The Forgotten Fairytales (3 page)

“What?”

I tilted my schedule toward her. “These classes can’t be real. Why on earth would I need to know,” I stared at the now crumpled stark white sheet of paper. “Sidekick’ing?”

“Until you’re classified you’ll be in all sorts of classes. I understand mingling within the cliques can be miserable, hence the reason for our segregation. We don’t do well outside our kind. It’s been like that since,” she paused, searching for her words. “The dawn of time.” Satisfied, she kept moving down the hall.

“Classified?” I hurried to keep up. “What does that mean?”

“Classify, as in who we are—Royal, Hero, Sidekick, Villain, Faerie, Pirate. At least at this school. There are other classifications, just not here. Me, I’m a princess. Not just any princess, I’m
the
princess. The one
dreams
are made of.”

Wow, Danielle had taken too many dodge balls to the head. She had to be whacked as shit to believe any of this. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Everyone here, we’re all characters from story books. So are you.” Her brows furrowed. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Does this look like the face of someone aware?” Not to be rude, but seriously!

“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” she frowned. “You have to be one of us, you wouldn’t’ be able to see any of this if you weren’t. The school is enchanted and invisible to the eye of a mortal. It’s how we stay protected.”

The scent of syrup and sausage filled the crowded room as we entered the cafeteria, rolling my already upset stomach. My mind spun a million miles per hour. None of this was possible. The scents were the same as my last school, the crowd was anything but.

“Think of the cafeteria as a road map to where you belong.” Danielle pointed to the beautiful people in one corner. “Princesses and Princes over here.” Most had a regal air to them, plus couture and heels. All the girls wore heels.

“Then you have Heroes—leading ladies and gents that aren’t royalty—Sidekicks, Villains, Pirates, Faeries, Future Animal Friends, and the ones scattered are extras—not too important but important enough to be here. Like I said, everyone sticks to their own kind.”

The harder I stared, the more I noticed how freaky everyone dressed, as if playing a part. They didn’t wear costumes, per se, but everyone followed a certain color scheme. Like a character within a character. One group wore darker shades—blacks, grays, plums, with skin so pale they looked green. Not too far away there was a table full of girls wearing bright dresses with glitter, lots and lots of glitter. The extras were sprinkled throughout in ones and twos, without even the cohesiveness to form a group.

Seven boys exited the breakfast line, each wearing a different color hat with their name embroidered on the top. On the other side of the cafeteria was a girl with hair so long, it piled on the floor.

“Who are you?”

“Cinderella of course,” Danielle giggled.

I looked back and saw twins, identical in every way from their chubby pink cheeks to their matching red and yellow overalls. They hurried away, joining a table of misfits, which included a boy with a large hat, shuffling a deck of cards, and rather mousy, tired-looking girl.

Fairy tales weren’t real.
This isn’t real.
My mind was playing tricks on me. Fairy tales were written by imaginative authors and turned into frilly movies with happy endings. Fairy tales were about princes and princesses and bad guys no one liked.

“Anyway, our dorm is in the West Wing. Breakfast is served promptly at six-thirty, lunch is in the cafeteria with the rest of the school and dinner is back at the WW. There you are!” Danielle’s outburst pulled my attention from the table to the girl strutting toward us.

The firecracker red hair was unmistakable. She was the girl from earlier, I knew it. No one else had hair that red. The color was unnatural and hit below the waistline. I wondered how many hours it took her to wash, blow-dry and style it. There was no evidence of air drying, in fact, the ends were curled delicately and with perfect precision, you’d think she had a personal hairstylist.

Danielle greeted her friend with a kiss on each cheek. Instead of jeans and an oversized shirt, like earlier, the girl had on a sea foam green one shoulder dress, and lavender stilettos with tiny seashells on the tips. Did everyone here dress like they were going to prom? If they did, I was totally screwed.

“Norah, I’d like you to meet my very best friend, Pearl.” Danielle still held Pearl’s hand, beaming like a mother with her daughter.
So weird.

I nodded, a little creeped out, but at least Pearl didn’t shake my hand. Instead, she stared at me with her huge, doll-like sea foam green eyes—yes, they matched her dress—as if she were trying to place me or waiting for me to ask her about earlier.

“He-he-he-hello,” she stammered. Again, her voice so crackly and frog-like, it should like she needed to cough and clear out the mucus.

“Don’t mind her voice,” Danielle said, as if she’d read my mind. “She just got it back a couple weeks ago.”

My brows drew inward. “What, did she lend it to someone,” I said, half joking.

I guess Danielle was not. With the most serious face I’d ever seen, she said, “Yes. That horrid witch stole it from her.” Danielle held Pearl’s hand tight and gave her a quick wink. “But we have it back now. Life is good.”

The bell rang and students flooded the already warm halls. In an instant part of a nightmare formed. Girls pranced from class to class in designer dresses and glitzy heels. They.All.Wore.Heels.
Ugh.
Heels and I were archenemies. For homecoming last year I barely kept them on long enough to take pictures. Either way, my hunter green blouse and dark skinny jeans seemed like thrift store wear in comparison. Add the dried mud and slightly disheveled hair and I had a messy trifecta. What a great first impression at a school for the couture.

Girls gave me the once-over as they passed, scanning my messy appearance and whispering to the person beside them. Most of the guys looked at me as well, but in a different way. In a way that made me want to wear Eskimo clothes. Some were cute, many had potential, but again, something was off.

A strange feeling tugged at my insides remembering what Danielle told me.
We’re all storybook characters…so are you…

Danielle
did
resemble Cinderella. Well, if Cinderella wore couture and stilettos. And Pearl with her bright red hair and sea foam green eyes
did
remind me of The Little Mermaid.
No, Norah, you are not buying into this crap!

The door closest to me swung open and a girl—not nearly as fashion-minded as the others but equally as beautiful—tripped, face planting right onto the hard floor. The papers and books she held scattered across the cold, stone floor. Instead of helping, people around her muttered insults and laughed. Even Danielle found the girl’s misfortune amusing. “What a disaster.”

People stepped on her papers as if she were invisible. Poor girl. She didn’t wear fancy clothes and had thick-rimmed glasses, but her pale blonde hair was long and curly and her complexion was flawless. Compassion filled my heart.

I hurried to help pick up the pieces. “Here you go.” The girl studied me as I handed her a stack of crumpled notebook paper.

“Um, thanks?” Her deep brown eyes met mine and that’s when I saw it—the scar running down the side of her face like a lightning bolt. The skin contorted near the edges, twisting her porcelain skin.

I rose to my feet and gave her a small smile. One she didn’t return. Instead her attention flickered to Danielle’s icy glare. Before I read too much into it, the girl scurried away.

“Speaking of the good life.” Danielle smoothed her pin straight hair and waved.

I tipped my head back as a guy walked toward us, shoulders back, head held high. He unbuttoned the top of his white sports coat, showing off the gray cotton shirt beneath. His light brown hair swept across his forehead effortlessly. Despite his simple brown eyes, he had a regal air about him and he was kind of charming in an old world sort of way.

He greeted Danielle without so much as a smile. She hadn’t noticed because she was too busy applying a heavy layer of shiny lip gloss. She dabbed her lips with a tissue from her purse and grinned.

“James, this is Norah Hart.” Danielle tucked the tissue in the front zipper of her pale blue purse. James nodded, his eyes traveled up me fast and a sad smile warped his mouth for a second, before vanishing behind his noble facade. Then, like something out of a scene from an old movie, he took my hand and planted a kiss on the top. The ring on his thumb was of a crown. Great.

“Pleasure to meet you, Norah.”

I took my hand back and wiped the back of my hand on my pocket, praying no one noticed. “It’s, um, nice to meet you, too.” Again I forced a smile and prepared to make my exit. I needed to get the hell away from these whacked out people. Storybook characters. What a crock of shit. “I should get to class. See you—”

I pivoted away, my head still facing Danielle, James and Pearl and when I did, I slammed into something—or someone—hard, almost knocking me backward. Two strong arms laced around my waist, pulling me back up. My stomach tangled into a million intricate knots when I peered through my loose bangs and saw my savior. Black hair soaked wet from a shower. I breathed in his soapy smell, my head dizzy.

“You.”

“Me,” I whispered, barely able to speak as his beauty resonated within me. Showering did wonders to his spiky hair and dripping jade eyes. No pimples, no scars, no imperfections whatsoever. Even his eyebrows were shaped better than most girls. My legs caved as if made of jelly. His lips twitched into a crooked grin, and the smell of soap, mint, tobacco, and whisky drifted into my senses.

I detached myself from his grasp and took a few steps back.

“I w-w-wasn’t sure you’d make it,” Pearl whispered to him.

“Al said you passed out after the sun came up,” James said. Finn’s eyes flashed to mine; twinkling with secrets.

Danielle chuckled nervously. “He wasn’t drinking. We have a strict No Underage Drinking policy here. Everyone obeys.”

I realized Danielle had been talking to me. Like I cared if he drank. Finn rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his thick black hair. Water droplets sprayed everywhere. Beside Danielle, Pearl’s eyes held mine for a moment, silently pleading me to stay quiet. An hour and I’d already witnessed something I shouldn’t have. Fan-frickin-tastic.

James laughed under his breath. Danielle’s elbow casually jabbed into his side, but no one besides me seemed to notice.

“W-we should probably g-get to class.” Everyone’s attention turned to Pearl, whose voice was shaking and meek. A blush rushed into her pale cheeks, brightening her complexion. Finn gave her a pathetic half-smile, which only made her cheeks burn more. It was then I noticed the bracelet around her wrist said
Anything for love.
Intense much?

T
he day I turned six, I decided to become a ballerina. Of course, Dad had other plans, which included hand-to-hand combat instead of Swan Lake. His theory? Ballet couldn’t defend me from creeptastic guys and rapists. Dad always knew what to say to ease my troubled mind. Because, you know, all six-year-old girls worry about attacks by strangers and not what their doll is going to wear to a make-believe picnic.

In the beginning I complained. Until
Pirates of the Caribbean
hit theatres and I decided being a pirate was way cooler than being a prima ballerina. Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom were pirates and hot. How would I ever impress them if I couldn’t fight alongside them like Elizabeth Swan? So I learned how to sword fight and use a bow and arrow.

While other girls played with dolls, I studied the art of decapitation.

After constant training, Dad assumed I’d be prepared for anything.

Maybe if my school was on the Black Pearl, and not in a castle with freaks.

During Dining Etiquette, Professor Peach tied my shoulders to the chair with the thickest rope I’d ever seen to keep my back straight. With the exception of two girls, everyone ate their meals without a hitch. Me? Not so much. “A lady’s posture says a lot about her.” Professor Peach’s blonde ringlets were bigger than the state of Texas. “And yours, Miss Hart, is abysmal.” The lush material of her poufy tangerine gown slapped me in the face as she brushed past,
tsking
under her breath. What I wouldn’t give to stab her with a knife.