then glimpsed crinkled parchment under her toes.
“A Ball may be your best chance …”
Agatha grabbed it into her hands and read Professor Dovey’s note again, eyes flaring.
That’s it! The Ball was her chance!
All she needed was one of those vile, arrogant boys to take her! Then Sophie would eat her words!
She jammed callused feet into her clumps and stomped down the stairs, waking the whole tower.
She had five days to find a date to the Evers Snow Ball.
Five days to prove she wasn’t a witch.
Ball Week got off to a bizarre start when Professor Anemone pranced in ten minutes late, wearing a white swan-feather dress with a high rump and scandalously short hem, along with purple panty hose, sparkly garters, and a crown that could have been an upside-down chandelier.
“Behold, true Ball elegance,” she preened, caressing her tail feathers. “A good thing boys cannot ask me to the Ball, or many of you would lose your princes!”
She basked in her students’ stares. “Yes, isn’t it divine. I was told by Empress Vaisilla this is all the rage in Putsi.”
“Putsi? Where is Putsi?” Kiko wisped.
“Home to a lot of angry swans,” said Beatrix.
Agatha gouged herself with a pen to not laugh.
“Because your suitors have chosen to wait until the Circus to propose, I caution you to take this week’s challenges 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
