Flunked: Chapters 1–2

“I did some wicked things after Cinderella’s—pardon me, Princess Ella’s—father died,” says Flora. “I was a terrible example for my two daughters. If we wanted to show our faces in Enchantasia again, I knew we had to change—especially me. From that revelation, FTRS was born.”

There’s the Wolf (the esteemed Professor Xavier Wolfington teaches history), the Sea Witch (Madame Cleo is FTRS’s etiquette expert), and the Evil Queen (Professor Harlow teaches psychology and runs group therapy sessions).

There’s the Wolf (the esteemed Professor Xavier Wolfington teaches history), the Sea Witch (Madame Cleo is FTRS’s etiquette expert), and the Evil Queen (Professor Harlow teaches psychology and runs group therapy sessions).

With their pricy clothes, made-up faces, and clouds of perfume wafting behind them, girls like that stick out like sore thumbs when they get dropped off in town in their flashy carriages.

But at Combing the Sea, which is overflowing with the most exotic trinkets money can buy, a person could easily be distracted by glittery things...and accidentally “lose” something.

“Need help with something, Gilly?” he asks, eyeing me warily as he polishes the jewelry counter for the fourth time.

I stare at the clip wistfully, then notice Neil out of the corner of my eye.

The advertisements for Rapunzel’s new hair-care line say her shampoo helps you do away with all that primping.

After a mega score like that dragon’s tooth comb, I always head home.
No gloating to fellow thieves about my take.

You never want to be seen in the same spot twice when you’re in the middle of a caper.

We commoners live down in the village, while high on the hill, the silver turrets of Royal Manor gleam bright as if to say, “You’ll never climb your way up here.”

Then I disappear through a narrow alleyway off the square that leads to the smaller, poorer streets on my side of town where oversized teacups, boots, and thatched huts replace the nicer brick buildings.

I hurry past the panhandler, dropping a biscuit into his outstretched hand, and move toward the smell of shoe polish that always leads me home.

“Someone dropped it,” Anna says, being her noble self.

Olaf is so huge he has to duck his bald head under the rafters.

I try to appear cool and aloof.

Her eyes are so wide and innocent, which only makes me feel worse. But seeing Pete’s smug face makes something inside me snap.

“Maybe I did mean to take that clip,” I say defiantly, and Father glares at me.

Pete gruffly pushes me toward the door, sidestepping the coatrack.

“Like I said, you won’t be leaving FTRS for a while,” Pete seethes.