The School for Good and Evil. Soman Chainani

dress filthy, Belle kneeled in dirt, frantically muddying her own face. Sophie drew a breath. For Belle was just like the others. She wanted a mundane marriage to a man who would grow fat, lazy, and demanding. She wanted monotonous days of cooking, cleaning, sewing. She wanted to shovel dung and milk sheep and slaughter squealing pigs. She wanted to rot in Gavaldon until her skin was liver-spotted and her teeth fell out. The School Master would never take Belle because Belle wasn’t a princess. She was . . . nothing.

      Victorious, Sophie beamed back at the pathetic villagers and basked in their stares like shiny mirrors—

      “Let’s go,” said Agatha.

      Sophie turned. Agatha’s eyes were locked on the mob.

      “Where?”

      “Away from people.”

      As the sun weakened to a red orb, two girls, one beautiful, one ugly, sat side by side on the shore of a lake. Sophie packed cucumbers in a silk pouch, while Agatha flicked lit matches into the water. After the tenth match, Sophie threw her a look.

      “It relaxes me,” Agatha said.

      Sophie tried to make room for the last cucumber. “Why would someone like Belle want to stay here? Who would choose this over a fairy tale?”

      “And who would choose to leave their family forever?” Agatha snorted.

      “Except me, you mean,” said Sophie.

      They fell silent.

      “Do you ever wonder where your father went?” Sophie asked.

      “I told you. He left after I was born.”

      “But where would he go? We’re surrounded by woods! To suddenly disappear like that . . .” Sophie spun. “Maybe he found a way into the stories! Maybe he found a magic portal! Maybe he’s waiting for you on the other side!”

      “Or maybe he went back to his wife, pretended I never happened, and died ten years ago in a mill accident.”

      Sophie bit her lip and went back to cucumbers.

      “Your mother’s never at home when I visit.”

      “She goes into town now,” said Agatha. “Not enough patients at the house. Probably the location.”

      “I’m sure that’s it,” Sophie said, knowing no one would trust Agatha’s mother to treat diaper rash, let alone illness. “I don’t think a graveyard makes people all that comfortable.”

      “Graveyards have their benefits,” Agatha said. “No nosy neighbors. No drop-in salesmen. No fishy ‘friends’ bearing face masks and diet cookies, telling you you’re going to Evil School in Magic Fairy Land.” She flicked a match with relish.

      Sophie put down her cucumber. “So I’m fishy now.”

      “Who asked you to show up? I was perfectly fine alone.”

      “You always let me in.”

      “Because you always seem so lonely,” said Agatha. “And I feel sorry for you.”

      “Sorry for me?” Sophie’s eyes flashed. “You’re lucky that someone would come see you when no one else will. You’re lucky that someone like me would be your friend. You’re lucky that someone like me is such a good person.”

      “I knew it!” Agatha flared. “I’m your Good Deed! Just a pawn in your stupid fantasy!”

      Sophie didn’t say anything for a long time.

      “Maybe I became your friend to impress the School Master,” she confessed finally. “But there’s more to it now.”

      “Because I found you out,” Agatha grumbled.

      “Because I like you.”

      Agatha turned to her.

      “No one understands me here,” Sophie said, looking at her hands. “But you do. You see who I am. That’s why I kept coming back. You’re not my good deed anymore, Agatha.”

      Sophie gazed up at her. “You’re my friend.”

      Agatha’s neck flushed red.

      “What’s wrong?” Sophie frowned.

      Agatha hunched into her dress. “It’s just, um . . . I—I’m, uh . . . not used to friends.”

      Sophie smiled and took her hand. “Well, now we’ll be friends at our new school.”

      Agatha groaned and pulled away. “Say I sink to your intelligence level and pretend to believe all this. Why am I going to villain school? Why has everyone elected me the Mistress of Evil?”

      “No one says you’re evil, Agatha,” Sophie sighed. “You’re just different.”

      Agatha narrowed her eyes. “Different how?”

      “Well, for starters, you only wear black.”

      “Because it doesn’t get dirty.”

      “You don’t ever leave your house.”

      “People don’t look at me there.”

      “For the Create-a-Tale Competition, your story ended with Snow White eaten by vultures and Cinderella drowning herself in a tub.”

      “I thought it was a better ending.”

      “You gave me a dead frog for my birthday!”

      “To remind you we all die and end up rotting underground eaten by maggots so we should enjoy our birthdays while we have them. I found it thoughtful.”

      “Agatha, you dressed as a bride for Halloween.”

      “Weddings are scary.”

      Sophie gaped at her.

      “Fine. So I’m a little different,” Agatha glared. “So what?”

      Sophie hesitated. “Well, it’s just that in fairy tales, different usually turns out, um . . . evil.”

      “You’re saying I’m going to turn out a Grand Witch,” said Agatha, hurt.

      “I’m saying whatever happens, you’ll have a choice,” Sophie said gently. “Both of us will choose how our fairy tale ends.”

      Agatha said nothing for a while. Then she touched Sophie’s hand. “Why is it you want to leave here so badly? That you’d believe in stories you know aren’t true?”

      Sophie met Agatha’s big, sincere eyes. For the first time, she let in the tides of doubt.

      “Because I can’t live here,” Sophie said, voice catching. “I can’t live an ordinary life.”

      “Funny,” said Agatha. “That’s why I like you.”

      Sophie smiled. “Because you can’t either?”

      “Because you make me feel ordinary,” Agatha said. “And that’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

      The tenor-tolled clock sang darkly in the valley, six or seven, for they had lost track of time. And as the echoes faded into the buzz of the distant square, both Sophie and Agatha made a wish. That one day from now, they’d still be in the company of the other.

      Wherever that was.

      y the time the sun extinguished, the children were long locked away. Through bedroom shutters, they peeked at torch-armed fathers, sisters, grandmothers lined around the dark forest, daring the School Master to cross their ring