What Ginger was beginning to understand was that rejection was one of life’s ingredients. It wasn’t a necessity, like eggs are for a fluffy thronecake, or lard is for a perfectly flaky crust, but it had the power to build character or to knock it down. Though Ginger had claimed her own identity in as loud a way as she possibly could, she still struggled with people who judged her based on her family’s history. Likewise, while Hopper acted the part of a confident prince, he still felt judged by girls who saw him only as a frog boy.
Ginger wouldn’t choose another guest. Because someone had once told Ginger that if you truly care about someone, you want that someone to be happy.
“Why don’t you come on my show? You could wish to talk to girls without turning into a frog,” she said. That sounded like a smallish wish. “I bet that would work.”
“That would be great!” His eyes lit up, and he beamed such a bright smile it could have competed with Daring’s. “If I could talk to girls, then that would mean I could talk to Briar! I’d have a chance with her!”
And there it was. He didn’t care about talking to girls. Just to one girl. Ginger sighed.
“I’ll do it!” he said. Then he playfully punched her in the shoulder, the way he might punch Daring or Sparrow. “Thanks, Ginger. You’re the best!” As he sauntered off, Ginger lingered in his left-behind scent of expensive soap and coffee. She felt a bit woozy. A shoulder punch wasn’t exactly a hug, but for now it would do.
Sure, Hopper was going to be on her show just to get another girl’s attention, but she decided not to worry about that. It was more important for her to think about saving Spells Kitchen. Everyone at school knew that Hopper turned into a frog whenever he talked to Briar. Who wouldn’t want to watch his wish come true? Her viewership numbers would soar!
Besides, she could try to win him over at a later date.
As she slung her cauldron purse over her shoulder, she smiled. Everything was in order—her special guest and her special recipe. What could go wrong?
Chapter 11
Mommy Makeover
As a little girl, Ginger often wondered what it would be like to be a member of a royal family. To be raised in a castle, with a bevy of servants, a closet full of gowns, and evenings spent at feasts and balls. She also wondered what it would be like to be born into an ordinary family, with parents who worked as carriage drivers, shopkeepers, or teachers. But most of all, what it would be like to not have people scream in terror when her mother walked into a room.
After finishing kingdergarten at home, Ginger worked up the courage to go back to school. She knew that with her new talent as a baker, she could win friends. But it was very important that she appeared to be “normal.”
“But, sweetie pie, normal is boring,” her mother said. “Normal should be against the law.”
“I just want to fit in,” Ginger told her. “Can I have a Cinderella lunch box?”
“Why would you want such a thing? Why don’t you pack your lunch in an old boot, the way all wicked witches do?”
“Because everyone at school carries a lunch box.”
“If everyone jumped off a cliff, would you?” her mother asked.
“That’s ridiculous,” Ginger said. “Jumping off a cliff is stupid. Fitting in is important.”
The next few years of school were a success for Ginger. Hiding her witchy roots was a constant struggle, but she managed. She never volunteered her mother to bring snacks, or be recess mom, or carriagepool mom. She continued to make her own nonpoisoned goodies, and they were the top sellers at the school bake sales. She didn’t invite anyone to her house, for fear they’d discover the truth. Soon, she was once again included in playdates and parties.
But then came a day she’d never forget. It was almost time for her graduation from middle school. She stood in line with the other students to receive her black graduation cap and gown. “Here’s your ticket,” Principal John Thumb said, handing Ginger a single yellow ticket. “According to our records, you have one parent and no siblings. So give this ticket to your parent so that he or she may attend the graduation ceremony.”
“Thank you,” Ginger mumbled as she took the ticket.
As she walked home, she imagined the scene. The Grimmnasium would be filled to the brim with proud parents and grandparents, all applauding and cheering as students crossed the stage, accepting their diplomas. But when Ginger took her diploma, no smiling parent would be watching her. And when the ceremony was over, no one would be waiting with flowers.
Because how could she invite the Candy Witch to school? After all the years of hiding her identity, how could she let everyone know the truth?
As she walked home, rain pelted her face and soaked through her robe. She threw open the front door to her house. “How was your day?” the Candy Witch asked. She was in the kitchen, stewing the tail of a rat.
Ginger crumpled the ticket and tossed it into the trash. “Fine,” she said, kicking off her galoshes.
The Candy Witch reached into the trash, picked out the ticket, and read it. “‘Admit one.’ Why are you throwing this away?”
Ginger’s eyes filled with tears. She loved her mother, and she’d wanted to share this special day with her. But at the same time, she’d been trying to protect herself from the judgment of others. “It’s so unfair!” she said. Then she ran up to her room and fell upon her bed in a heap of misery and confusion.
The next morning, the Candy Witch announced that she had an important appointment and wanted Ginger to join her. To Ginger’s surprise, they ended up at a beauty parlor.
“Make me presentable,” the witch told the beautician, “so that I can attend my daughter’s graduation without terrifying everyone.”
Ginger couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Because, honey bunny, I love you. And if you care about someone, then you want that someone to be happy.” She patted her daughter’s head, then sat in the vinyl seat. “I must admit, I’ve been set in my ways. I’m proud of my witchy appearance. But, clearly, others do not appreciate it and you should not have to suffer.”
“But, Mom, I don’t want you to change who you are. I just want people to stop judging you.” She lowered her gaze. “I mean, judging us.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen. So the only way to tackle this problem is for me to try to fit in. At least on the outside.”
Ginger had wished, time and time again, to have a normal-looking parent so the kids at school wouldn’t freak out. But now that it was really happening, she felt worried.
“This is gonna take all day,” the beautician complained as she tried to run a brush through the Candy Witch’s tangled green hair. “You got twigs in here.” She shrieked as something blinked at her. “Oh my godmother, is that a toad?” The toad leaped off the witch’s head. Ginger opened the front door so it could hop to freedom.
“I’ve never seen such a mess,” the beautician commented as her comb broke in two. “Haven’t you ever heard of conditioner?”
The Candy Witch narrowed her eyes. Then she pulled a piece of candy from her pocket. “Would you like a snackypoo, dearie?”
“Mother!” Ginger cried, wrenching the candy from her mother’s grip. “If you poison her, she won’t be able to do her job.”
The witch shrugged. “You’re right. My bad.”
As Ginger tossed the candy into a wastebasket, it sizzled and popped. Then she settled onto the sofa, with a stack of well-read magazines to keep her occupied.
“Your daughter’s pink hair is so beautiful,” the beautician said. “Where did it come from?”
“Apparently, it’s a recessive gene,” the Candy Witch grumbled.
The beautician worked all day, washing, clipping, plucking, shaving, coloring, and spritzing. Ginger eventually fell asleep, but she awoke to someone tapping her shoulder. “Where’s my mom?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and looking around.
“I’m right here.”
&nb
sp; Ginger couldn’t believe it. “Mom? Is that really you?”
A very lovely lady sat in the same chair where a witch had sat earlier. Her long hair was pink and silky, like Ginger’s, and it was pulled off her face with a white ribbon. Her eyelashes were curled and her eyelids sparkled with blue shadow. The only recognizable feature was the wart, which still sat on her chin. However, its black wiry hair was missing.
“You’ll have to come in for weekly maintenance,” the beautician said as she took out her appointment calendar. “I’ll put you down for next Tuesday. What’s your name?”
Ginger cringed. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“My name is…” She cackled. “Why, dearie, my name is Ms. Breadhouse.”
Chapter 12
Ms. Breadhouse to the Rescue
The next morning brought a brief rain shower to Ever After High, just enough to keep the grass green and the flowers supple. After the clouds drifted away, the sun went to work, gently waking the school with its warm embrace. Because it was Saturday, most students chose to sleep in. Thus, breakfast was served at a later hour. After eating hot cross buns, Ginger and Melody settled at their desks to study. Melody disappeared behind her headphones as she worked on Muse-ic Theory thronework. Ginger fed the pair of guppies that shared the fish tank with Jelly. Jelly, being a magical candy fish, didn’t need to eat. Then, just as Ginger began to memorize the wish cake recipe, her MirrorPhone buzzed.
It was a hext from Professor Rumpelstiltskin.
Vhat time is date?
Weird. He even hexted with an accent.
Ginger groaned. She couldn’t put this off much longer. She had to call her mother and ask her for this horrid favor. She checked to make sure Melody was distracted by music, then she carried her phone into her closet and shut the door. She wanted privacy for this particular conversation. After turning on the overhead light, she pushed aside shoes and hats and sat on the carpet. Then she dialed her mother’s number. It rang five times before the familiar voice answered. “Hello, sweetie pie, so nice to hear from you.” Her mother appeared on the MirrorChat screen.
“Hi, Mom.” Though the makeover had happened a while ago, Ginger still wasn’t used to seeing her mom with pink hair and eyeliner. But she wasn’t looking quite right. “Uh, is that a false eyelash on your cheek?”
Ms. Breadhouse flicked the lash away. “It takes so much energy to put on all that makeup every morning,” she said with a sigh. “I’m having trouble keeping up with the beauty routine.” Ginger noticed that green roots were showing along the part in her mother’s hair and that her mom’s fingernails were ragged again.
“Mom, you don’t have to—”
“How’s school?” Ms. Breadhouse asked. A raven cawed in the background.
“Fine.” Ginger paused, then peeked out a crack in the closet door. Melody was still plugged into her music, tapping her feet to the rhythm. Ginger scooted to the back of the closet until she was hidden behind a long winter coat. “Uh, Mom, there’s something I need to ask you.”
“What’s that, smoochy-poochy?”
“I made a deal with… Rumpelstiltskin.”
Ms. Breadhouse gasped. “You didn’t promise him your firstborn, did you?”
“No. But I kinda promised him a date with you.”
Long, drawn-out silence hissed through the phone. Ginger cringed. Surely her mother was angry. Surely she’d refuse. But when she finally spoke, her voice was very matter-of-fact. “I don’t need your help finding a date, dearie. I filled out my personal statement with a new nonwitchy dating site. Listen to this: ‘Seeking a companion who enjoys old-fashioned cooking, with no unexpected allergic reactions or unusual side effects.’” She frowned. “Does that sound normal?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“It sounds so boring to me. Everyone wants to have romantic dinners and take long walks at sunset. What about a nice hike through a swamp? Or a trip to the emergency room? Now, that’s a date!”
“Mom?” The thing Ginger was about to confess felt so heavy she sank against the closet wall. “I still need you to go on a date with Rumpelstiltskin. My MirrorCast show is a failure. No one is watching.”
“I’m watching. And our neighbor is watching, that old woman who lives in a shoe.”
“Thanks, Mom, but my crew is going to quit if I don’t do something to get more people to watch.”
“What does Rumpelstiltskin have to do with this?”
“I asked him for a special recipe.”
“You what? Why didn’t you come to me for a special recipe? I have more special recipes than I can count.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to poison anyone on my show.”
“I see. Sticking to the whole ‘I don’t want to be a wicked witch’ thing.” Ms. Breadhouse sighed. “I keep hoping you’ll change your mind.”
“Rumpelstiltskin gave me a recipe for wish cake. The special potion infuses the cake with a wishing spell. I’m sure I can get a lot of viewers with a recipe like that. But he wanted something in return.” Ginger held the phone closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. She really didn’t want anyone to overhear the next sentence. “Apparently, you two dated?”
The Candy Witch shrugged. “Did we? That was a very long time ago. Who can remember the details?”
“He remembers. And he loves your cooking.”
“Really?” She cackled with surprise. “Nobody loves my cooking.”
“In exchange for the wish cake recipe, I promised that you’d go on another date. Could you cook him something?” Ginger stared into the phone. “Please?”
“I’m curious, Ginger pie. Who have you chosen to eat the wish cake?”
“Hopper Croakington the Second.”
“A boy?” She smiled. “Do you like this boy?”
Ginger shook her head. “N-no. It’s n-not like that.” But even on the phone’s small screen, her blush revealed the truth. “Okay, so I like him a little. He’s… nice.”
Ms. Breadhouse reached into the pantry and grabbed a picnic basket. “For my daughter, who wants to give a wish to the boy she likes, I will cook a meal for Rumpelstiltskin—a meal he’ll never forget.” She cackled so loudly it echoed off the closet walls.
“Thanks, Mom.” Ginger was about to hang up, but something was bothering her. “Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Do you still like your makeover? I mean, I’m at boarding school now, and everyone here already knows that I’m your daughter. So there’s no reason to keep hiding your true appearance.”
“But, sweetie pie, if I come to visit you at school, isn’t it better if I look like this? You don’t want all the children fleeing in terror, do you?”
“I guess not, but—”
“Then it’s settled. Well, I’d better get to work on this gourmet picnic for Rumpy. Bye.”
“Bye.” The screen went black. Ginger had noted a touch of sadness in her mom’s voice. She’d ask her mother about it the next time they spoke. For now, everything was falling into place. The recipe, the guest, a special lunch for Rumpelstiltskin. Ginger felt lighter, as if all her worries had floated away. She opened the closet door.
Faybelle Thorn’s wicked smile greeted her.
“Just so you know,” Faybelle said, “I heard everything.”
Chapter 13
Fairy Blackmail
Faybelle Thorn’s wings beat the air, casting a breeze throughout the dorm room. She wore a midnight-blue shimmering tunic and high-top sneakers. Her cheerhexing pom-poms stuck out of her sequined book bag. She hovered a couple of feet above the carpet, a smirk spread across her face. “Of all the princes to be crushing on, why would you choose Hopper Croakington? He’s so… slimy.”
“He’s not slimy,” Ginger said. “Well, maybe a little when he’s a frog, but I don’t have a crush on him.”
Faybelle’s eyes were like pools of glacier water, and they stared coldly at Ginger. “I heard you admit it.”
Ginger glanced across the room at Melody. He
r roommate was hunched over her desk, still wearing her headphones. She apparently hadn’t noticed that Faybelle had invaded their room. “You shouldn’t listen to other people’s conversations,” Ginger told the fairy. “It’s rude.”
“Rude is what I do.” She folded her arms. “Rude is what we’re both supposed to do. We’re the daughters of villains. Our families have been friends for generations. Why do I have to keep reminding you of that?”
Ginger groaned. She didn’t want to have another discussion about how she was supposed to follow in her mother’s bootsteps. She closed the closet door. “Well, I’m kinda busy,” she said, hoping Faybelle would take the hint and leave. But the fairy continued to hover. She wanted something.
“It doesn’t seem fair that Professor Grumpy-pants gave you a special recipe. What about the rest of us?”
“If you want a special recipe, go ask for one,” Ginger said.
“I don’t want hextra work.” Faybelle rolled her eyes. Then she flew backward and settled on the edge of Ginger’s bed, her wings folding behind her. “I’m way too busy with cheerhexing practice, and I need to update my evil blog and hold a meeting of the Villain Club. You should join, by the way.”
“No thanks.” Once upon a time, Ginger would have been thrilled to be invited to join a club—any club.
Faybelle pulled a silver comb from her pocket and ran it through her shimmery blond hair. “I’ll never understand why you insist on being like those Rebels who want to change their destinies.”
Ginger hadn’t officially declared herself a Rebel. And even if she had, which she hadn’t, it was none of Faybelle’s business! She pointed toward the hallway. “I think you should go. I’ve got stuff to work on.”