The School for Good and Evil 3-book Collection: The School Years (Books 1- 3). Soman Chainani
Agatha saw the students shared the same beautiful faces, kind smiles, and soulful eyes. Here in a glass palace in the middle of the woods, the best of life had gathered in service of Good. And here she was, Miss Miserable, in service of graveyards and farts.
Agatha waited with bated breath, until she finally reached a pink-haired nymph. “There’s been a mix-up!” she panted, dripping water and sweat. “It’s my friend Sophie who’s supposed to be here.”
The nymph smiled.
“I tried to stop her from coming,” Agatha said, voice quickening with hope, “but I confused the bird and now I’m here and she’s in the other tower but she’s pretty and likes pink and I’m … well, look at me. I know you need students but Sophie’s my best friend and if she stays then I have to stay and we can’t stay, so please help me find her so we can go home.”
The nymph handed her a piece of parchment.
Agatha stared at it, stupefied. “But—”
A green-haired nymph thrust her a basket of books, some peeking out:
The Privilege of Beauty
Winning Your Prince
The Recipe Book for Good Looks
Princess with a Purpose
Animal Speech 1: Barks, Neighs, & Chirps
Then a blue-haired nymph held up her uniform: an appallingly short pink pinafore, sleeves poofed with carnations, worn over a white lace blouse that seemed to be missing three buttons.
Stunned, Agatha looked at future princesses around her, tightening their pink dresses. She looked at books that told her beauty was a privilege, that she could win a chiseled prince, that she could talk to birds. She looked at a schedule meant for someone beautiful, graceful, and kind. Then she looked up at a handsome teacher, still smiling at her, as if expecting the greatest things from Agatha of Gavaldon.
Agatha did the only thing she knew how to do when faced with expectations.
Up the blue Honor staircase, through sea-green halls, she ran, fairies jangling furiously behind. Hurtling through halls, scrambling up stairs, she had no time to take in what she was seeing—floors made of jade, classrooms made of candy, a library made of gold—until she reached the last staircase and surged through a frosted glass door onto the tower roof. In front of her, the sun lit up a breathtaking open-air topiary of sculptured hedges. Before Agatha could even see what the sculptures were of, fairies smashed through the door, shooting sticky golden webs from their mouths to catch her. She dove to elude them, crawling like a bug through the colossal hedges. Finding her feet, she sprinted and leapt onto the tallest sculpture of a muscular prince raising a sword high above a pond. She scaled the leafy sword to its prickling tip, kicking away swarming fairies. But soon there were too many and just as they spat their glittering nets, Agatha lost her grip and crashed into the water.
When she opened her eyes, she was completely dry.
The pond must have been a portal, because she was outside now in a crystal blue archway. Agatha looked up and froze. She was at the end of a narrow stone bridge that stretched through thick fog into the rotted tower across the lake. A bridge between the two schools.
Tears stung her eyes. Sophie! She could save Sophie!
“Agatha!”
Agatha squinted and saw Sophie running out of the fog. “Sophie!”
Arms outstretched, the two girls dashed across the bridge, crying each other’s name—
They slammed into an invisible barrier and ricocheted to the ground.
Dazed by pain, Agatha watched in horror as wolves dragged Sophie by the hair back to Evil.
“You don’t understand,” Sophie screamed, watching fairies snare Agatha. “It’s all a mistake!”
“There are no mistakes,” a wolf growled.
They could speak after all.
“I told you we’d get her,” said a sour voice.
Still tied to the spit, Sophie looked up at a tall girl with greasy black hair streaked red, black lipstick, a ring in her nose, and a terrifying tattoo of a buck-horned, red-skulled demon around her neck. The girl glared at Sophie, black eyes flinting.
“She even smells like an Ever.”
“The fairies will retrieve it soon enough,” said a voice across the room.
Sophie swung her head to an albino girl with deathly white hair, white skin, and hooded red eyes, feeding stew from a cauldron to three black rats. “Pity. We could slit its throat and hang it as a hall ornament.”
“How rude,” said a third. Sophie turned to a smiley brown-haired girl on the bed, round as a hot air balloon, chocolate ice pop in each stumpy fist. “Besides, it’s against the rules to kill other students.”
“How about we just maim her a bit?” said the albino.
“I think she’s refreshing,” said the plump one, biting into the ice pop. “Not every villain has to smell and look depressed.”
“She’s not a villain,” the albino and the tattooed girl snapped in unison.
As she wriggled from her ropes, Sophie craned her neck up and had her first full view of the room. Once upon a time it might have been a nice, cozy suite before someone set it on fire. The brick walls were burnt to cinders. Black and brown scorch marks ripped across the ceiling, and the floor was buried beneath an inch of ash. Even the furniture looked toasted. But as her eyes searched, Sophie realized there was an even bigger problem with the room.
“Where’s the mirror?” she gasped.
“Let me guess,” the tattooed girl snorted. “It’s Bella or Ariel or Anastasia.”
“It looks more like a Buttercup or Sugarplum,” said the albino.
“Or a Clarabelle or Rose Red or Willow-by-the-Sea.”
“Sophie.” Sophie stood in a cloud of soot. “My name is Sophie. I’m not a ‘villain,’ I’m not an ‘it,’ and yes, I clearly don’t belong here, so—”
The albino and the tattooed girl were doubled over laughing. “Sophie!” the second cackled. “It’s worse than anyone could have imagined!”
“Anything named Sophie doesn’t belong here,” the albino wheezed. “It belongs in a cage.”
“I belong in the other tower,” said Sophie, trying to stay above their cattiness, “which is why I need to see the School Master.”
“‘I need to see the School Master,’” the albino mimicked. “How about you jump out the window and see if he catches you?”
“You all have no manners,” snarfled the round girl, mouth full. “I’m Dot. This