Kiss and Spell Read online

  “Hello, my little sweetlings,” she said in her shrill voice. “Who would like a little snackypoo?”

  Sister Goose stepped protectively in front of her students. “And who might you be?”

  “I’m the Candy…” She paused, then cackled. “I’m Ms. Breadhouse, Ginger’s mother. Today is my day for snack duty.”

  Everyone turned and looked at Ginger. She felt her cheeks go red.

  The Candy Witch held a tray of yellow cookies, decorated like perfect smiley faces. “Eat your treats, my little lovelies.” She grinned, exposing her blackened teeth. Then she stomped around the room, placing a cookie on each student’s desk.

  “Don’t eat those!” Sister Goose exclaimed. “This woman is a witch, and a wicked one at that. I can tell just by looking at her.” She peered over the top of her glasses. “In fact, I know exactly who she is. She’s the Candy Witch, and she came here to eat us all.”

  Ginger wanted to crawl under her desk and hide from the embarrassment. Everyone was staring at her.

  “Eat you? Why would I do that? I am curious, though, dear, if you’d taste better boiled or fried.” When the teacher gasped, the Candy Witch cackled. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding. It’s a witchy joke, nothing more.”

  “If you didn’t come here to eat us, then you came here to poison us with one of your potions,” Sister Goose said. “Everyone knows you make evil potions.”

  The Candy Witch shrugged. “Okay, I admit it. I added a bit of shrinking potion. So sue me. It’s all in good fun.” She held out a smiley cookie. “Give it a try.”

  “You are forbidden to bring snacks to our class again!” Sister Goose grabbed a wastebasket and threw each cookie away. Then she crossed MS. BREADHOUSE off the snack-duty list.

  “I’m sensing you’re not fond of sweets,” the Candy Witch said drily.

  After that incident, none of the other kids hung out with Ginger. Invitations to birthday parties and requests for playdates stopped. She sat alone at recess and lunch. The carriage ride to and from school became unbearably long. “I hate school,” she told her mother. “I don’t want to go anymore.”

  “I sense this is my fault,” her mother said while mashing tarantula guts.

  Because Ginger was only six years old, she was too young to understand the depth of the situation. All she knew, at that moment, was that she felt very bad because she’d worked hard to make friends, and now she didn’t have any. “Why can’t you be like the other parents?” Ginger asked, her eyes filling with tears.

  “I’ll never be like other parents, sweetie. One day you’ll appreciate me for who I am.”

  “But it’s so unfair!” She ran upstairs to her bedroom and slammed the door.

  A long while passed with Ginger facedown on her bed, crying into her Cinderella pillow. As she rolled over to blow her nose, a knock sounded. Her mother’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Gingerpoo?” she called. “If I make a batch of your favorite spelly doughnuts, will you come out of your room?”

  “No evil potions inside?”

  “No evil potions. Just sugar and love.”

  Ginger threw the door open and hugged her mom.

  Chapter 3

  Kissing Booth

  With the box of Candy Mountain baking chocolate tucked under her arm, Ginger hurried across the quad. On this morning, as on most mornings at Ever After High, the sun glowed gently, bathing the students in a nearly perfect state of warmth. Gray skies and storms were rare on campus and usually the result of a spell gone wrong. Lucky four-leaf clovers and perky buttercups peeked out between cobblestones. Fairy trails sparkled in the air, and a scent drifted from an open Castleteria window, tickling Ginger’s nose. Stone soup, she thought. Like most good cooks, Ginger possessed a heightened sense of taste and smell. She detected a dash of pickled pepper in the soup, nothing more. It was a boring recipe, but Hagatha, the school’s cook, was not known for her inventive menus. If Ginger had been tasked with making the stone soup, she would have added a hint of possibility—a delightful flavor enhancer.

  As she imagined what kind of dessert she might serve after the soup, Ginger stopped in her tracks. Was she seeing what she thought she was seeing? She slid her pink glasses up the bridge of her nose and blinked hard.

  Hopper Croakington II, son of the Frog Prince, stood directly across the quad. And around his neck hung a sign that read: KISS ME.

  What in Ever After? Ginger wondered. Normally, she wouldn’t be interested in a boy wearing a KISS ME sign. But she’d been secretly crushing on Hopper since the first day of school. Who could resist those adorable freckles and big green eyes? Or that carefree, tousled chestnut hair? But it wasn’t just his good looks that attracted Ginger. She liked his unique qualities. First, he possessed his own sense of style, preferring embroidered jackets, tailored vests, khaki shorts, and loafers. Some might call it a look of privilege, worn by a boy who had lived a life of entitlement, but Ginger saw it as quirky. She admired quirky. And second, though Hopper tended to hang out with boys like Sparrow Hood (son of Robin Hood) and Daring Charming, he also had a few friends on the more geeky side of the fence, like the Tech Club guys. It was part of Hopper’s dual nature—like a cookie that’s ornately frosted on one side and wholesomely plain on the other.

  But what was he doing now?

  Hopper stood inside a booth, leaning on a counter. A big jar sat next to him. Above his head, a banner read:

  The jar was empty.

  Then Ginger understood what was going on. School clubs and teams often set up fund-raising tables and booths in the quad. Last week the cheerhexers held a bake sale. They’d relied on Ginger to provide most of the treats, which she’d been happy to do. After that, the Applebatics team held a raffle. The winning ticket-holder won an apple pie, baked by Ginger, of course. Today it appeared to be the Tech Club’s turn. Ginger knew most of the members of the Tech Club because they helped record her MirrorCast show. Hopper was the newest member, having just joined last week in order to get some hextra credit.

  “Don’t be shy, kiss a tech guy.” The Tech Club president, Humphrey Dumpty, son of the accident-prone Humpty Dumpty, was trying to catch the attention of a few passing students. He stood outside the booth, his glasses bobbing as he rapped, “Only a buck, try your luck.” No one seemed to be paying attention. He put his hands on his hips and frowned. “Come on, people. We need money to update our equipment.”

  Ginger stared at the booth. She could barely contain her smile. This was the most spelltacular thing that had happened since she’d gotten that special delivery of singing sprinkles last month. She could never work up the courage to tell Hopper how she felt. But there he stood with a big invitation hanging from his neck. Was this her chance to sneak a little kiss, without having to admit her true feelings?

  “Hey, Hopper,” a voice called.

  Just as Hopper looked up, Ginger darted behind a tree. Had he seen her? Her heart began to pound. She didn’t want to be caught staring. On the other hand, wasn’t it worse to be caught hiding? Why did she get so brainswished around him? She could cook a seventeen-course meal without flinching, but one look from Hopper and her brain got as soft as plum pudding. Cautiously, she peered out from behind the tree’s trunk.

  Sparrow Hood strolled up to the booth, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “Are you working, dude?”

  “Yeah,” Hopper told him. “I’m helping Humphrey raise money.”

  “Money?” Sparrow sang the word. The studs on his leather jacket glinted in the sunlight. “I love money, but why work for it? Just ask your family for some dough, bro.”

  Humphrey stopped rapping. “We don’t need our parents,” he explained to Sparrow. “We’re going to earn the money on our own.”

  “Earn the money?” Sparrow struck a chord on his guitar. “What a concept,” he sang. A nearby bird squawked in protest. “How much have you made?”

  “Nothing,” Humphrey said with a big sigh. “I’m beginning to suspect that no one wants to k
iss us.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Hopper said, his voice full of bravado. “Obviously, the only reason girls aren’t stopping to kiss me is because they’re all too busy.” He smoothed one of his embroidered sleeves, then the other. “I mean, look around. No one’s out here.” At that very moment, some of the girls from the cheerhexing squad passed by.

  “Hello, ladies,” Hopper said, puckering his lips. “No need to wince! Why not kiss a prince?”

  None of the girls stopped.

  Sparrow strummed a few chords, then sang, “Awkward.”

  Poor Hopper. No one seemed interested in kissing him. And Sparrow was being a big tease. Ginger reached into her jacket’s inner pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill. At the current rate, that would buy five kisses. She frowned. Who was she kidding? She didn’t have the courage to buy even a single kiss. But maybe, if she hurried past, she could sneak her money into the jar. Then Hopper wouldn’t feel totally rejected. She peered around the trunk.

  Sparrow scratched his chin. “Well, I wish you dudes the best of luck, but I’ve got band practice with the Merry Men. Catch ya later.” After a long guitar riff, he strolled away.

  “I’m going, too,” Hopper told Humphrey.

  “Don’t go yet,” Humphrey pleaded. He adjusted his bow tie. “Just a few more minutes. I’m sure some girls will stop. Look, here comes Briar.”

  “Briar?” Hopper’s voice cracked when he said her name. Briar Beauty, daughter of Sleeping Beauty, was one of the most popular princesses at Ever After High. And everyone knew that Hopper was madly crushing on her.

  Humphrey and Hopper stared, openmouthed, as Briar and her friend Apple White approached. Apple was the daughter of Snow White. Both girls were princesses with Happily Ever After destinies. They were close friends and had become even closer because of the recent uprising of the Rebels—Ever After High students who didn’t want to embrace their prewritten destinies. Ginger never called herself a Rebel, but she certainly wanted to choose her own path.

  Humphrey started rapping again, bouncing around in an odd, wobbly way on his skinny legs. Ginger thought he should be more careful, given that his destiny was to fall and break into pieces. “Why not try your luck and pucker up?”

  Hopper leaned on the booth’s counter and wagged his eyebrows. “Whassup, ladies?” He was trying to act smooth, but whenever he got around Briar, Hopper was about as smooth as an ogremeal cookie. “People call me Hopper, but you can call me tonight.” He made a smooching sound and pointed to his cheek.

  Briar and Apple stopped walking. Briar pushed her crownglasses onto her forehead. “Let me get this straight. You want us to pay you?” She smiled. “For a kiss?” Apple giggled. “Have you guys flipped your crowns?”

  “I’d like to flip your crown,” Hopper said, staring at Briar.

  Briar put her hands on her hips. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Uh…” Hopper paused.

  And then something terrible happened. Ginger saw it coming a mile away. Often when Hopper tried to talk to Briar, he ended up blushing. And whenever he blushed, he…

  Poof!

  … turned into a frog.

  The poof was accompanied by a little cloud. Hopper the boy disappeared, and Hopper the frog materialized. For a moment, he hung in midair as if suspended by invisible thread, his little green legs kicking madly. Then Hopper and the KISS ME sign landed on the counter. After adjusting his tiny gold crown, he rose onto his hind legs and said, in a deep voice, “Has fortune smiled upon me? Do I glimpse the fair Briar waiting in line to plant a delicate kiss upon my cheek? If so, I shall never wash that cheek again.”

  This was yet another example of Hopper’s dual nature—in frog form he was poetic and smooth, but in human form he came across as awkward and smarmy. He tried so hard but managed to say the wrong thing time and time again. His pickup lines were the worst.

  “Very funny, but no thanks.” Briar slid her crownglasses back onto her nose, then yawned super wide. It was in her DNA to fall asleep anytime, anywhere, so she tended to yawn a lot.

  Apple, who tried to be nice to everyone, took some money from her book bag. “I’m happy to donate to the cause,” she said, stuffing the bills into the jar. “But I’m saving all my kisses for my future Prince Charming.” Then she and Briar walked away.

  As they passed by the tree, Ginger overhead Briar whisper, “Hopper always says the weirdest stuff.” Then she yawned again.

  “He’s just trying to impress you,” Apple said sweetly. Then they disappeared around a hedge that had been trimmed into the letters EAH.

  Hopper the frog crossed his little green arms. “It would appear that my attempts to entice the gentler gender hath been in vain.” Then poof, the spell wore off and he was back in boy form. The transformation never seemed to last very long. His curse, to be a frog forever until a princess kissed him, was not supposed to happen until he was an adult.

  Ginger leaned away from the tree so she could get a better look at Hopper’s face. His downcast eyes and slumped shoulders told her that her suspicions were true: While he tried to play it cool on the outside, on the inside he was as vulnerable to rejection as anyone else. “Every time I try to talk to Briar, I turn into a frog,” Hopper complained. “It drives me crazy. Girls don’t like frogs. They think they’re slimy.”

  I don’t mind frogs, Ginger wanted to say.

  Humphrey patted Hopper’s shoulder. “Let’s keep trying. I’m sure that—”

  “Why bother?” Hopper suddenly straightened and cleared his throat. “It’s their loss,” he said, puffing out his chest. “They don’t know what they’re missing.” Then, after adjusting his gold crown, he sauntered away. Even though he’d used the word they, Ginger knew he was talking about one girl—Briar.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Humphrey said, hurrying after him. “They don’t want to kiss me, either!”

  Poor Hopper, Ginger thought. She knew how deeply rejection stung. But she also knew that not everything was as it appeared. A pickled lemon pie might be unbearably sour, but after a few bites, it yields other complex flavors.

  She glanced at her MirrorPhone. Uh-oh. It was getting late and she still needed to set up before her MirrorCast show. As she left the quad, she wished there was some way she could help Hopper feel better.

  Chapter 4

  Cooking Lessons

  After the snack disaster, Ginger was not welcome at Aesop’s Spellementary School, so she finished her kingdergarten year at home, with her mother. The Candy Witch was a pretty-smart cookie who was able to cover most subjects, but her favorite way to teach was in the kitchen.

  It wasn’t an ordinary kitchen. One side was dedicated to the art of creating evil recipes. The other side was set up for making yummy, enticing treats. On some days, Ginger sat on a stool while her mother taught her how to brew potions that would make people burp fire and hiccup steam. Other days, she’d sit on the opposite stool and learn how to mix buttercream frosting and melt chocolate. “The goodies must be pretty so no one suspects that the recipe is evil,” her mother said.

  Ginger didn’t like the evil-recipe days. The foulest ingredients were required—like rotten toadstools, snail slime, and worm casings. If it grew in a swamp or crawled along the moist forest floor, it usually ended up in the pantry. She accompanied her mother on field trips to collect slugs and grubs. But Ginger refused to cut up spider legs or dice wiggling worms. And she hated the cauldron, with its weird, briny scent and thick, bubbling brews. “How will you grow up to be a witch if you don’t learn how to toil over a cauldron?” her mother asked worriedly.

  “I’m not going to be a witch,” Ginger replied. Even though she was very young, she already knew this in her heart.

  “But, lovey-dovey, your destiny is already written. You must follow your story. If you don’t…” She shuddered. “I dread to think what might happen.”

  Ginger folded her arms and gave her mother a look of determination. “I’ll figure it out.”


  Her mother cackled. “I suspect you will.”

  While Ginger didn’t like the evil-recipe days, she certainly loved the treat-making days. She liked rolling dough and cutting it into perfect shapes. She liked grating chocolate into curlicues and pouring syrups into lollipop molds. But because her mother insisted on teaching the other, icky stuff, the fun lessons didn’t happen enough for Ginger. She wanted to learn more about baking treats. So, one night, after the Candy Witch had gone to sleep, Ginger crept downstairs. Though she’d never cooked on her own before, she was determined to make something. She poked through the pantry, searching between bundles of dried roots, bags of swamp weeds, and jars of pickled worms. She found a couple of hen eggs, a bag of flour, some butter, and some goat milk. Then she found a recipe in a nonpoisonous cookbook and made herself a thronecake. The first few attempts didn’t go well. The first was burnt on the bottom. The second was raw in the middle. But she tried and tried and finally got the hang of it, ending up with a short stack, perfectly golden and crisp at the edges. Dawn was rising, so she took her plate outside and sat on the front stoop.

  “Whatcha got there?” the milk boy asked as he set two bottles of goat milk on the step. He was apparently new to the job, because he didn’t seem to realize that the house belonged to the Candy Witch.

  “Thronecakes,” Ginger said. And she gave him one.

  He gobbled it up. “That’s the best thronecake I’ve ever had. Who made it?”

  “I did,” Ginger said proudly.

  The milk boy parked his donkey cart, then sat next to Ginger. “Can I have another?”

  “Sure.” And that was the day Ginger learned a very important lesson. She could make new friends by cooking delicious treats.