LITMIR.BIZ

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first challenge, Giant commands for Henchmen, and the Flowerground Map for Sader’s geography exam.

      “How will he correct them?” Hester groused. “He can’t even see!”

      At curfew, Hester, Dot, and Anadil trudged back from the common room, piled high with books, only to find their room turned into a laboratory. Dozens of brilliant-colored potions bubbled over open flames, vials of creams, soaps, and dyes littered the shelves, a mess of dried leaves, herbs, flowers blanketed the three beds … and in the center of it all sat Sophie, buried under sequins, ribbons, and fabric, testing new concoctions on patches of skin.

      “My God, she is a witch,” Anadil gasped.

      Sophie held up The Recipe Book for Good Looks. “I stole it from an Ever at lunch.”

      “Shouldn’t you be studying for challenges?” Dot asked.

      “Beauty is a full-time job,” sighed Sophie, lathering herself in a bright green balm.

      “And you wonder why Evers are slow,” Hester said.

      “Sophie is back, darlings. And she’s just getting started,” Sophie mooned. “Love is my challenge now.”

      And indeed, though Sophie placed near the bottom in all three challenges the next day, she placed first in Attention, arriving to lunch with her black uniform remolded into a dazzling slit-back toga dress, sashed with blue orchids. Her heels were a full inch taller, her face shimmering bronze, her eye shadow provocative periwinkle, her lips delicious crimson, and the glittering F on the front of her dress was now complemented by sequins on the back that read: “… is for Fabulous.”

      “That can’t be allowed,” Beatrix whined to drooling boys.

      But she was wearing her uniform, Sophie insisted to teachers, while usually fierce wolves looked just as awed as the boys. Dot swore one even winked at Sophie when it filled her lunch pail.

      “She’s making a mockery of villainy!” Hester fumed, black eyes flaying Sophie across the Clearing. “They should lock her in the Doom Room permanently.”

      “Beast’s still missing,” Anadil yawned. “Whatever spooked him must have been pretty bad.”

      The next day, Sophie flunked all her challenges again and yet somehow avoided failing out of school. Though she was clearly the worst, each time she saw a “19” pop up instead of a “20.” (“I’m just too lovable to fail,” she preened to mystified classmates.)

      During Forest Groups, Sophie ignored Yuba’s lecture on “Scarecrow Survival” and scribbled busily in her notebook, while Agatha glowered at her black baby doll dress, pink lollipop, and sequins spelling “F … is for Fun.”

      “Name something else that starts with F,” Sophie whispered.

      “I’m trying to listen and so should you, since we’ll be here forever.”

      “F is for ‘Forever.’ Mmm, a bit heady. How about ‘Flirty’? Or ‘Fetching’?”

      “Or ‘Futile’! He hasn’t even talked to you yet!”

      “F is for ‘Faith,’” Sophie said. “Which I thought you had in me.”

      Agatha grumbled to herself the rest of class.

      But Sophie almost made her a believer when she arrived the next day in a belly-baring black halter, poofed miniskirt, spiky pixie hairdo, and heels dyed hot pink. The Everboys spent lunch goggling at her between slobbery bites of beef. And yet, even though Sophie could see Tedros sneak peeks at her legs, grit his teeth each time she passed, and sweat when she got too close … he still didn’t talk to her.

      “It’s not enough,” Agatha said, accosting her after Yuba’s class. “You need better assets.”

      Sophie looked down at herself. “I think my assets are quite sufficient.”

      “Deeper assets, you idiot! Something inside! Like compassion or charity or kindness!”

      Sophie blinked. “Sometimes you make wonderful sense, Aggie. He needs to see how Good I truly am.”

      “She sees reason,” Agatha exhaled. “Now hurry. If he asks someone else to the Ball, we’ll never get home!”

      Agatha proposed that Sophie sneak Tedros love limericks filled with clever rhymes or leave him secret presents that revealed depth and thought, tried-and-true strategies both outlined in Winning Your Prince. Sophie listened, nodding to all of this, so when Agatha arrived at lunch the next day, she expected to read a first draft of a verse or inspect a handmade gift. Instead, she arrived to find a group of 20 Nevergirls crowded in a corner of the Clearing.

      “What’s going on over there?” Agatha asked Hester and Anadil, both studying in tree shade.

      “She said it was your idea,” Hester sneered, eyes on her book.

      “Bad idea,” Anadil said. “So bad we don’t want to talk to you.”

      Confused, Agatha turned to the gathering. A familiar voice rang from its center—

      “Fabulous, darlings! But just a little less cream!”

      Agatha’s chest tightened. She forced her way through the swarm of Nevers until she stumbled into the center and almost died from shock.

      Sophie sat on a tree stump, a painted wooden sign hanging from a branch above her:

      All around her, Nevergirls were squeezing sticky red beetroot cream onto their pimples and warts.

      “Now remember, girls. Just because you’re ugly doesn’t mean you can’t be presentable,” Sophie preached.

      “I’m bringing my roommates tomorrow,” Arachne whispered to green-skinned Mona.

      Agatha gaped, flabbergasted. Then she saw someone sneaking away. “Dot?”

      Dot turned meekly, smothered in red cream. “Oh! Hello! I was just, you know, I thought I should check up on—you know, to see if, in case—” She looked at her feet. “Don’t tell Hester.”

      Agatha had no idea what any of this had to do with winning Tedros’ love. But when she tried to corner Sophie after, three Nevergirls shoved in front of her to ask Sophie about picking the best beets. Agatha didn’t get a chance in Forest Groups either, because Yuba separated the Evers and Nevers.

      “You must get used to seeing each other as the enemy! The first Trial by Tale is in three weeks!” the gnome said. “Now for the Trial, you’ll need a few basic spells. There is no one way to do magic, of course. Some spells require visualization, some incantations, others hand flicks, foot taps, magic wands, numeric codes, or even partners! Yet there is one rule common to all spells.”

      From his pocket, he pulled a shiny silver key, the bit shaped like a swan.

      “Evers, right hands, please.”

      Baffled Evers looked at each other, and held out their hands.

      “Mmm. You first.”

      Agatha frowned as he grabbed her hand, then her second finger. “Wait—what are you going to—”

      Yuba magically plunged his swan key into Agatha’s fingertip—the skin went see-through and the swan sank past tissue, veins, blood, and attached to her bone. The gnome turned the bow and her bone painlessly rotated a full circle. Her fingertip glowed bright orange for just a moment, then dulled as Yuba withdrew the key. Bewildered, Agatha stared at her finger as Yuba unlocked the rest of the Evers, then the Nevers, including Sophie, who barely glanced up from scribbling in her notebook.

      “Magic follows feeling. That is our only rule,” said the gnome when he was finished. “When your finger glows, it means you have summoned enough emotion, enough purpose to perform a spell. You can only do magic when you have deep

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