Storybound by Marissa Burt Page A

a choice. About either thing. Peter had taken Una home with him, and the Wottons always told her when she had to go home for the weekend and when she could remain at school. She leaned down to help Horace up. He scowled at her and returned to his poorly executed Weaponry practice.
    The bluebird was back. Snow swatted harder this time. Peter Merriweather. He was the first student who had talked to her when she came to Perrault. She had been sitting alone in the Woodland Room. A girl named Harriet had almost sat with her but continued on when a group of pretty Village Girls called to her. Which was when Peter had appeared with a cup of cocoa and introduced himself.
    Things had been okay after that. She saw Peter in class, and twice he had sat with her for lunch. And then there was the practical. She had asked especially to be paired up with him. Professor Edenberry said it was unusual, that official policy frowned on preset practical teams. But teachers always responded well to her particular brand of cajoling. A few sad tales of being afraid, of not wanting to fail, and the well-placed mention of her mother’s name. It had been so easy.
    But everything had gone wrong. It was supposed to be perfect, the experience that would cement their friendship. Except Peter was in a bad mood that first day and had teased her about her dress, which of course meant that she clammed up and barely managed to form two sentences that night at the campfire. The journey was hardly better. By the end of the practical, she half wished the dragon would attack her.
    Snow dragged her feet on the ground. She really didn’t care that much about failing the practical. What bothered her was that there would be no more shared lunches. No more telling jokes in the quad. No more study breaks in the Woodland Room.
    Horace was heading back to the house. “By the way, my mom said to tell you that Mr. Elton’s here for tea.”
    “Elton?” Snow wished she could bring Horace’s sword in with her. Horrible man. Always lingering in the quad or on the forest path. Asking after her mother. Everyone knew Mr. Elton was in love with her mother. And they all laughed at him behind his back. Sometimes Snow laughed, too, but mostly she just hated him. Hated them both actually. She had managed to evade him most of the term, but now he had her cornered.
    Snow hurried around to the front of the house. Maybe she could sneak up to her attic room and climb into bed. If Aunt Becky thought she was ill—
    The front door opened. “Where have you been?” her aunt said as she propelled Snow into the parlor. “Mr. Elton has been waiting to see you.”
    Snow followed her into the cramped room, where her aunt sat down and began pouring tea from her best teapot. “One lump of sugar or two?” Aunt Becky’s red skin pulled taut over her angled cheekbones as she smiled coyly at Mr. Elton.
    “One will be fine, Becky. I’m much obliged.” Mr. Elton patted the sofa cushion next to him. All of a sudden the room felt stuffy and close. Snow sat down on an old rocking chair as far away from Elton as possible.
    No one said anything for quite some time. Mr. Elton sat sipping his tea. When he raised his cup, he stuck out his pinky finger, and Snow stared, transfixed by the fat ring that encircled it. It wasn’t until her aunt thrust a teacup into her hand that Snow realized she was supposed to talk to Elton. Snow glared into her cup and buttoned up her mouth. Her aunt would just have to be disappointed.
    The silence grew. “Are you having a nice weekend, Ms. Wotton?” Elton finally asked Snow.
    “Very.” Snow took a swallow of scalding tea.
    “And your charming mother? Have you seen her lately?”
    Snow thought of the excruciating hour of stilted conversation and forced pleasantries that made up teatime spent with her mother. “We had tea together this morning.” Snow dropped another cube of sugar into her cup. Whatever Snow felt toward her mother, there was no way she was going