Ever After High: Next Top Villain: A School Story Page 3

  Duchess frowned. The girl was a fairy, but not the small kind who worked throughout the school and lived in the Enchanted Forest. Human-sized fairies could be notoriously wicked.

  “I admire your exuberance, Ms. Thorn, but an overflowing exhibition of happiness is not evil.”

  Faybelle stopped smiling.

  “You have been selected for this class, Ms. Thorn, because your mother is the Dark Fairy, who cursed Sleeping Beauty. Would you like to tell the class a little about yourself?”

  “You bet.” Faybelle pulled a pair of pom-poms from her book bag, then cartwheeled to the front of the class. “Faybelle, Faybelle, she’s the one! She’s the one who’ll make evil fun!” Each time she jumped, her little wings beat the air. “Give me an E. Give me a V. Give me an I. Give me an L. What does that spell?”

  No one answered.

  Faybelle floated a foot off the ground. “Come on, team! Where’s your Ever After spirit? What does that spell?”

  “It spells evil,” Duchess said.

  Faybelle blinked her fairy eyes. Then she flew over to Duchess and floated in front of her. “I wasn’t asking you, because you don’t belong in General Villainy class.”

  Duchess shrugged. Despite the fact that she was being snooty about it, Faybelle was making her point for her.

  “Your snarkiness is appreciated, Ms. Thorn,” Mr. Badwolf said as he wrote on his clipboard. “Hextra credit for you.”

  Faybelle smirked at Duchess, then returned to her stool. But not before aiming fairy dust right up Duchess’s nose. Duchess sneezed, but it came out as a honk.

  Mr. Badwolf ran his finger down the clipboard. “Next up is Ginger Breadhouse.”

  “Here.” Ginger stood and waved to everyone. Her pink hair was tied into ponytails, and all the embellishments on her dress made her look like a decorated cookie.

  “Ginger has been selected for this class because her mother is the Candy Witch, who tried to eat Hansel and Gretel. Would you like to tell the class a little about yourself?”

  Everyone already knew Ginger. She did a Mirror-Cast show called Spells Kitchen, during which she made fabulous desserts. Ginger walked to the front of the class, a box tied with yellow ribbon in her hands. “I just want you to know that even though my mom tried to eat some kids, I would never do that.” Her eyes twinkled behind her pink glasses. “I love to cook, but none of my recipes call for boys or girls.” She tugged on the yellow ribbon, then opened the box. The scent of pure deliciousness filled the air. Sweet and cinnamon spicy, it was a welcome relief from the weird cauldron odors. “I baked these for everyone. They are miniature cinnamon trolls.” She handed one to Mr. Badwolf. White icing dripped off the troll-shaped pastry.

  He wolfed it down in one bite, then smacked his lips. “Even though it contains no raw meat, it was delicious,” he reported. Ginger smiled proudly. “However, delicious is not evil.” Mr. Badwolf wrote on the clipboard. “I am very disappointed in you, Ms. Breadhouse. Next time you bring treats for the class, I suggest that they be poisonous. You get a DG for the first day.”

  “What’s a DG?” Duchess asked. They didn’t have that grade in other classes.

  “DG stands for ‘do-gooder,’” Mr. Badwolf said. “DG is the worst grade you can get in General Villainy. Some would argue that it is even worse than a fairy-fail grade.” He grabbed another troll.

  With a confused look on her face, Ginger returned to her stool.

  “Next up we have Lizzie Hearts,” Mr. Badwolf said.

  “Here!” Lizzie had been feeding Shuffle a piece of cinnamon troll.

  “Ms. Hearts was chosen because she is the daughter of the notorious Queen of Hearts. I have great hexpectations for her, but I have heard a rumor that she’s been trying to control her temper. Is this true, Ms. Hearts?”

  “Yes,” Lizzie replied. Mr. Badwolf raised his bushy eyebrows. “I mean, no!” She jumped from her stool. “I would never try to control my temper. Someone is spreading fables and that makes me feel very, very angry!” She kicked over her stool. Her face turned as red as her shoes.

  It was a brilliant tantrum, but Duchess knew the truth. Lizzie wanted to be an angry queen as much as Duchess wanted to be a permanent swan.

  “Most hexcellent,” Mr. Badwolf said as he wrote on the clipboard.

  Lizzie grabbed the stool, uprighted it, and sat back down. As she dabbed sweat from her upper lip, she gave Duchess a questioning look. She’d played her role, but what would Duchess do?

  “Next up is Sparrow Hood.”

  Sparrow sat slouched on his stool, a guitar leaning against his leg. He was dressed in mossy, forest colors. His studded vest matched his studded boots. His chestnut hair hung over his eyes, which were closed.

  “Sparrow?” Lizzie nudged him. He bolted upright.

  “Dude, I was trying to sleep.”

  Mr. Badwolf tapped his long nails on the desk. “Mr. Hood, villains do not sleep. Villains disrupt the sleep of others. Keep that in mind.”

  Sparrow yawned, then scratched his soul patch. “Haven’t you heard of chillin’ like a villain? I was up all night practicing my riffs.” Sparrow was the lead singer and guitarist in a band called the Merry Men.

  Mr. Badwolf growled. “Your riffs will not earn you an A in this class, Mr. Hood.”

  “Total bummer. Well, maybe I don’t want to earn an A,” Sparrow said with a shrug. “Why am I here, anyway? My old man wasn’t evil.”

  “You are here because your father, Robin Hood, was a notorious thief. Thievery is an excellent trait in a villain. And there are times when you appear to have the appropriate attitude,” Mr. Badwolf said. “But because your father used his thievery for good, there was great debate among the faculty whether you should be in this class. You have much to prove, Mr. Hood.”

  “Proving stuff sounds like way too much work,” Sparrow said. “My guitar and I have better things to do.” Then he lowered his hat so the brim shaded his eyes. Was he going to nod off again?

  Duchess squirmed. This class seemed a waste of time. And the roll call had been a total disaster. So far, only one student actually wanted to be a villain. Sparrow didn’t even care what grade he got. How could he not care about something as important as that?

  “Our next student needs no introduction,” Mr. Badwolf said. He looked straight at a girl who sat in the corner, hidden in the shadows. The room went silent. Even the cauldrons stopped bubbling. The girl slowly stood, then stepped into the light. She was tall and imposing, with ebony hair that cascaded down her back. Her purple skirt matched the purple highlights in her hair and was covered in a filigree lacework. Her eyes were as dark as a raven’s—hence, her name.

  “Hi,” she said with a frown. “Well, I’m sure we all know why I’m in this class.”

  Raven Queen was the daughter of the infamous sorceress the Evil Queen, who’d tormented royals from one kingdom to the next, including Snow White. Raven’s mother was so evil that she went beyond her own story and invaded Wonderland, infecting its madness. And that was the reason why Lizzie hadn’t been home in a very long time.

  But Raven Queen had recently become notorious for something that had nothing to do with her mother. Raven was the leader of the Rebels, a growing group of students at Ever After High who dared to question their destinies. This had been the case ever since Legacy Day, when Raven had refused to sign the Storybook of Legends.

  It was normal to ask questions about the future. Duchess asked plenty of questions, but she did this privately, in her diary. To be a Royal meant to have pride in one’s heritage and to take one’s role seriously. The Rebels didn’t seem to care about tradition. They chose to act in ways that went against their destinies—but if they didn’t live out their destinies, their stories might disappear forever after, which affected everyone. Raven had refused to sign her name in the Storybook of Legends on Legacy Day. This had never happened before. Never. And now all kinds of characters thought they could be free to live whatever life they pleased. Raven was to blame. She
was selfish, in Duchess’s opinion.

  “Raven shouldn’t be in this class,” Faybelle said loudly. She’d taken the words right out of Duchess’s mouth. “She’s doesn’t have the right to be a villain anymore.”

  Raven didn’t defend herself. She stood with her shoulders slouched, as if she carried the burden of her family legacy on her back. “I guess there’s no use in asking for a transfer.”

  “If she gets a transfer, then I should get one, too,” Duchess said.

  “There will be no transfers,” Mr. Badwolf barked. “Despite Ms. Queen’s recent decision to lead a rebellious uprising—”

  “Hey, I’m not leading an uprising,” Raven insisted. “I’m not telling other people what to do. If they choose to question their destinies, then that’s their decision.”

  Duchess sneered again. Maybe Raven wasn’t giving speeches about rebelling, but she was leading by example. And actions were more powerful than words.

  The fur on the back of Mr. Badwolf’s neck bristled. “Don’t huff and puff at me,” he told Raven. “The facts are indisputable. You carry more evil in your bloodline than the rest of the students combined. The faculty and the headmaster are hopeful that you will change your mind and embrace your destiny.” He pointed to a large wooden sign that hung on the wall.

  THOU SHALL NOT STRAY FROM THY STORY.

  After a long, heavy sigh, Raven slid back into the shadows.

  Mr. Badwolf picked up the clipboard and read. “The last student on the list is Duchess Swan.”

  Chapter 7

  Duchess’s Dilemma

  Upon hearing her name, Duchess jumped to her feet, ready to charge to the front of the class and plead her case.

  This is a huge mistake.

  I don’t have an evil bloodline.

  I’m not villain material. I’m a ballerina!

  But Mr. Badwolf did not invite her to introduce herself. Nor did he offer an explanation as to why she was there. “Sit down, Ms. Swan,” he said.

  What the hex? Everyone else got the opportunity to speak. “But—”

  A low growl rumbled in Mr. Badwolf’s throat. His eyes flashed. Duchess sat. The morning was not going as she’d planned. And one student had already earned hextra credit. She had nothing but frustration and questions.

  Mr. Badwolf proceeded to hand each student a thick hextbook, A Guide to General Villainy. Then he wheeled a chalkboard to the front of the class and, with a piece of white chalk, began to draw. The students watched in silence, except for Sparrow, who’d started snoring. Lizzie prodded him with her scepter. He woke up and yawned.

  “Can anyone tell me what this is?” Mr. Badwolf asked as he pointed to the board. He’d drawn a triangle. Inside the triangle was a stick figure with a curly tail.

  No one answered. Faybelle shrugged. Ginger licked frosting from her fingers. Duchess fumed.

  “This is a pig,” Mr. Badwolf explained. “And this is its newly built straw house.”

  “Good thing you’re not teaching Arts and Crafts,” Sparrow said with a snicker.

  “I like your drawing, Mr. Badwolf,” Faybelle said. “It looks exactly like a pig.” She waved her pom-poms. “Give me a P. Give me—”

  “Not now, Ms. Thorn.” Mr. Badwolf pressed his long, furry fingertips together. “The question I pose to you, students, the future creators of chaos, is this: What would you do if you wanted to eat this little pig but it was hiding in its house made of straw?” Faybelle’s hand shot up. “Yes, Ms. Thorn?”

  “I would order takeout,” she said with a smile.

  Mr. Badwolf scowled at her. “That is not the correct answer.” He turned to the next student. “Ginger, I pose the question to you. If you wanted to eat the pig, how would you get it to come out of its house?”

  “I don’t eat pigs,” Ginger said. “I know a few, and they’re very nice.”

  “Incorrect,” Mr. Badwolf snarled. “Mr. Hood?”

  “Dude, it doesn’t matter to me,” Sparrow said with another yawn. “Get the pig, don’t get the pig. I really don’t care. Unless you want me to write a song about it.”

  A little white cloud burst from Mr. Badwolf’s hand as he crushed the piece of chalk. “That. Is. Incorrect!” His upper lip rose, exposing his sharp teeth. “Ms. Hearts? Surely you know the answer!”

  Wheezy, deep breathing was coming from Lizzie’s book bag. Her hedgehog had eaten so much cinnamon troll she’d fallen into a sugar stupor. “I’d knock on the door and ask to come in,” Lizzie said with a smile.

  Mr. Badwolf growled in a most displeasing way. Lizzie grabbed her scepter and jumped to her feet. “I meant to say that I’d pound on the door, real hard, and yell as loud as I could, ‘In the name of the queen, I command you to come out of that house or you shall lose your piggy head!’” Then she sat back down. “But I wouldn’t really chop off its head. I agree with Ginger. Pigs are nice.”

  Mr. Badwolf looked as if he might explode. If he’d been a teapot, steam would have shot out of his ears. “That is the worst answer I’ve ever heard!” He stomped both of his feet, which were rather large. The chalkboard trembled.

  “Wow,” Lizzie whispered to Duchess. “He’s better at temper tantrums than I am.”

  Mr. Badwolf whipped around and faced Duchess. “Ms. Swan, what is your answer?”

  Duchess didn’t care that Mr. Badwolf was practically foaming at the mouth. He’d had his rabies shot, after all. What she cared about was getting transferred from this class. “I don’t think I should answer that question. I’m not a villain, and—”

  “Wrong, wrong, wrong!” Mr. Badwolf ended the sentence with a howl.

  Duchess sighed. This was a total waste of time. She could be practicing her arabesque at the dance studio, or writing her deepest thoughts in her diary.

  Mr. Badwolf smoothed his hair and took a long, deep breath, composing himself. Then, his voice steady and calm, he looked toward the dark corner. “Surely you know the answer, Ms. Queen?”

  Raven fidgeted on her stool. She sighed, then hung her head. “The answer you’re looking for is to huff and puff and blow the house down.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Badwolf said with much relief. “Yes, indeed. Finally, a correct response.”

  Duchess was immediately alarmed. Was Raven trying to get a good grade in this class? Maybe the best grade in the class?

  Duchess’s hand shot up. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to answer the question.” She slid off her stool. As she smoothed her white embroidered skirt, her thoughts spun like a dancer who’d lost control. What do I say? What’s better than huffing and puffing? She cleared her throat. “I would… I would…” Her legs went a little weak as she realized she had no answer. Mr. Badwolf stared at her, waiting.

  Raven broke the silence. “I’ve also changed my mind,” she said. “The pig worked hard building his house. Hard work should be rewarded, not destroyed. I would let him live in peace.”

  Mr. Badwolf sank onto the edge of his desk, his head shaking with frustration. “You are the worst group of future evildoers in the history of this school. You will all bring shame to yourselves, to your families, and to fairytales everywhere.”

  Shame to my family? Duchess practically wilted.

  “I hope it is not too late to save you from your goodness,” Mr. Badwolf said. He walked over to the chalkboard, grabbed a new piece of chalk, and wrote:

  Thronework assignment:

  Do something rotten and nasty by the end of the school day Friday.

  “Yay!” Faybelle cheered as she rustled her pom-poms. Everyone else groaned.

  “The one student who does the rottenest and nastiest thing by the end of school Friday will get an A for the week. The rest of you will get an FF.” FF stood for “fairy-fail.” “To make it more exciting, the student who earns the A will have the opportunity to pick a prize from my own personal treasure vault.” He crossed the room, and, after whispering a secret password, a section of the stone wall slid open. Gold and silver light filled the cauldron roo
m.

  Suddenly interested in the proceedings, Sparrow Hood leaped from his stool and ran to look inside the vault, his fingers twitching as he gazed upon the piles of gems and jewels.

  “Is that a silver muffin pan?” Ginger asked.

  Faybelle pointed to a golden megaphone. “I’d love to cheer with that.”

  Lizzie liked the heart-shaped pendant, while a golden quill caught Duchess’s eye. “Look at all that loot,” Sparrow said. “One of those golden arrows could buy some sound equipment and a new set of drums for the band.”

  Mr. Badwolf plunged his hand into a chest of gold coins. “Practice your thieving skills, Mr. Sparrow, and one day you will possess your own treasure vault.”

  Raven was the only student still sitting on a stool. “I don’t care about treasure,” she said.

  “Of course she doesn’t,” Faybelle whispered to Lizzie. “Her mother’s the richest woman in the world.”

  Having overheard Faybelle’s comment, Duchess narrowed her eyes. Raven Queen did seem to have everything, and all she did was complain about it.

  The school bell rang, indicating that class was over. The students grabbed their book bags. Sparrow grabbed his guitar.

  “Look to your family stories for inspiration,” Mr. Badwolf called as the students headed for the exit. “And remember, only one of you can earn an A for the week.”

  Failure was not an option for Duchess Swan. If she couldn’t get transferred, then she’d have to do her best. And her best meant perfection.

  Guess I’ll be doing something rotten and nasty.

  Chapter 8

  A Scoop of Snoop

  The Castleteria was bustling with activity as students ate lunch. Hagatha, the lunch lady, was an expert at fixing meals for all sorts of palates and all sizes of stomachs. Porridge was always on the menu, as were curds and whey. The day’s lunch special was cheeseburgers, grilled by dragon fire, with a helping of enormous green beans, provided by the giants. Duchess really liked green things, so her plate was piled high.