The Land of Stories: The Wishing Spell

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ONCE UPON A TIME Once upon a time…” Mrs. Peters said to her sixth-grade class. “These are the most magical words our world has ever known and the gateway into the greatest stories ever told. They’re an immediate calling to anyone who hears them—a calling into a world where everyone is welcome and anything can happen. Mice can become men, maids can become princesses, and they can teach valuable lessons in the process.” Alex Bailey eagerly sat straight up in her seat. She usually enjoyed her teacher’s lessons, but this was something especially close to her heart. “Fairy tales are much more than silly bedtime stories,” the teacher continued. “The solution to almost every problem imaginable can be found in the outcome of a fairy tale. Fairy tales are life lessons disguised with colorful characters and situations. “ ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf ’ teaches us the value of a good reputation and the power of honesty. ‘Cinderella’ shows us the rewards of having a good heart. ‘The Ugly Duckling’ teaches us the meaning of inner beauty.” Alex’s eyes were wide, and she nodded in agreement. She was a pretty girl with bright blue eyes and short strawberry-blonde hair that was always kept neatly out of her face with a headband. The way the other students stared at their teacher, as if the lesson being taught were in another language, was something Mrs. Peters had never grown accustomed to. So, Mrs. Peters would often direct entire lessons to the front row, where Alex sat. Mrs. Peters was a tall, thin woman who always wore dresses that resembled old,

patterned sofas. Her hair was dark and curly and sat perfectly on the top of her head like a hat (and her students often thought it was). Through a pair of thick glasses, her eyes were permanently squinted from all the judgmental looks she had given her classes over the years. “Sadly, these timeless tales are no longer relevant in our society,” Mrs. Peters said. “We have traded their brilliant teachings for small-minded entertainment like television and video games. Parents now let obnoxious cartoons and violent movies influence their children. “The only exposure to the tales some children acquire are versions bastardized by film companies. Fairy tale ‘adaptations’ are usually stripped of every moral and lesson the stories were originally intended to teach, and replaced with singing and dancing forest animals. I recently read that films are being created depicting Cinderella as a struggling hip-hop singer and Sleeping Beauty as a warrior princess battling zombies!” “Awesome,” a student behind Alex whispered to himself. Alex shook her head. Hearing this made her soul hurt. She tried to share her disapproval with her fellow classmates but, sadly, her concern was not reciprocated. “I wonder if the world would be a different place if everyone knew these tales in the way the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen intended them to be known,” Mrs. Peters said. “I wonder if people would learn from the Little Mermaid’s heartbreak when she dies at the end of her real story. I wonder if there would be so many kidnappings if children were shown the true dangers that Little Red Riding Hood faced. I wonder if delinquents would be so inclined to misbehave if they knew about the consequences Goldilocks caused for herself with the Three Bears. “There is so much to learn and prevent for our futures if we just open our eyes

to past teachings. Perhaps if we embraced fairy tales as much as we could, it would be much easier to find our own happily-ever-afters.” If Alex had her way, Mrs. Peters would be rewarded with thunderous applause after each lesson she gave. Unfortunately, all that followed her classes was a mutual sigh of relief among the students, thankful that they were over. “Let’s see how well you all know your fairy tales,” the teacher said with a smile, and began pacing the room. “In ‘Rumpelstiltskin,’ what did the young maiden’s father tell the king that his daughter could spin hay into? Does anyone know?” Mrs. Peters scanned the classroom like a shark looking for wounded fish. Only one student raised her hand. “Yes, Miss Bailey?” Mrs. Peters called. “He claimed she could spin hay into gold,” Alex said. “Very good, Miss Bailey,” Mrs. Peters said. If she had a favorite student—not that she would ever admit to having one—Alex would have been it. Alex was always eager to please. She was the definition of a bookworm. It didn’t matter what time of day it was—before school, during school, after school, before bed—she was always reading. She had a thirst for knowledge and, because of it, Alex was usually the first person to answer Mrs. Peters’s questions. She tried her best to impress her classmates with every chance she got, putting extra effort into each book report and class presentation she was assigned. However, this usually annoyed the other students, and Alex was often teased for it. She constantly heard other girls making fun of her behind her back. She usually spent lunch alone under a tree somewhere with an open library book. Although she would never tell anyone, Alex was so lonely that sometimes it hurt. “Now, can anyone tell me what the compromise was that the maiden made with Rumpelstiltskin?

Alex waited a moment before putting her hand up. She didn’t want to seem like a total teacher’s pet. “Yes, Miss Bailey?” “In exchange for turning the hay into gold, the maiden promised to give Rumpelstiltskin her first-born child when she became queen,” Alex explained. “That’s a pretty steep deal,” said a boy behind Alex. “What’s a creepy old short man want with a baby anyway?” a girl next to him asked. “Obviously, he couldn’t adopt with a name like Rumpelstiltskin,” another student added. “Did he eat the baby?” someone else asked nervously. Alex turned around to face her clueless peers. “You’re all missing the point of the story,” Alex said. “Rumpelstiltskin took advantage of the maiden because she was in need. The story is about the price of a bad negotiation. What are we willing to give up long-term in the future for something short-term in the present? Get it?” If Mrs. Peters could change her facial expression, she would have looked very proud. “Nicely put, Miss Bailey,” she said. “I must say, in all my years of teaching, I’ve rarely come across a pupil with as much in-depth knowledge as—” A loud snore suddenly came from the back of the classroom. A boy in the back row was slouched over his desk and drooling from the corner of his mouth, very much asleep. Alex had a twin brother, and it was moments like these that made her wish she didn’t. Mrs. Peters diverted her attention to him like a paper clip to a magnet.

“Mr. Bailey?” Mrs. Peters asked. He continued to snore. “Mr. Bailey?” Mrs. Peters asked again, kneeling down closer to him. He let out another enormous snore. A few of the students wondered how it was possible for such a loud noise to come out of him. “Mr. Bailey!” Mrs. Peters shouted in his ear. As if someone had lit a firework under his seat, Conner Bailey jumped back to life, almost knocking his desk over. “Where am I? What happened?” Conner asked in a panicked state of confusion. His eyes darted around the room while his brain tried to remember where he was. Like his sister, he also had bright blue eyes and strawberry-blond hair. His face was round and freckled and, at the moment, slightly smushed to one side like a basset hound when it first wakes up from a nap. Alex couldn’t have been more embarrassed by her brother. Besides sharing looks and a birth date, she and her brother couldn’t have been more different. Conner may have had a lot of friends, but unlike his sister, he had trouble in school… mostly trouble staying awake. “I’m so glad you could rejoin us, Mr. Bailey,” Mrs. Peters said sternly. “Did you have a nice nap?” Conner turned bright red. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Peters,” he apologized, trying to be as genuine as possible. “Sometimes when you talk for long periods of time, I doze off. No offense. I can’t help it.” “You fall asleep in my class at least twice a week,” Mrs. Peters reminded him. “Well, you do talk a lot.” Before he could stop himself from saying it, Conner

knew it was the wrong thing to say. A few of the students had to bite their hands to stop from laughing. “I recommend you stay awake while I teach, Mr. Bailey,” Mrs. Peters threatened. Conner had never seen anyone squint their eyes so tight without shutting them before. “Unless you know enough about fairy tales to teach this lesson yourself,” she added. “I probably do,” Conner said. Once again, he spoke without thinking. “I mean, I know a lot about this stuff, that’s all.” “Oh, really?” Mrs. Peters never backed down from a challenge, and every student’s worst nightmare was that they’d be her challenger. “All right, Mr. Bailey, if you’re so knowledgeable, answer this question.” Conner gulped. “In the original tale of Sleeping Beauty, how many years does the princess sleep before she is awoken by true love’s first kiss?” Mrs. Peters asked, studying his face. All eyes were on him, impatiently waiting for the slightest indication that he didn’t know the answer. But fortunately for Conner, he did. “One hundred,” Conner answered. “Sleeping Beauty slept for one hundred years. That’s why the castle grounds were covered in vines and stuff, because the curse affected everyone in the kingdom, and there was no one to garden.” Mrs. Peters didn’t know what to say or do. She frowned down at him, immensely surprised. This was the first time he had ever been correct when she’d put him on the spot, and she certainly hadn’t expected it. “Try to stay conscious, Mr. Bailey. Lucky for you, I used my last detention slip this morning, but I can always request more,” Mrs. Peters said, and promptly walked to the front of the classroom to continue her lesson.

Conner sighed with relief, and the red drained from his face. His eyes met his sister’s; even she was surprised he had gotten the answer right. Alex hadn’t expected Conner to remember any fairy tales…. “Now, class, I want you all to get out your literature books, turn to page one hundred and seventy, and read ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ quietly to yourselves,” Mrs. Peters instructed. The students did as they were told. Conner made himself as comfortable as possible at his desk and began reading. The story, the pictures, and the characters were all so familiar to him. One of the things Alex and Conner looked forward to the most when they were very young had been the trips to see their grandmother. She lived up in the mountains in the heart of the woods in a tiny house that could best be described as a cottage, if such a thing still existed. It was a long journey, a few hours by car, but the twins loved every minute of it. Their anticipation would grow as they traveled up the windy roads and through the endless trees, and when they crossed a yellow bridge, the twins would excitedly exclaim, “We’re almost there! We’re almost there!” Once they arrived, their grandmother would greet them at the door with open arms and hugs so tight they would almost pop. “Look at you two! You’ve both grown a foot since the last time I saw you!” Grandma would say, even if they hadn’t, and then would lead them inside, where a freshly baked batch of cookies waited for them. Their father had grown up in the woods and would spend hours each day telling the twins his adventures as a kid: all the trees he’d climbed, all the streams he’d swum, and all the ferocious animals he’d barely escaped from. Most of his

retellings were highly exaggerated, but they loved this time with him more than anything else in the world. “Someday, when you’re older, I’ll take you to all the secret places where I used to play,” their father would tease them. He was a tall man with kind eyes that would wrinkle whenever he smiled, and he smiled quite a bit, especially when he was teasing the twins. At night the twins’ mother would help their grandmother cook dinner and, after they had eaten, as soon as the dishes were done, the family would sit around the fireplace. Their grandmother would open her big storybook, and she and their father would take turns reading the twins fairy tales until they fell asleep. Sometimes the Bailey family would be up until sunrise. They told the stories with such detail and passion that it didn’t matter how many times the twins heard the same story. They were the best memories any child could ask for. Unfortunately, the twins hadn’t been back to their grandmother’s cottage in a very long time…. “MR. BAILEY!” Mrs. Peters shouted. Conner had dozed off again. “Sorry, Mrs. Peters!” he bellowed back, sitting straight up in his seat like a soldier on guard. If looks could kill, Conner would have been dead from the scowl she was sending him. “What did we think of the real Little Red Riding Hood?” the teacher asked her class. A girl with frizzy hair and thick braces raised her hand. “Mrs. Peters?” the frizzy-haired girl asked. “I’m confused.” “And why is that?” Mrs. Peters said, as if asking, “What on earth could you

possibly be confused about, idiot?” “Because, it says the Big Bad Wolf is killed by the Hunter,” the frizzy-haired girl explained. “I always thought the wolf was just upset because the other wolves in his pack made fun of his snout, and he and Little Red Riding Hood became friends in the end. At least, that’s what happened in the cartoon I used to watch when I was little.” Mrs. Peters rolled her eyes so far into the back of her head, she could have seen what was behind her. “That,” she said with a clenched jaw, “is exactly why we’re having this lesson.” The frizzy-haired girl became wide-eyed and sad. How could something so dear to her have been so wrong? “For homework,” Mrs. Peters said, and the room unanimously slumped in their seats, “you are to pick your favorite fairy tale and write a paper, due tomorrow, on the real lesson the tale is trying to teach us.” Mrs. Peters went to her desk, and the students began working on their assignment with the little class time remaining. “Mr. Bailey?” Mrs. Peters summoned Conner to her desk. “A word.” Conner was in deep trouble, and he knew it. He cautiously stood up and walked to Mrs. Peters’s desk. The other students gave him sorrowful looks as he walked by, as if he were walking to his executioner. “Yes, Mrs. Peters?” Conner asked. “Conner, I’m trying to be very sensitive about your family situation,” Mrs. Peters said, glaring at him over the frames of her glasses. Family situation. Two words Conner had heard too many times in the last year. “However,” Mrs. Peters continued, “there is certain behavior I just will not

tolerate in my classroom. You’re constantly falling asleep in class, you don’t pay attention, not to mention you quiz and test very poorly. Your sister seems to be functioning just fine. Perhaps you could follow her example?” It was a comparison that felt like a kick in the stomach every time someone made it. Indeed, Conner was not his sister by any means, and he was always punished because of it. “If this continues, I will be forced to have a meeting with your mother, do you understand?” Mrs. Peters warned him. “Yes, sir—I mean ma’am! I meant ma’am! Sorry.” It just hadn’t been his best day. “Okay, then. You may have a seat.” Conner slowly walked back to his seat, his head hanging slightly lower than it had all day. More than anything, he hated feeling like a failure. Alex had watched the entire conversation between her brother and their teacher. As much as her brother embarrassed her, she did feel for him as only a sister could. Alex flipped through her literature book, deciding on which story to write about. The pictures weren’t as colorful and exciting as they had been in her grandmother’s book, but seeing all the characters she had grown up reading about made her feel at home, a feeling that had recently become a rarity. If only fairy tales were real, she thought. Somebody could wave a wand and magically make things how they used to be.