Flunked (2 page)

After a mega score like that dragon's tooth comb, I always head home.

No gloating to fellow thieves about my take. No stopping for bread at Gnome-olia Bakery (even if it smells heavenly). And this is definitely not the time to go to the Arabian Nights Pawn Shop to cash in. That is a classic rookie mistake.

Now is the time to blend in, stay out of sight. Disappear.

Never,
ever
run.

Running is like asking to be followed by the dwarf squad and their henchmen. That's Enchantasia's police. Snow White's dwarves got sick of the mines but love their pickaxes, so Snow found them a job where they could still use weapons—law enforcement.

The squad was a joke at first—not many people are afraid of dwarves—but then Princess Ella got wise and hired a bunch of guys who are rumored to be half ogre to be the squad's muscle. Those guys are scary. They could break you in half with their pudgy pinkie fingers. Now crime has gone way down…but it hasn't disappeared. To stay ahead of the ogres, I've had to be smarter about my marks. Royals are still easy targets, but I can't be sloppy.

My eyes scan the village laid out in front of me like a map. I watch as shopkeepers call out end-of-the-day deals (half-price bread, free shoe shining with any repair, a sale on scarves for the coming winter). I ignore them all, even if my family could use the scarves. Our boot is always cold. I hurry down the cobblestone streets, switching my route home from the way I came this morning. You never want to be seen in the same spot twice when you're in the middle of a caper.

I hurry past the pricier shops and restaurants I wouldn't dare enter because I'm not of royal blood. I pull up the collar of my coat when I walk past the marketplace where commoners are buying their nightly fish or fresh vegetables from farmers. I skip the row where magical goods are being illegally traded. The dwarf squad is undercover in that row all the time.

When I enter the busy town square, I exhale slightly. With so many people and carriages around, it's easy to blend in. Schoolchildren from the Royal Academy are carelessly throwing their coins in the fountain. (Thief tip: Never steal from those waters. They're always being watched.) Someone from
Happily
Ever
After
Scrolls
is trying to sell mini magical scrolls (their latest invention) and is drawing a crowd. A carriage driver is offering rides home for two pence, and royal carriages are lined up in the valet area waiting to take the royals' loot home. One look at the dimming skyline and you remember where your place is in Enchantasia. 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.”

I hear a neigh and then a “whoa,” and I turn back toward the fountain, quickly pulling my hood over my head.

“You there!” I freeze. “Have you seen anyone running through the square with a green satchel?” says Pete, the chief of the dwarf squad, in a deep voice that makes him sound much more menacing than he looks. “The baker has lost his shipment for Royal Manor, which was waiting on his steps to be taken to the castle.”

I picture Pete high on his horse, looking tough although he isn't even three feet tall on the ground. With his pudgy midsection (he likes cinnamon rolls) and long black beard, he resembles a troll. But his wide, red nose and oversized ears remind me he's a dwarf. The two of us have a love-hate relationship. I've gotten out of a few jams by feeding him info about other thieves, but when I catch a big haul, he comes after me hard.

“Nah,” says the small boy standing right next to me. “Haven't seen nuthin'.”

Pete sighs and I exhale. “You mean ‘I haven't seen
anything
.' Schools these days,” he mumbles. “Okay, go about your business. Find Olaf if you hear of anything.” I hear Pete kick the horse's sides with his small feet and gallop off into the square.

I reach into the pocket of my overalls Mother just patched and give the boy two pence. “Thanks, kid,” I say, patting the satchel under my cloak. I lifted that this afternoon when the royals left the bakery. No surprise it took Pete 'til now to realize it was gone.

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. The streets are already dark—we don't have lanterns to light the way—but I would know this trail blindfolded. 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. My boot is one of four on this tiny block. With one last look around to make sure I am not being followed, I turn the key and head inside.

“
Gilly!
” My four-year-old twin brothers, Han and Hamish, knock me backward into the door I just came through. They're so light, they roll off me. I see they got into the shoe polish again. There is black all over their cheeks, foreheads, and identical plaid rompers.

“What did you get?” Six-year-old Trixie, with her rosy cheeks and bright red hair, runs into the room at the sound of the collision. “Jam? Cheese? That good pepperoni you got last week?”

“Shh….” Felix, my five-year-old brother, hushes her as he comes down the ladder from the loft where we all sleep in bunk beds. Felix is the wise-beyond-his-years one and looks the most like Father. His dark brown eyes seem to see right through me. “You didn't get caught, did you?”

“No,” I assure him and lift my cloak to reveal a satchel full of dinner rolls. My siblings try to grab some. “Wait!” I say, looking around the room. We can barely fit in the living room despite only having a fireplace and one shabby couch.

The walls of the boot have patches to keep out the cold from cracks in the leather exterior. The patches look like paintings, of which we have none. A single drawing of a field of lilies hangs above our fireplace. My sister Anna drew it one night when we were too cold to sleep. The cuckoo clock on the wall chimes six, and I know Father will be home from the shop soon. “Where's Mother?”

“Mother is in the kitchen with Anna, finishing her birthday cake,” Trixie says. “Do you want me to go around the back of the boot, knock, and leave the rolls there again?”

“Yes, after you've each eaten a roll first.” I open the satchel again and let them each take a roll. They devour the bread within seconds.

The shoe business isn't what it used to be and money is scarce. Sure, we have three meals, if you call half a cup of chicken broth a meal. If it weren't for my hauls from the market, my siblings would waste away. Instead, the twins finally have a little weight on them and the dark rings around Trixie's eyes have disappeared.

I do what I can to help out around here. And that includes making sure my siblings are fed enough and get a birthday gift. I could buy a lot with that dragon tooth clip I stole today, but the minute I saw it, I knew I was going to keep it for Anna. The green in the clip matches her eyes, and I could picture her using it to pull back her long hair. She will never let that clip out of her sight, unlike that spoiled royal. That's for sure.

That's why I targeted Blondie today. I only pluck from people who can afford to lose things. Royals can
definitely
afford to lose a few trinkets. So can the baker whose business is booming and who treats Mother poorly whenever she comes in to see if he has any day-old bread on sale. The royals are part of the reason we live in this overcrowded boot, so I don't feel bad taking from them.

“Gilly? Is that you?” I hear Mother's voice and quickly give Trixie the satchel to deposit on the back steps.

Mother looks tired as she comes over to give me a hug, smelling like a mixture of flour and leather, which means she must have had to help Father in the shop earlier. I sink into her like I would a soft pillow.

“You okay?” she asks. Her blue eyes look tired. “Your cheeks are flushed.”

“Fine,” I say. “I just hurried home from studying so I wouldn't miss cake.”

“How do you think you did on your test?” Mother asks.

How hard can a test on shoe polishes be? I took it and then left school for the rest of the day to find Anna's present. “Great,” I say with enthusiasm. “Probably got an A.”

“You're home.” Anna removes her apron. She has flour on her cheeks and in her brown curls. She's wearing that Rapunzel perfume I snagged her a few weeks back (and claimed it was a free sample. Anna hates my thieving.). “You're just in time for cake!”

“Cake? What happened to presents first?” I tease.

Mother looks downward. “Gillian, you know business has been slow.”

“That doesn't mean magic hasn't found its way to our boot!” I try to sugarcoat everything for my brothers and sisters. “Look what I found near the Pegasus stables this afternoon.” I pull the comb out of my pocket and they gasp. “It practically begged to be rescued.” Anna reaches out to touch the golden comb as if she can't believe it's real. “I guess it was meant for you.”

“Someone dropped it,” Anna says, being her noble self. “We should find the owner.”

“Nonsense!” I put the comb in her open palm. “Finders keepers, losers weepers. Isn't that what Hamish says?” Anna doesn't look convinced. “I asked one of the stable guys if he knew whose it was,” I improvise. “He didn't and said I should keep it.”

Anna's face lights up. “Really?” Mother smiles as Anna uses the comb to pull her curls to one side. She runs to the small mirror near the door. “It's so pretty! Thank you, Gilly!”

I'm about to say “You're welcome” when I hear the lock turn. Father is home. My siblings hurry across the creaky floorboards and stand near the front door. Mother brushes off her apron and Anna jumps to her place next to her. We all line up like we're a processional at a ball. “Hello, Father,” we say as if on autopilot. Mother does too.

“Family,” Father says as he hands Mother his hat and cloak to hang up. The smell of shoe polish radiates off him like stinky perfume. “Are we ready to eat?”

“Yes,” Mother says. “You can go in first and I'll feed the children after.”

I bite my lip. Father always gets to eat alone and takes the biggest portion. Mother says he needs his strength and quiet after working so hard. I hear Han's stomach growl.

“Okay,” Father says, stopping to ruffle my brothers' heads and kiss Trixie and Anna. When he sees me, he freezes. “Gillian.”

“Father.” I bow my head. The two of us are not on the best of terms these days. He's tired of getting visits from Pete, and I'm tired of us going hungry. Neither of us is willing to budge.

He's barely squeezed his way past us to get to the kitchen when we hear the knock at the door. Anna and I lock eyes, and my stomach drops. My brothers and Trixie look at me. I pretend to fluff pillows on the couch. Dust appears in the air from where I hit a pillow.

“Felix, please get the door.” Father squeezes past us all again to greet our visitor.

I try to stay calm. There is no way I was trailed. But the door creaks open and my worst fears are confirmed: there are Pete and Olaf. Pete walks in without being invited. Olaf is so huge he has to duck his bald head under the rafters. I'm not even sure he's going to fit in the room. We all move back so they can squeeze in. I try to appear cool and aloof.

Father reaches for Pete's hand and shakes it. “Good to see you, Peter. Olaf.”

“Hi, Hal,” Pete says solemnly. Olaf grunts. “Sorry to bother you this late in the evening. Are those work boots I ordered almost finished?”

He's here about a boot order! I relax and almost chuckle. I'm so paranoid.

“Yes, should be done by tomorrow.” Father bows. I feel my cheeks flush. Father believes commoners must bow to law enforcement because they work for royals. We are at the bottom of the barrel. Father has always believed a person's class in life is their class. You can't change it. You shouldn't want to change it. All you can do is respect it.

I totally disagree.

“I wish I could say that's the only reason I'm here,” Pete says and looks right at me. “Good evening, Gillian. How was your day?”

“Nice, Pete,” I say. “Have you gotten taller?”

He grimaces.

Father glares at me. The only sound is our cuckoo clock. “What has she done?”

“Of course you'd take his side,” I mutter under my breath. Father may not warm to me the way he does to a hot cinnamon bun, but I still hate letting him down.

“Have you given me reason to think otherwise, Gillian?” he asks. Father is a tall man, as tall as Olaf, but unlike Olaf, he looks tired. Working fourteen-hour days in that shoe shop and then coming home to six kids will do that to a person, I suppose. “First it was that pocket watch you took from the King's page, then it was the book from Belle's library—”

“
Borrowed
,” I correct him. “Belle said that was a library, so I borrowed a book. I was going to bring it back.”

Maybe.

Father rubs his forehead. “I don't know what to do with you anymore.” He looks at Pete for backup. “All I do for this child and it's never enough.”

“If it were enough, Mother wouldn't have trouble putting dinner on the table every night,” I jump in, unable to contain my anger. “Too bad we can't eat shoe leather.”

“That's enough!” Father's voice starts to rise.

Pete spots Anna and points to her hair. “Gee, that is a pretty hair thingamajiggy. Looks expensive. Possibly of dragon origin, wouldn't you say, Olaf?”

“It was a gift,” Anna says stiffly. “Gilly found it on the ground.”

“
Found
it,” Pete repeats. “I guess that's the only way anyone in this boot could afford a piece of jewelry like that.” Olaf and Pete chuckle, and it takes all my willpower not to deck them both. My parents say nothing. “Gillian is a lucky girl.”