Disney Before the Story

by Disney Books

The Arties burst into the Headmistress’s office without knocking. The Headmistress was seated behind her desk. Next to her stood Cruella, cashbox in hand.

  “Whatever she’s saying, it’s not true!” Beatrice shouted.

  “This is the club you’ve been telling me about?” the Headmistress asked Cruella.

  “They’re simply out of control,” the older girl said. “They can’t be trusted as representatives of Dahlington Academy in an official club capacity.”

  The Arties gasped. “How dare you,” Claire said, seething.

  “You see what I mean.” Cruella smirked. “There is, at the very least, a behavior issue.”

  “Young ladies,” the Headmistress said, “Cruella has notified me that your art club was formed as an excuse to break rules and disrupt the school order. Is this true?”

  “I assure you that’s not the case,” Anita said. “We just want to have an art club. And we haven’t broken any rules. All of our fundraisers were approved.”

  “But I did not approve any such events,” the Headmistress said.

  “Cruella did,” Penelope said. “As your student aide.”

  Cruella put her hand to her chest in surprise. “Of course that can’t be true. I don’t have the authority to approve things on the Headmistress’s behalf.” She snorted, as though what Penelope had just said was ridiculous.

  The Arties exchanged horrified looks. Cruella had been setting them up all along!

  Anita tried to compose herself. “It seems there has been a miscommunication, ma’am. We will certainly seek your permission directly”—she glared at Cruella as she said this—“in the future.”

  “Unfortunately, that won’t undo the numerous conduct rules they’ve broken,” Cruella told the Headmistress.

  “Conduct rules? Like what?” Lucy asked.

  “Why, all the unauthorized behavior: engaging in for-profit activities on campus, stealing from the kitchen pantries, fraternizing with members of the boys’ academy.” Cruella rattled off the list as the Arties glanced at each other nervously. “And of course, making hideous paintings they try to pass off as art when in fact we have actual art on campus in the form of my brilliant fashions.” Cruella tossed her black and white hair and snorted again, dramatically.

  “Cruella,” the Headmistress said wearily, “creating art you may not like is not a breach of conduct.”

  “Well, it ought to be,” Cruella said, sneering.

  The Headmistress rubbed her temples. “Girls, you all seem like lovely students. We can’t have rampant rule breaking, of course, but, Cruella”—the Headmistress turned to her aide—“it also sounds like these girls were under the impression they had proper permission. I’m not sure disbanding the club is what we should do about their first violation.”

  Cruella rolled her eyes. Then she reached into a pocket of her long velvet coat and withdrew a small metal cylinder. A devilish grin spread across her face. “First violation, you say?” Anita watched her put the object to her lips and blow. For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then the unmistakable sound of a dog barking reached the office. Anita realized, too late, that Cruella had blown a dog whistle. She tried to contain her panic as the barks grew louder and louder.

  “Is that a dog I hear?” the Headmistress asked.

  The barking was getting closer. Anita heard claws scraping the marble floor in the hallway outside, and her heart fell into her stomach. Finally: boom. The door burst open, and Perdita bounded into the Headmistress’s office.

  “Woof!” Perdita barked, as if she was announcing her arrival. She leapt into Anita’s arms, licking her in happiness, so excited to have been summoned.

  “Hello, sweet girl,” Anita whispered to her pet, her voice breaking.

  “Headmistress,” Cruella said, pointing at the pair, “Anita and her club of cronies have been hiding this contraband creature for weeks, right under your nose.”

  Anita held her puppy, breathing in the scent of the animal she loved so much. Everyone else in the room was quiet, including the Headmistress.

  Cruella chuckled mercilessly at Anita. “You thought you were doing such a good job keeping her hidden. Please.” She turned to the Headmistress. “Ma’am, I apologize on behalf of these hooligans. I should have done more to rein them in.”

  The Arties looked on in shock. The Headmistress rose from her desk.

  “Could you put the animal down, please?” the Headmistress asked.

  Anita set Perdita on the floor. The Headmistress crouched to look at the puppy. Perdita ran forward to greet her, sniffing the Headmistress’s shoes.

  Then the Headmistress scooped Perdita up, drew her in close, and cooed: “Oh, you pwecious widdle thing! Who’s a good girl? Adorable widdle cutie-wutie pupper. You are!”

  The Arties gaped in surprise. Cruella flared her nostrils in disgust.

  As the Headmistress cuddled Perdita, she gave Cruella an order. “Take them down.”

  Cruella began to protest. “But, Head-mistress, remember—”

  “Take them down, Cruella.” The Head-mistress’s voice was firm.

  Cruella nodded, reluctant but obedient. She pulled the fabric covering from the large piece of artwork on the wall closest to her. As the fabric fell to the floor, the painting underneath was revealed. It was a large oil portrait of a very distinguished, very handsome dachshund.

  Cruella walked around the room, yank-ing the fabric coverings from the furniture, the lamps, and the rest of the artwork. With every reveal came another sighting of the dachshund: embroidered pillows featuring his face, a lamp with a bronze dachshund as its base and floppy ears dangling from the shade, photographs of the Headmistress and the dachshund together, needlework hangings with phrases such as “Happy Dachshund, Happy Dahlington” on the wall. Everywhere Anita looked in the office was a dachshund.

  When Cruella was finished, she threw all the fabric into a pile in the corner and folded her arms. The Headmistress handed Perdita back to Anita and went to an oil painting of the Headmistress holding the dachshund.

  “This is Henry,” she began. “At the beginning of last school year, he passed away.” She touched her palm to the dog’s face. “Henry was our school mascot. When he was alive, we were the Dahlington Dachshunds.” The Headmistress pointed to another wall hanging. It was a pennant like the one the girls had found when they were cleaning out the equipment shed: the outline of a dachshund prancing next to Dahlington in gold letters on maroon felt. Anita understood now why the discarded pieces of sports equipment had the same dog on them. It was Henry!

  The Headmistress continued. “Henry was also my companion for seventeen years.” Her face was full of sorrow. “After he died, I couldn’t bear to look at anything that reminded me of him. It caused me too much pain. That included everything in here and, unfortunately, the school itself. I admit I’ve let the buildings fall into disrepair.” She gestured to Cruella. “Cruella offered to hide Henry’s image for me so I would be less sad. I also instituted stricter rules, thinking that would keep things in line while I was grieving. Cruella stepped in as my student aide to help.” The Headmistress looked at Cruella. “But it seems Cruella may have taken the role of aide a bit too far.”

  Cruella lifted her nose into the air.

  “I take responsibility for all of that,” the Headmistress said. “But, Anita, it’s important you understand that keeping a pet on campus without permission is against the rules here at Dahlington.”

  “I understand, Headmistress,” Anita said, bowing her head.

  The Headmistress set a hand on Anita’s shoulder. “I should have set a better example. I didn’t know how to find my way out of my grief. But now”—the woman beamed at Perdita—“seeing this magnificent young creature…What’s her name?”

  “Perdita,” Anita answered.

  “Instead of being a reminder of the pain of losing Henry, Perdita has brought back that great feeling of love that can only come from a dog.” The Headmistress reached out to pet Perdi
ta again. The puppy licked her hand in response. “Anita, Perdita will not only be welcome here at Dahlington for as long as you’re a student, but in fact, I think she should become our new mascot. The Dahlington Dalmatians!”

  The Arties cheered.

  “Also,” the Headmistress continued, “the art club will stay an official Dahlington club. And I promise I’ll look into the other clubs that may have been…lost over the past year.”

  “That would be amazing!” Anita exclaimed. She couldn’t believe the news. Perdita would not only be living out in the open—she’d be celebrated!

  Cruella huffed loudly and stomped out of the office.

  “She’ll be okay,” the Headmistress said. “Cruella has a bit of a flair for the dramatic.”

  “I’ll say,” Penelope muttered.

  “Stick around for a moment, girls,” the Headmistress said. “I may have some of Henry’s old toys here.”

  The art club stayed in the Headmistress’s office for a while longer, hearing stories of Henry’s glory days, looking at his many photos, and discussing plans for Perdita, including a debut ceremony that would be a fun event for the entire school. The Headmistress also tasked the art club with designing a new school pennant for the Dahlington Dalmatians. The Arties were delighted to accept.

  Later, Anita, Beatrice, Penelope, Claire, Lucy, and Madeline left the office with Perdita following close behind. To their surprise, Cruella was waiting for them.

  “Uh-oh,” Beatrice groaned.

  “I suppose I should offer you congratulations,” Cruella said. “The role of mascot is pretty important. If you ever need someone to dog-sit or take her for a walk, I can help with that.” Cruella tried to smile at Perdita, but it looked more like she was baring her teeth.

  “No way!” Claire whispered harshly at Anita.

  “That’s very kind of you, Cruella,” Anita said. “But I can handle her on my own.”

  “Whatever you say, darling.” Cruella shrugged. “But there’s no reason why we can’t continue being pals, despite a little friendly competition with the clubs and all.”

  Anita swallowed. Friendly competition?

  “Pals?” Madeline asked.

  Anita remembered how lonely she’d been at the beginning of the school year. Perhaps Cruella’s behavior came from her own source of loneliness. Or maybe she just liked being cruel. Either way, Anita couldn’t bear to turn down someone who was looking for a friend.

  “Why don’t we take it one step at a time, Cruella?” Anita offered. “You could join the art club.”

  “She can?” Penelope asked.

  “Fashion is a form of art, after all,” Anita said.

  Cruella made a face like she smelled something bad. But she said, “Fine. I’ll join your club.”

  “Great,” Anita said. She ignored the glares from her fellow Arties. She’d explain to them another time. Either Cruella needed a friend, in which case the art club should be kind to her, or she was an enemy, in which case the art club should keep her close.

  “I will, however,” Cruella said, “insist on designing our club uniforms, which we desperately need.”

  “We can put that to a vote,” Beatrice said.

  “I know how I’m going to vote,” Penelope grumbled.

  “We’ll discuss it at our next meeting,” Anita said, “where we’ll start working on our Dahlington Dalmatian creations.”

  “Should we start with an illustration?” asked Claire.

  “That’s my nomination,” said Madeline.

  “Something to look forward to, after all our trials and tribulations,” Beatrice added.

  “It will be a sensation!” Lucy said with a giggle.

  “Worth a standing ovation!” Penelope cheered.

  “I think my membership is going to be on a trial basis,” Cruella interjected, rolling her eyes.

  The Arties made their way back to the dormitories. Students grinned and pointed at Perdita as they walked past. Some even asked to meet her. Anita smiled as Perdita brought joy to everyone she encountered. It seemed that Dahlington, just as much as Anita herself, had simply needed a Dalmatian.