by Shannon Hale
“Thank you, my feathered friends!” Apple called after them. She smiled at Lizzie as if nothing uncomfortable had passed between them and opened the door.
The headmaster was pacing on the Student Council’s dais, checking his gold pocket watch. He had a firm face, steel-gray hair, and an impressive gray suit. All that grayness seemed to declare to Lizzie, I am serious! Beside him, Daring Charming leaned against a desk, checking his teeth in the reflection of his sword. His blond hair was combed back and gelled to within an inch of its life. Briar Beauty lay on the floor between them, dressed in hot pink and snoring sweetly. What was going on?
Timely advice from one of Lizzie’s mother’s cards:
When in doubt, shout!
“WHAT IS THIS ABOUT, HEADMASTER GRIMM?” Lizzie shouted.
Grimm winced and rubbed his ears. “Er, yes. Well, Miss Hearts, I need your help.”
Aha! The shouting had worked! Her mother was a genius.
Daring swooped into a royal bow and said, “Be still, my heart! A fair princess has arrived!” And, strangely, he was looking at Lizzie, not Apple. Daring’s complimentary, showy stuff seemed to set the Ever After girls’ lashes aflutter, but Lizzie raised an eyebrow.
“If your heart were still, Mr. Charming,” she said, “then you would be dead.”
“Excuse me?” Daring asked.
“You said ‘be still, my heart,’ thereby commanding your heart to stop beating,” said Lizzie. “If your heart is obedient, I expect you to drop dead at my feet.”
Daring stared at Lizzie. He opened his mouth and seemed surprised when a chuckle escaped it. Lizzie smirked. She didn’t often hear Daring Charming chuckle.
Apple pulled some papers out from under Briar’s sleeping form and handed them to Lizzie.
“ ‘The Tragedy of Aquilona,’ ” Lizzie read. “ ‘A play by Milton Grimm.’ ”
“The performance will be a delightful and surprising part of our field trip to the North Wind tomorrow,” Grimm said. “However, our Aquilona has never actually practiced her part, because at every rehearsal, the actress…” Grimm nodded to Briar snoring sweetly on the floor. “We need a replacement.”
A chill skipped down Lizzie’s spine. Prance about in an attitude of drama before a bunch of commoners? Surely her mother would not approve. People performed for a queen, not she for them.
But she remembered a piece of her mother’s playing-card advice:
If you want something done right,
you must do it yourself.
Of course, her mother had followed up that advice with:
So make sure you personally order servants
all by yourself to do what you want done.
Pfft. Not a single servant in all of Ever After waited upon her. She was constantly having to do stuff herself. Stuff like thronework. And pillow fluffing. And hedgehog hurling.
“Why me?” Lizzie asked.
“You are a Royal,” Grimm said. “For this part, we need a loyal Royal. Ahem. Rhyme intended.”
“But the field trip is tomorrow already,” said Lizzie.
Apple took her hand. Instinctively, Lizzie pulled it away. She wasn’t used to being touched. Apple didn’t seem the least troubled.
“Lizzie, what does it say outside the Castleteria?” Apple asked. “The little yellow sign by the door that was put up last week.”
“ ‘All students are henceforth required to forgo any and all activities of war, conflict, combat, and indeed all projectile-based activities upon entering this facility,’ ” Lizzie quoted. “ ‘Comestibles taking to the air by means magical or otherwise—’ ”
“Wow,” Daring interrupted.
“You were right, Ms. White,” Headmaster Grimm said.
“About what?” Lizzie asked.
“About you,” Apple said. “You can memorize stuff royally fast.”
Lizzie shrugged. She did have all fifty-two of her mother’s cards memorized. And lots of other stuff, too, like rules and poems and recipes for weapons-grade scones. A good memory was essential for a ruler of Wonderland. In such a topsy-turvy place, someone had to remember what things were, what they were not, and what they might possibly become.
“Here.” Apple took the script from Lizzie and scribbled a new first line of the play:
Aquilona: Off with her head!
“Start that way,” Apple said.
Lizzie smiled, just a little.
CEDAR WOOD STOOD ON THE LAKESHORE, wiggling her toes nervously in the sand. They made little creaking noises when they moved, like a tree bending with the wind. Cedar glanced around to see if anyone noticed. Hopper Croakington II stood next to her in frog form, tapping his webbed foot in the water, staring back at the path for his racing partner, Daring Charming, to appear. He noticed Cedar looking at him and smiled.
“Pip-pip, my little wooden foe,” he said. “Good luck! It must feel daunting to compete against a Charming and a Croakington, but worry not! This is just the qualifying race. You can lose with dignity.”
Cedar nodded and tried to keep her mind blank. Being cursed to speak only the truth came with a side effect: sometimes blurting out whatever was in her head at any moment.
“One question, though,” Hopper said, his voice dropping in volume. “A bit personal, though. Do you mind?”
“No,” Cedar said, and then, despite her best efforts, added, “I mean, I would mind if it’s something awkward, because then I’d have to tell you the truth.”
Hopper blinked. “Right. So—”
Kitty Cheshire flickered into visibility next to him, saying nothing.
“Er… hello, Kitty. That is, as I was saying, Cedar.” His eyes twitched back to Kitty, who clearly made him nervous. Kitty just kept smiling like always.
“Yes, Hopper?” Cedar prompted.
The son of the Frog Prince rallied. “Yes, I was going to ask: Do you float? As in, being made of wood, do you have to make an effort not to sink, or does it come naturally?”
“I naturally float,” she said.
“Get ready, Cedar!” a voice called from behind.
Cerise Hood was running down the cobblestone path leading to the lake, red hood covering up her white-streaked dark brown hair, red cape flapping behind her. She seemed built for athletics—tall and broad; strong, solid thighs; and intense eyes focused on her destination.
“Where the deuce is Daring?” Hopper grumbled. “He’s supposed to be fast!”
Cedar’s toes wiggled more frantically. She patted herself, checking to make sure she was ready for her practice swim. Her dark, wavy hair was tucked into a bunch of braids. Her swimsuit was, almost literally, a suit. It started high at her neck and extended all the way to her wrists and ankles. She hadn’t had time to smear on her waterproofing lotion this morning, and she needed to avoid swollen joints.
“It could be that Daring found a damsel in distress in one of the trees along the path,” Kitty said.
“What?” sputtered Hopper.
“It could be that I accidentally left a blond wig in one of those trees,” Kitty said, examining her nails. “It could also be that I screamed ‘help’ from up there, you know, before popping over here.”
Cedar jogged closer to the water as Cerise ran up beside her, handing off the tightly wound waterproof relay scroll.
“I have it!” said Cedar, gripping the relay scroll. “So do I just—”
“Yes!” said Cerise. “Jump in!”
Cedar dived into the lake. She didn’t even submerge, her body easily floating on the water. She supposed the water was chilly, but cold didn’t bother her. Or heat. Or anything really—well, except for fire. And axes. And wood chippers. And woodpeckers, beavers, termites…
“Swim!” Cerise shouted from shore, keeping pace with Cedar on land.
Cedar swam.
“You guys are already two minutes ahead of last year’s relay winners,” Raven Queen called out from the opposite shore. Dressed all in purple and black with silver-studded knee-high boots, Raven di
dn’t resemble any coach Cedar had seen before. But she’d stuck an Ever After High baseball cap onto her purple-and-black locks to look more sporty.
Cedar held up a wooden thumb and kept kicking. With Raven as their coach, Cerise and Cedar’s relay team naturally became known as the “Rebel” team. Since Legacy Day, everything was becoming “Rebel” this and “Royal” that. Raven had refused to sign the Storybook of Legends and promise to become the Evil Queen like her mother, and now it seemed everyone had to take sides. Apple White, who had been devastated by Raven’s refusal to sign, now led the Royals, those who wanted their fairytale destinies and pledged to someday live out their inherited stories exactly as scripted. The Rebels were following Raven’s lead, vowing to write their own destinies, no matter what path their parents took.
Cedar’s story wasn’t as bad as some, but as the next Pinocchio, she was supposed to make lots of bad choices that would bring heartache to her kind, loving father before eventually getting turned into a real girl. To Cedar, that story never felt “just right,” as Blondie Lockes would say.
“Go, Cedar, go!” a voice called from directly above her. Cedar flipped onto her back to see Cupid hovering, her pink hair billowing in the breeze made by her flapping feathered wings.
“You are amazing,” Cupid said. “I’m wicked bad in the water. But you make swimming look enchantingly easy.”
“It is easy,” Cedar said, and then, “I wish I hadn’t said that. It sounds boasty, and that’s not what I mean at all.” She paused. “I also wish I hadn’t said that.”
Cupid giggled.
“Cupid, leave her alone,” shouted Cerise from the shore. “She’s trying to go fast, and you’re distracting her!”
“Right! Sorry! Swim enchantingly, easily on!”
Cupid flitted off, and Cedar turned back onto her stomach, paddling with all her might. Cerise was counting on her, and Cedar really hated disappointing people. It made her feel terrible, but because of her honesty “blessing” from the Blue-Haired Fairy, she was compelled to tell people exactly how she felt. Cedar was a fan of the truth in general, but by the godmother’s wand, was it ever awkward having to volunteer the truth all the time! It kind of made you a weirdo.
“Shore!” and “Rock!” two people yelled at the same time, so it sounded like “Shock!” Cedar looked up midstroke and was in fact shocked as her head slammed into a large stone on the lakeshore.
Feet splashed into the water, hands helping her up and out onto the sand.
“Are you okay?” Raven asked.
“Fine, good,” Cedar said. “Just embarrassed.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Raven said. “You guys are still, like, a minute ahead of the best recorded time, and all you have left is the biking part.”
“Where’s Sparrow?” Cerise said, scanning the lakeside path.
Cedar spotted fresh bicycle tracks.
“Looks like he was here but took off,” Cedar said.
“This is a disaster,” said Cerise with an irritated huff and puff.
Cedar ducked her head. “Sorry.” Raven had suggested that Cedar partner with Cerise and Sparrow Hood for the Glass Slipper’s annual Tiara-thalon, an opportunity to get out of her art studio and make more friends. But here she was spoiling it from the start.
Raven put her hand on Cedar’s shoulder. “Cerise isn’t mad at you.”
“What?” Cerise said, voice cracking a little. “No, no, Cedar. I’m sorry. I’m just mad at myself for thinking that I could count on Sparrow.”
Dexter Charming, the younger of the Charming brothers at the school, pedaled on his royal-blue mountain bike to the group of wet, grumpy, and rebellious girls.
“Hey, what’s upon-ing?” Dexter asked, skidding to a halt. “Is your practice run over? I wanted to see if I could keep pace with Sparrow.”
“Looks like Sparrow got bored waiting and took off,” Raven said.
“Tragic ending,” Dexter said, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses. “Do you need to borrow my bike?”
“Yeah, we do,” Cedar said, unable to keep her thoughts from bursting out. “If our team’s biker doesn’t cross the finish line by noon, then we won’t qualify to compete in the Tiara-thalon. But… you’re a Royal. I wouldn’t think that a Royal would want to help Team Rebel.”
Dexter shrugged. “Who cares? I mean, maybe you care. I mean, maybe I should care… but I don’t know. I feel like things are getting out of control around here, and can’t a Royal still like a Rebel?… Or not like like, or maybe like like—I don’t know what I’m talking about. But you can still borrow my bike for your practice and for the race itself, if you want.”
Raven smiled at Dexter, and Cedar thought she saw him blush.
“Will you ride it, Raven?” Cedar asked.
“I would…” Raven examined her boots. “Should have worn my studded sneakers.”
Dexter said, “I’ll do it for you, Raven.”
“Really?” said Cerise. “For the… er… Rebel team?”
Dexter rubbed his brown hair as if trying to smooth it flat, but it stood straight up in front. “Maybe our team will show some people that the whole Rebel and Royal thing doesn’t have to be that big of a deal.”
Cedar handed him the relay scroll, still wet from the lake, and he took off. Fast.
“He’s good,” Cedar said, watching Dexter pick up speed.
“Yes,” Raven said. “Yes, he is.”
“Hey, Raven,” Cedar said. “Do you like like Dexter?”
Cerise made a muffled grunt that turned into a cough, and Raven blinked.
There was a moment of silence, and Cedar wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. It could be that Raven didn’t want to answer, because Cedar, being who she was, would end up telling everyone. People only shared stuff with Cedar once everyone else already knew. Even standing there under the candy-blue sky, part of a relay team, Cedar felt locked up and alone.
No one was talking, and that made Cedar lonelier than ever. Into the silence, Cedar said, “I don’t want to be the lone tree on the hill.”
Raven wrapped her arms around Cedar in a tight hug. “No worries, little sapling,” she said. “I will always be your forest.”
Cedar smiled. She noticed the creaking noise her face made whenever it carved itself into a different expression, and pulled away from Raven, not wanting her to hear it, too.
“Speaking of forests,” Cedar said. “We’ve got a field trip tomorrow, to the Dark Mountains, right? I’m running low on paints, and I was hoping to gather some berries there to make more. Will you guys help?”
“Totally,” Cerise said.
“Sure thing,” said Raven, and then her brow furrowed. “Unless Apple needs me first. She has some surprise something she’s doing at the field trip that she said she might need help with if Briar falls asleep.”
“That’s okay,” Cedar said, and it was true, but there was still a part of her that felt just the tiniest bit un-okay. There always was.
THE MORNING OF THE FIELD TRIP DAWNED AS yellow-gold as leprechaun treasure.
Ooh, Narrator, that’s a pretty image! Well, if leprechaun treasure is pretty. Is it? I haven’t seen any before. Oooh! What if leprechaun treasure is actually, like, something really, really gross? That wouldn’t be pretty.
Madeline Hatter, you know I can’t talk to you. Characters aren’t supposed to be able to hear the Narrator, and it’s so awkward for me that you can.
Mmhm, but that’s called a simile, isn’t it, Narrator? When you say that something is like something else to paint a picture in the reader’s mind? The sun was like an egg frying on the sky, or the tea was as hot as dragon’s fire, or the crab juggled like a six-legged man?
Yes, a simile, exactly. But I must get back to the narration. Many things are about to happen—
Ooh! What things? Tell, tell!
Well, the drama will really start when a frightening—wait! You’re not going to get me to spoil the story, Maddie, not this time!
Aw, Narrator, you’re cute as a whole bag of buttons. You’re as cleverful as books that read themselves. This simile game is fun! You’re as invisibilish as a ghost playing hide-and-seek. You’re—
Shh. No more interruptions, please. I must return to the narration. Ahem.
THE MORNING OF THE FIELD TRIP DAWNED AS yellow-gold as leprechaun treasure. The great castle of Ever After High seemed gilded with the light. Songbirds swooped and sang, butterflies danced with fairies, goblins yawned and crept into the cellar to sleep.
In her dorm, Lizzie dressed carefully, as always, arranging her red-and-black hair under her crown. She peered at her mirror, painting a red heart around her left eye. Her mother bore a heart-shaped birthmark. Lizzie was born without the birthmark, so she drew one on each day to be a little more like her mother.
She slipped her pack of playing cards into her pocket and didn’t bother to take anything else. Except for the butter knife. You could never be sure.
A field trip day was a bubbling cauldron of excitement. The corridors were raucous, the laughter constant. By the time Lizzie marched and shouted her way through the school and out to the wishing well, there was an enormous line. She could tell which students were going to visit the West Wind by their attire—all swimsuits and flip-flops, reeking of coconut sunscreen. In front of Lizzie, two fairy-godmothers-in-training prattled on endlessly about the supposedly spectacular hollowed-out mountain palace the East Wind lived in.
At last it was Lizzie’s turn.
“The North Wind,” Lizzie said to the fairy godmother directing traffic at the wishing well. She waved her wand, and Lizzie jumped in. After a rush of sparkly darkness and freezing-hot breezes, Lizzie hopped out of another wishing well in the Dark Mountains beyond the Dark Forest. She looked around for a royal sedan chair carried by four servants (preferably card soldiers), but when none appeared, she was forced to trudge up the mountainside like the rest of her class.
