The School for Good and Evil (The School for Good and Evil, #1)

by Soman Chainani

Sophie distracted herself by counting her good deeds from the day before. First, she had fed the lake’s geese a blend of lentils and leeks (a natural laxative to offset cheese thrown by oafish children). Then she had donated homemade lemonwood face wash to the town orphanage (for, as she insisted to the befuddled benefactor, “Proper skin care is the greatest deed of all.”). Finally she had put up a mirror in the church toilet, so people could return to the pews looking their best. Was this enough? Did these compete with baking homemade pies and feeding homeless hags?

“Who asked you to show up? I was perfectly fine alone.” “You always let me in.” “Because you always seem so lonely,” said Agatha. “And I feel sorry for you.” “Sorry for me?” Sophie’s eyes flashed. “You’re lucky that someone would come see you when no one else will. You’re lucky that someone like me would be your friend. You’re lucky that someone like me is such a good person.” “I knew it!” Agatha flared. “I’m your Good Deed! Just a pawn in your stupid fantasy!”

“Your first year will consist of required courses to prepare you for three major tests: the Trial by Tale, the Circus of Talents, and the Snow Ball,” Castor growled. “After the first year, you will be divided into three tracks: one for villain and hero Leaders, one for henchmen and helper Followers, and one for Mogrifs, or those that will undergo transformation.” “For the next two years, Leaders will train to fight their future Nemeses,” Pollux said. “Followers will develop skills to defend their future Leaders. Mogrifs will learn to adapt to their new forms and survive in the treacherous Woods. Finally, after the third year, Leaders will be paired with Followers and Mogrifs and you will all move into the Endless Woods to begin your journeys . .

“I must add that anyone who receives three 20s in a row will immediately be failed,” said Pollux gravely. “As I said, given the exceptional incompetence required to earn three straight last-place ranks, I am confident this rule will not apply to any of you.”

Different usually turns out Evil. Panic gripped her throat. That’s why the shadow didn’t kidnap a second child. I was meant to be here all along. Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t want to be like these children! She didn’t want to be a villain! She wanted to find her friend and go home!

“Wrong and stupid!” Manley scorned. “Only once you give up the surface can you dig beneath it! Only once you relinquish vanity can you be yourself!” Sophie crawled behind desks, lunged for the door—the knob burnt her hand and she yelped. “Only once you destroy who you think you are can you embrace who you truly are!”

Pollux said the schools kept an even number of students to preserve the balance. So for the mistake to be corrected, they both would have to be switched. As long as Agatha held her place in the School for Good, then Sophie was stuck in the School for Evil. And if there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that Sophie couldn’t possibly last as a villain. A few more days there and she’d beg for Gavaldon.

Castor carved five strategies for training henchmen: 1. Command 2. Taunt 3. Trick 4. Bribe 5. Bully

He sifted through dozens of numbers until he came to the one he sought: a red-flame “1” that revealed its history in a flood of images. A Golden Goose throwing away its power for a student? Only one could have such talent. Only one could be so pure. The one who would tip the balance. With a chill, the School Master went back into his tower and awaited her arrival.

Tedros grimaced. Girls loved him. They always loved him. But this freakish girl looked at him like he was nothing. For a moment, he felt his confidence crack, then remembered what his father once said. The best villains make you doubt.

No wonder princesses were so impotent in fairy tales, she thought. If all they could do was smile, stand straight, and speak to squirrels, then what choice did they have but to wait for a boy to rescue them?

Give. The screaming stopped. The cocoon sloughed away. Agatha fell back in shock. In her arms was a girl. No more than twelve or thirteen, with toffee skin and a tangle of dark curls. She stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled at Agatha as if she were an old friend. “A hundred years, and you were the first who wished to free me.” Gasping softly, like a fish on land, she pressed her hand to Agatha’s cheek.

“You want my help?” she breathed. The gargoyle blinked back hopeful tears. “But—but—I don’t know how I did it,” she stuttered. “It was . . . an accident.” The gargoyle gazed into her eyes and saw she was telling the truth. It slumped to the ground, scattering ash around them. Looking down at the monster, just another lost child, Agatha thought of all the creatures in this world. They didn’t follow orders because they were loyal. They didn’t help princesses because they were loving. They did it because someday, maybe loyalty and love would be repaid with a second chance at being human. Only through a fairy tale could they find their way back. To their imperfect selves. To their storyless lives. She too was one of these animals now, searching for the way out.

“If you’re itching for something to kill, how about yourself this time?” Agatha spat. “‘Thank you’ would suffice,” Tedros shot back. “I risked my life to kill that gargoyle.” “You killed an innocent child!” Agatha yelled. “I saved you from death against all instinct and reason!” Tedros roared. Sophie gaped at them. “You two know each other?” Agatha swiveled to her. “You think he’s your prince? He’s just a puffed-up windbag who can’t find anything better to do than prance around half naked and thrust his sword where it doesn’t belong!”

“I’ve never done any of those Evil rules,” Sophie mourned, standing beside Tedros. “If only they knew all my Good Deeds!” Beatrix turned. “Nevers shouldn’t talk to Evers.” “Evers shouldn’t call Evers Nevers,” Sophie snapped.

Across the room, Sophie saw the Storian furiously writing to keep up with their fairy tale. The pen sensed her gaze, for the words in its steel suddenly seared red and Sophie’s heart burned again with secret understanding. Scared, she clung to Agatha—

she remembered the School Master’s decree that a witch and princess could never be friends. But why? Something had to come between them. Surely this was the mysterious thing a princess could have and a villain could not. She thought about what it could be until her neck prickled red. But still no answer.

“What does a villain never have that a princess can’t do without?” Hester mulled, itching her tattoo.

Let me begin by saying that over the years, I’ve seen a disturbing decrease in esteem for this class.” “Because it’s after lunch,” Tedros whispered into Agatha’s ear. “And you’re talking to me why?” “Seriously, what witchy spell did you put on me to make me choose your goblin.” Agatha didn’t turn. “You did something,” Tedros fumed. “Tell me.” “Can’t divulge a witch’s secrets,” Agatha said, gazing ahead.

The Beast spun— Sophie shoved him in. The Beast thrashed in water and slime, grunting and flailing for the wall. The tides were too strong. She watched him gurgle his last breaths and sink like a stone. Sophie smoothed her hair and walked towards the light, swallowing the sickness in her throat. The Good forgive, said the rules. But the rules were wrong. They had to be. Because she hadn’t forgiven. She hadn’t forgiven at all.

“Please don’t,” Sophie said softly. Dot’s eyes misted. “You were so pretty.” “It’ll grow back,” Sophie said, trying not to cry. “Don’t worry,” Dot sniffled. “One day, someone Evil enough will kill that monster.” Sophie stiffened.

“Almost.” She pointed to the paintings on the wall with visions of heroes and heroines, lips pressed in climactic embrace. “True love’s kiss,” Sophie breathed. “If your true love kisses you, then you can’t be a villain,” Agatha said. “And if you can’t find love, then you can’t be a princess,” said Sophie. “And we go home.” Agatha swallowed.

“That’s the second time he’s looked at you that way.” “Huh? Second time who looked at me?” “Tedros.” “Well, Sophie won’t listen to me.” “Well, maybe Sophie isn’t Tedros’ true love, then.” “She has to be,” Agatha said, suddenly worried. “It can’t be someone else. That’s how we’re getting back home! Who else could it be? Beatrix? Reena? Milli—” “You.”

Sophie practiced her aim for two days before she knew she was ready. She waited until Surviving Fairy Tales, when Yuba and the group were climbing trees to study “Forest Flora.” When Tedros reached for a blue hornbeam branch, she saw her chance and drew the bullet into her slingshot— “You’re mine,” Sophie whispered. The pink heart shot off the sling and flew straight for the silver swan on Tedros’ heart, only to turn crimson, ricochet off him like rubber, and smash back into her with a violent, alien scream. The whole group spun in shock.

“Now, Teddykins, it’s not her fault,” Beatrix blathered loudly. “The poor girl thinks she’s one of us. We should feel sorry for someone so pathe—” Her eyes bulged. Agatha saw why. Sophie sashayed into the Clearing, dumpy black sack refashioned into a strapless bodice dress, F shimmering over her chest with devil-red sequins. She’d cut her blond hair even shorter and slicked it down in a shiny bob. Her face was painted geisha white, her eyelids pink, her lips vermilion, and her glass shoes had not only been repaired but heeled even taller, which together with the extremely short dress, showed off long, creamy legs. From the shadows she swanned into sun, and light exploded off her glitter-dusted skin, bathing her in heavenly glow. Sophie strutted past Hester, who dropped her book, past Everboys, who dropped their ball, and glided right up to Hort. “Let’s do lunch,” she said, sweeping him away like a hostage. Across the field, Tedros’ sword fell out of its sheath. He saw Beatrix glaring and put it back.

Everyone raised their hand except two. Agatha, who was praying now more than ever that Sophie had a plan to get home. And Sophie, who was too busy writing her next lecture (“‘Bath’ Is Not a Four-Letter Word”) to care about any of this. By the third day on her stump, Sophie had 30 freshly bathed Nevergirls attend “Just Say No to Drab.”

“Look, you can’t expect anyone to listen to you when you’re ranked lower than Hort,” Tedros whispered. “When I’m #1, you’ll ask me to forgive you.” “You get to #1 and I’ll ask you anything you want,” he snorted. Sophie turned to him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

This time Beatrix couldn’t stop Tedros from falling for Sophie. But Tedros tried valiantly to stop himself. She’s a Never! So what if she’s beautiful? Or smart? Or creative and kind and generous and— Tedros took a deep breath. Evers can’t like Nevers. You’re just confused.

“I’d say you owe me a question, son of Arthur.” Tedros turned to find Sophie wearing the same smile. He followed her eyes to the Nevers scoreboard above the Forest, where Albemarle had pecked her name at the very top. The next day, she found a note in her lunch pail. Wolves don’t like foxes. Blue Brook at midnight. T.

It was the challenger’s duty to recognize mortal danger and drop his enchanted handkerchief; the moment it touched ground, he would be safely removed from the Trial. Upon the first glint of sunrise, the wolves would call the end and whoever returned through the gates would be named the winner. There had never been more than one. Quite often, there were none at all.

So Agatha was there all along, helping Sophie to the top of the ranks? She must have been hidden in Sophie’s dress or in her hair, whispering answers and casting spells. . . . But how had she made him pick Sophie in the pumpkin challenge? Tedros felt sick. A goblin picked from two . . . A princess whose coffin knocked him out . . . A roach hidden on a pumpkin . . . He had never picked Sophie. He picked Agatha every time. Tedros whipped around in horror, looking for her, but he didn’t see Agatha anywhere in the Clearing. He had to stay away from that girl. He had to tell her to stay away from him. He had to stop all of this—

Over and over she repeated it, until she had erased the meeting with Lady Lesso from her memory. As the words soothed her to sleep, she felt the stirrings of her old self. Tomorrow she’d be loving. Tomorrow she’d be forgiving. Tomorrow she’d be Good again. But then another dream came.

Dear Students,

She glimpsed her greasy black hair and bug eyes and dropped to the floor in horror. I’m still ugly! I’m still a witch! Wait. What about Albemarle? What about Reena, Chaddick . . . Tedros? They were mirrors too, weren’t they? Mirrors that told her she wasn’t ugly anymore. Slowly Agatha rose, inching back into her reflection. For the first time in her life, she didn’t look away. Beauty can only fight the truth so long, Agatha.

“I’ll catch her this time,” Tedros said, glaring at the wall beside her. “She’s poison, that girl.” “She’s hurt, Tedros. She thinks you made a promise.” “It’s not a promise if it’s made under false pretenses. She used me to win the Trial and she used you too.” “You don’t know the slightest thing about her,” Agatha said. “She still loves you. And she’s still my friend.” “Blimey, you must be a better soul than me, because I don’t know what you see in her. All I see is a manipulative witch.” “Then look closer.” Tedros turned. “Or look at someone else.” Agatha felt sick again.

“STAY INSIDE!” she boomed, and doors closed. “I feel awful,” Dot said. “She’s our roommate!” “Whatever that is, it’s not our roommate,” said Hester.

THE 1st ANNUAL VILLAINS “NO BALL”

Sophie touched his face on the page . . . twinkling blue eyes, skin like marble, ghostly white hair . . . He wasn’t a stranger. She had dreamt of him her last night in Gavaldon. The prince she picked from a hundred at a castle ball. The one who felt like Ever After. “All these years I waited,” said a warm voice. She turned to see the masked School Master glide towards her from across the room, rusted crown crooked on his head of thick white hair. Slowly, his body unsnarled from its hunch, until it stood tall and erect. Then he took off his mask, revealing alabaster skin, chiseled cheeks, and dancing blue eyes. Sophie buckled. He was the prince from the painting. “You’re y—y-young—” “This was all a test, Sophie,” the School Master said. “A test to find my true love.” “Your true—me?” Sophie stammered. “But you’re Good and I’m Evil!” The School Master smiled. “Perhaps we should start there.”

But all she found was hate. Devoured by a kiss, she saw at last she would never find love in this life or the next. She was Evil, always Evil, and there would never be happiness or peace. As her heart shattered with sadness, she yielded to darkness without a fight, only to hear a dying echo, somewhere deeper than soul. It’s not what we are, Sophie. It’s what we do.

Dear Students,