The School Years Complete Collection. Soman Chainani

seriously,” Professor Anemone huffed. “An exceptionally good or poor performance could very well change a boy’s mind!”

      “Suppose Tedros did promise to take Sophie to the Ball?” Reena whispered to Beatrix. “Princes can’t break promises without something terrible happening!”

      “Some promises are meant to be broken,” Beatrix retorted. “But if anyone tries to ruin my night with Tedros, I promise they won’t survive the night.”

      “Of course not all of you will be asked to the Snow Ball,” warned Professor Anemone. “Every year, one woeful girl is failed, because boys would rather take half ranks than take her. And such a girl who can’t find a boy, even under the most propitious circumstances … well, she must be a witch, musn’t she?”

      Agatha felt everyone’s eyes on her. Failed if a boy didn’t ask her?

      Now finding a date was a matter of life and death.

      “For today’s challenge, you must try to see who your date for the Ball will be!” her teacher declared. “Only when you see a boy’s face clearly in your head will you know he wants you too. Now join the person beside you and take turns proposing. When it is your turn to accept, close your eyes and see whose face appears. …”

      Agatha turned to Millicent across her desk, who looked poised to vomit.

      “Dear, um, Agatha … willyoubemyprincessfortheBall?” she heaved, then retched so loud Agatha jumped.

      Oh, who was she kidding? She looked down at her bony limbs, pasty skin, and nails bitten to the nub. What boy would choose to ask her to the Ball! As hope seeped out of her, she glanced at girls, eyes closed in euphoria, dreaming of their princes’ faces—

      “It’s a yes-or-no question,” Millicent moaned.

      With a sigh, Agatha closed her eyes and tried to imagine her prince’s face. But all she could hear were the loud echoes of boys fighting to not be her date. …

      “There’s no one left for you, dear.”

      “But I thought every boy had to go, Professor Dovey—”

      “Well, the last one killed himself rather than take you.”

      Phantom laughter shrieked in her ears. Agatha gritted her teeth.

      I’m not a witch.

      The boys’ voices softened.

      I’m not a witch.

      The voices receded into darkness. …

      But there was nothing in their place. Nothing to believe in.

      I’m not! I’m not a witch!

      Nothing.

      Something.

      A milky, faceless silhouette born out of darkness.

      He bent before her on one knee … took her hand …

      “Are you feeling all right?”

      She opened her eyes. Professor Anemone was staring at her. So was the rest of the class.

      “Um, I think so?”

      “But you … you … smiled! A real smile!”

      Agatha gulped. “I did?”

      “Have you been bewitched?” her teacher shrieked. “Is this one of the Nevers’ attacks—”

      “No—I mean—it was an accident—”

      “But, my dear! It was beautiful!”

      Agatha thought she might float out of her chair. She wasn’t a witch! She wasn’t a freak! She felt her smile return, bigger, brighter than before.

      “If only the rest was too,” Professor Anemone sighed.

      Agatha’s smile collapsed into its comfortable frown.

      Dispirited, she flopped her next two challenges miserably, with Pollux calling her attitude “nefarious” and Uma sighing she’d seen sloths with more charm.

      Sulking in the pews before History, Agatha wondered whether Professor Sader could, in fact, see her future. Would she find a date to the Snow Ball? Or was Sophie right about her being a witch? Would she fail and die here all alone?

      The problem was there was no way to ask Sader anything, even if he was a seer. Besides, to broach the subject, she’d have to admit she broke into his study. Not the best way to win a teacher’s confidence.

      In the end, it didn’t matter because Sader never showed up. He had chosen to spend the week teaching at the School for Evil, claiming that History couldn’t compete with the distractions of a Ball. In his absence, he relinquished the teaching of “Ball Customs & Traditions” to a gang of unkempt middle-aged sisters in musty gowns. The Twelve Dancing Princesses from the famous fairy tale who had each won their prince at a court Ball. But before they could reveal how exactly they squired these princes, the twelve shrews started bickering as to the correct version of their story, then shouting over each other.

      Agatha closed her eyes to tune them out. No matter what Professor Anemone said, she had seen someone’s face. Blurry, foggy … but real. Someone who wanted to ask her to the Ball.

      She clenched her jaw.

      I’m not a witch.

      Slowly the silhouette appeared out of darkness, this time closer, clearer than before. He took one knee before her, lifted his face into light …

      A screech jolted her awake.

      Onstage, the twelve sisters were bellowing and butting each other like gorillas.

      “How can those be princesses?” Beatrix cried.

      “That’s what happens after you’re married,” said Giselle. “My mother stopped shaving her legs.”

      “Mine can’t fit in any of her old gowns,” Millicent said.

      “Mine doesn’t wear makeup,” said Ava.

      “Mine eats cheese,” Reena sighed. Beatrix looked faint.

      “Well, my wife tries any of that, she can go live with witches,” Chaddick said, gnawing on a turkey leg. “In all those pictures of Ever After, no one sees an ugly princess.”

      He noticed Agatha sitting stiffly next to him. “Oh. No offense.”

      By lunch, Agatha had forgotten all about finding a date and wanted to go groveling back to Sophie. But she, Hester, and Anadil were nowhere to be found (or Dot, for that matter) and the Nevers seemed curiously subdued on their side of the Clearing. Meanwhile, she could hear Evergirls chuckling as Chaddick retold his story to different groups, the “No offense” line sounding more offensive each time. Even worse, Tedros kept giving her strange looks between horseshoe throws (and an especially strange one after she dropped her bowl of beet stew all over her lap).

      Kiko plopped down beside her. “Don’t be upset. It can’t be true.”

      “What?”

      “The two boys thing.”

      “What ‘two boys’ thing?”

      “You know, that they all made a pact for two boys to go together rather than ask you.”

      Agatha stared at her.

      “Oh no!” Kiko squeaked, and fled.

      In Good Deeds, Professor Dovey gave them a written test on how they would handle moral predicaments at a Ball. For instance:

      1. If you attend the Ball with someone other than your first choice, but your first choice, who you’re madly in love with, asks you to dance, do you:

      A) Kindly inform them that if they wanted to dance with you they should have asked you to the Ball

      B) Dance with them,