As if invited to complain, Paris’ stomach grumbled on cue. She remembered then that the spell she used to read the book using magic would have depleted her magic reserves. She’d been too excited about the win against Professor Butcher, and she’d forgotten about the huge expense.
“I have been,” Paris admitted.
“Well, maybe not enough sweets.” Willow pushed a crystal dish of butterscotch candies in her direction.
Paris had never liked the candies. She also didn’t like other candies—or sweets. Still, calories were calories. Maybe that was the thing. The fairy godmothers thought they needed to eat sweets to be sweet and refill their reserves, but maybe it was about eating what one likes. Paris would rather have a quesadilla the size of a pizza filled with grilled chicken and peppers or a hamburger and fries. Why did she have to eat cake and cookies if that wasn’t for her?
These were the things she needed to voice, but doing so was harder than she would have thought as she looked into the thoughtful eyes of the headmistress.
Unwrapping a candy, she popped it into her mouth and attempted a smile. “The reason that I’m here,” Paris began, finding it difficult to speak with the hard candy in her mouth, “is that I didn’t agree with the curriculum of Professor Shannon Butcher’s class.”
Willow glanced down at a notebook, scanning it. “You mean Cotillion?” She looked up, having reviewed the class schedule.
Paris nodded. “I realize these classes are important to you all here,” she began, trying to sound as respectful as she could while also trying to say this was complete bullshit. She liked Willow and didn’t want to disrespect her at all. “But—”
“You don’t think they’re relevant,” Headmistress Starr guessed, offering a polite smile.
Sighing, Paris nodded again. “Professor Butcher and I didn’t get on very well from the beginning. We agreed that if I tested out of the class, I didn’t need to take it.”
Surprised, Willow tilted her chin to the side. “Did you test out of Cotillion?”
Another nod. “She gave me an impromptu quiz, and I got one hundred percent.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised,” Willow stated, “but I’m very impressed.” She sighed and looked around at her desk as if she’d lost something. “This is very unorthodox, as I’m sure you’re aware. We don’t usually allow students to do things in such a manner.”
“I’m not the typical student,” Paris offered.
“That’s true,” Willow agreed. “Still…I’m not sure how to handle this.”
“It’s just that, if I may Headmistress Starr…”
The fairy godmother lowered her chin and smiled. “Go on then.”
“Well, it’s just that as much as I respect what you all do here, promoting love and all, I’m not sure that we need to refine women so they fit into a mold that makes Prince Charmings like them,” she explained in a rush. “I didn’t agree with all the etiquette of the Cotillion class. And I’m not sure about my schedule. Like, why do I need to learn baking and cooking and gardening?”
“Because your charges need to,” Willow explained.
“But that’s the thing,” Paris argued. “What if they don’t? Why don’t regular women and men who aren’t all proper get to find true love? Why is it only those with Ph.D.’s in refinement who get to be matched?”
Willow considered this for a moment. After a long pause, she glanced up at Paris, her gaze penetrating. “I’m not going to argue that you’re altogether wrong, Paris. However, I want you to also keep in mind that I’m not wrong. Maybe we’re both correct, but we need to meet somewhere in the middle. You see, I recognize that our ways are dated. It’s one reason I allowed you entry to Happily Ever After College. Most don’t want to be fairy godmothers anymore, so I can reason that we haven’t adapted to the modern world. But I’m not sure how to proceed. You may be a little extreme for us. We’ve yet to see. Here’s what I do know that’s relevant, besides the fact that we’re losing fairy godmothers and therefore much more.”
Willow stood from her desk and walked to a side wall where a red velvet curtain hung. She pulled it back by simply using her finger to draw it to the side magically. Behind it, hanging on the wall was a meter that had a small heart at the bottom. The arrow was set well under halfway along the dial, about at the twenty-five percent mark on a scale of one hundred percent.
“This love meter is the same one they monitor at Matters of the Heart and the Fairy Godmother Agency,” Willow explained. “We’re all responsible for it. I churn out skilled fairy godmothers. They assign then Saint Valentine monitors and governs. On all fronts, we’ve decided we’re failing. We’re not sure if it’s the teachings, which are the foundation or if the assignments are wrong, or if Saint Valentine’s oversight isn’t catching problems. However, what is evident is that worldwide, true love is down. It’s at around twenty-five percent, which is a dangerous number for our globe. It’s never been so low.”
Paris thought for a moment. “And the repercussions of that…”
“There are many,” Willow began. “Love affects everything in this world from our planet to the ecosystem to the economy to population. It’s the most far-reaching effect of any.”
Paris gulped. “So we have to do something.”
The headmistress nodded and smirked. “Hence the reason that I allowed an untraditional student into our ranks.” She took her seat at her desk once more and folded her hands in front of her casually. “I don’t know if I’m doing things right or wrong, or if the Fairy Godmother Agency or Matters of the Heart is. All I know is that we need to do something differently. You have a different, younger mindset, so I’m open to learning from that.”
Paris sensed a “but,” so she decided to stay quiet.
“But…” Willow drew out the word.
There it is, Paris thought.
“I would be remiss if I didn’t ask that you do the same thing,” Willow stated. “I’ll allow you to test out of Cotillion, but please note that you have to prove yourself. Our curriculum was established for a reason so you can’t simply dismiss it. I’ll be open to your new ideas as long as you try and master what we offer.”
That was a lot. Paris pondered. She could offer her input, but she had to study what they’d already established. It would require more than if she simply went along with the status quo. Still, Paris didn’t agree with how things were. Plus, her gut told her that she could offer the college a good change.
So she extended her hand to the headmistress, which apparently wasn't how fairy godmothers agreed on things. Not backing down, Paris offered her a smile. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Let’s shake on it.”
As if it was her first handshake, and maybe it was, Willow took her hand in hers and gingerly wrung it. “Okay, we have a deal.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Never in her entire life had Paris been in a ballroom. Why would she? It wasn’t a place that a kid from Roya Lane found herself. There weren’t ballroom dancing lessons or ballet or anything similar.
Still, Paris was enchanted when she stepped into the large, elaborately decorated hall, more than the rest of the mansion, which was saying a lot. The ceilings were high with several large chandeliers dazzling with crystals that hung like snowflakes.
The floors felt different under her boot
s as if she was walking on air that clapped with each of her steps. She glanced behind herself, wondering if she was leaving prints.
“You made it,” Wilfred said in his distinguished voice from the corner, striding over to her.
Paris whipped around to find the butler smiling regally at her.
“Yeah, this is my second class.” She looked around at the students putting on special heels in the corner of the ballroom. “Will you please point me in the direction of the instructor? I guess I should introduce myself.”
“You already have,” Wilfred stated proudly and pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m the instructor for ballroom dancing.”
“Oh,” Paris hiccupped, not having expected the butler would be an instructor. He was the most refined person she’d met there or anywhere else, so it made sense. “Well, then I hope it comes as no surprise that I don’t know the first thing about ballroom dancing or any type of dancing.”
He nodded. “I concluded as much. Don’t worry. You can observe today and join us as you pick up the moves.”
“Great. I’m used to sitting on the bleachers. Where are they?”
He gave her a blank expression, confused.
“It was a joke, Wil…”
“Right, madam.” He clapped his hands good-naturedly. “Well, I hope that you don’t mind sitting in a seat along the wall. We don’t have any of these bleachers that you speak of.” He pointed to where padded armchairs were lined up along a wall where two familiar faces already sat—Chef Ash and Hemingway.
Paris nodded. “Okay, so I get to sit and watch? No pop quizzes or making me do the Zumba on my first day?”
He gave her another look of confusion. “We’re doing the foxtrot today. I don’t think we’ll be covering the Zumba.”
“I think that’s a workout that housewives do at gyms,” Paris explained. “But honestly, I wouldn’t know since I’m not a housewife and have never been to a gym.”
“Then how do you know?” Wilfred asked curiously.
“Because I watch a lot of Netflix,” she admitted.
“Well, please try to pay attention,” Wilfred instructed and pointed at the class that was filing into orderly rows.
Paris backed up to the row of chairs while looking back and forth between the class and Chef Ash and Hemingway. She slid into one and finally asked her burning question. “What are you two doing here?”
“We’re dance partners, obviously.” Hemingway pretended to sound offended.
“Excuse me for not knowing that. This is my first ballroom dancing class. I guess I figured the students would partner up.”
“They do,” Chef Ash agreed with a smile. “But it’s nice for them to have someone who knows how to lead.”
Paris lowered her chin. “Because a woman couldn’t do that, right?”
“It’s not traditional,” he admitted.
She watched as the butler clapped, gaining the students' attention, and reviewed the moves that they’d learn during that class. It still seemed so strange to Paris that she had to learn ballroom dancing and not only to help others find love, but this was her method for staying out of jail. “To think, I could be learning how to smuggle pixie drugs into a place.”
“What’s that?” Hemingway leaned over as if he hadn’t heard her right, although she suspected that he had.
The news from the class with Professor Butcher would be spreading, and soon everyone would know that Paris was jail material. She looked like it, so it was only a matter of time before everyone treated her like it. Or maybe she’d change things…she hoped so.
“I was remarking how strange it is that I’d have to learn ballroom dancing,” she lied, pointing as Wilfred demonstrated a move for the class, and the students all tried to copy it.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Hemingway began. “It’s a lot like fighting, I’d think.”
She spun to face him, wondering if news about her jail sentence had already rapidly spread. “Why would you say that?”
He drew back. “Because last night you said you couldn’t throw a roundhouse kick with the fairy godmother gown on, so I figured that was your thing.”
She nodded, trying to cover her alarmed reaction. “Yeah, I prefer martial arts.”
“Which,” Chef Ash held up a finger in the air, “I’ll point out is an art, hence the name.”
Paris nodded while watching the class try to follow Wilfred and not look quite as graceful. That gave her little hope that she’d pick this up if they’d been doing it for a few weeks or months and she was only beginning.
“Yeah, the funny thing is, I can take out a minotaur with one arm restrained, but ask me to waltz, and I’ll probably sweep your legs out from under you by accident.” Paris laughed.
Hemingway gave her an uncertain yet entertained expression. “Why is it that you would have to fight a minotaur?”
She shrugged. “How else was I going to get back the jewelry he stole?”
Wilfred clapped and turned elegantly in a circle. “Now, I’ll have some dance partners join you to practice. The rest partner up with each other until we rotate.” The butler waved to Chef Ash and Hemingway.
“That’s our cue.” Chef Ash tipped his imaginary hat to Paris as he strode for the class.
Hemingway pointed at her and winked. “I want to hear stories about kicking minotaur’s butts and more over a glass of sherry.”
“I don’t drink sherry,” she replied.
He turned, walking backward. “Whiskey it is.”
“I never said I was victorious,” she stated.
“I want the story then,” he fired back before spinning.
Paris sat back, laughing and wondering what she’d gotten herself into by agreeing to give all this a chance. It all felt like a silly game, but the love meter wasn’t a joke, and she desperately wanted to help the world…if that was within her powers.
Chapter Thirty-Six
From the doorway, unseen by the class or Paris Westbridge, were Willow Starr and Mae Ling. The pair watched the proceedings of the ballroom dancing class, and listened in using an eavesdropping spell.
The headmistress visibly flinched at hearing Paris’ admission about fighting a minotaur. Mae Ling, however, hid her grin after hearing this.
“You think she’s what we need?” Willow asked the head professor.
“I do,” Mae Ling stated with confidence.
The headmistress shook her head. “I’ve always trusted you on these things…your process, but I wish you could be more forthcoming with your reasoning.”
“I think she has a good instinct,” Mae Ling admitted, observing as Paris slumped in her seat, watching the class practice as she threaded her arms across her chest, disinterested. “I think that as fairy godmothers, we’ve lost that instinct. We’re too textbook, and it’s outdated. We need something different.”
Willow sighed heavily and looked at the rebellious fairy. “She’s definitely different. Not only for a fairy godmother either. She’s different for…well, a fairy.”
Mae Ling shrugged. “I’m a fairy.”
“Yes, but you know how to behave,” Willow stated.
“I know when to behave and when you’re not looking,” Mae Ling teased playfully.
“Oh, you always behave, even if you don’t conform.” She pointed at Paris. “That one doesn’t do either.”
“I like that about her,” Mae Ling stated proudly.
“I do too,” Willow admitted. “That doesn’t mean she’s going to work out. We’ll have to keep an eye on her. How she acts today is crucial. Saint Valentine is breathing down my back on several things: Our low enrollment, the fairy godmothers flunking out once in the field, and now this decision to allow an unorthodox student into our college. If at the end of today, Paris doesn’t seem like a good fit, I think we need to reassess.”
“I think she’ll pass our exams tonight,” Mae Ling declared. “But…” She held up a finger while drawing out the word. “Consider that she might pass using unconvention
al means since she is an unorthodox student. We all need to be prepared for that.”
Willow lowered her chin and gave the head professor a knowing look. “You mean me. I need to be open to such things.”
“Possibly,” Mae Ling sang and glanced back at Paris. “For now, we simply observe. See what she does and how she does. Grade her as she progresses through the day.”
Willow nodded. “Then tonight, the final exam to see if she’s right for Happily Ever After College. If not, we have to figure out something else. If the answer isn’t unconventional students for the college, then I have to figure out something else. Everything at Happily Ever After depends on this. Love is at stake.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Paris had never been in an observatory before. She didn’t know much about the solar system since she’d never read about it in her online science classes. Unfortunately, she knew too much about astrology because under her flat on Roya Lane there had always been a strange astrology shop that sold crystals and star charts.
The woman who ran it was named Cosmos, and she often gave Paris unsolicited advice when she passed by her store. Even stranger was on the few times that Paris had moved to different places on Roya Lane, the shop had too. Cosmos had various reasons like her lease was up or the old shop's energy was stagnant.
The astrologer would always tell Paris not to make any business transactions or to limit communications because Mars or Venus was in retrograde. “Wait a fortnight or more before signing anything,” the old woman would advise Paris on her way to the coffee shop.
“Right,” she’d muttered, striding past the shop. “Because I sign so many things each day.”
The whole idea of astrology seemed so far-fetched, even in the magical world. The fact that Paris was now required to take a class on it at Happily Ever After College completed the farce that was becoming her life. She couldn’t fathom how astrology could be relied upon for matchmaking, but Paris had promised Willow that she’d keep an open mind.
