Misfits

ALSO BY JEN CALONITA

Royal Academy Rebels

Misfits

Outlaws

Fairy Tale Reform School

Flunked

Charmed

Tricked

Switched

Wished

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Books. Change. Lives.

Copyright © 2018, 2019 by Jen Calonita

Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

Cover design by Nicole Hower/Sourcebooks

Cover art © Mike Heath/Shannon Associates

Cover images © CallMeTak/Getty Images; ksana-gribakina/Getty Images

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Sourcebooks Young Readers, an imprint of Sourcebooks Kids

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

(630) 961-3900

sourcebookskids.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edtiion as follows:

Names: Calonita, Jen, author.

Title: Misfits : Royal Academy rebels / Jen Calonita.

Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, [2018] | Summary: Forced to attend Enchantasia’s Royal Academy, Devin teams up with other misfits to investigate why Olivina, the fairy godmother/headmistress, is obsessed with villains rather than teaching them to be proper princes and princesses.

Identifiers: LCCN 2018010618 | (hardcover : alk. paper)

Subjects: | CYAC: Fairy tales--Fiction. | Characters in literature--Fiction. | Princesses--Fiction. | Schools--Fiction. | Human-animal relationships--Fiction. | Fairy godmothers--Fiction.

Classification: LCC PZ7.C1364 Mis 2018 | DDC [E]--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018010618

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1: Once There Was a Girl…

Chapter 2: You Are Cordially Invited

Chapter 3: Don’t Be Late for an Important Date!

Chapter 4: If the Pumpkin Fits

Chapter 5: Pixies and Dragons and Dresses, Oh My!

Chapter 6: Room to Grow

Chapter 7: Has Anyone Seen My Glass Slipper?

Chapter 8: Did Someone Say They Were Having a Ball?

Chapter 9: Holy Harpies!

Chapter 10: I’m Your Fairy Godmother

Chapter 11: White as Snow

Chapter 12: Royals Underground

Chapter 13: Snow’s Class

Chapter 14: Fairy-Tale Myths

Chapter 15: Teatime

Chapter 16: In My Ivory Tower

Chapter 17: Who Are You Calling Common?

Chapter 18: Party Planner

Chapter 19: Before the Stroke of Midnight

Chapter 20: No Looking Back

Acknowledgments

A Sneak Peek at Outlaws

Chapter 1: This Is No Time to Panic

Chapter 2: Anywhere but Here

About the Author

Back Cover

For Michael, always

Chapter 1

Once There Was a Girl…

Hold still. I just want to help you. I keep my voice calm yet firm. If she moves too quickly, she could do more damage. I need to be careful not to spook her.

That’s a good girl, I coo, taking a step closer. Stay right where you are. You’re safe now.

Crack! My bare foot snaps a twig, startling her. She hobbles farther into the brush, making it hard for me to see anything but her panicked eyes. If she moves any deeper into the branches, I won’t be able to reach her.

It’s okay, I tell her as some of our friends quietly gather around to watch me work.

I step deeper into the thicket, the chittering of the insects intensifying in the shady trees that surround me. The air is hot, and I’m sweating despite having left my jacket and skirt back in the clearing. I snag a vine from above me and use it to tie back my pale-blond locks. She’s watching with interest as I fix my hair.

I’m not going to hurt you, I promise, my voice barely more than a whisper. Slowly, I pull something from my pocket I know she’ll like. I place the handful of cashews I swiped from last night’s dinner on a branch between us. She eyes the nuts for a moment, then quickly eats one. Nice!

As she crunches on the nuts, I stay very still, listening for any sounds. I hear an owl hoot in the distance and water babbling in a nearby brook, but for the most part, the forest is unusually quiet.

Good snack, right? I ask, trying to make her feel at ease. I know I look young, but I have a lot of experience doing what I’m doing, so don’t be nervous.

She tilts her head at me.

It’s true! Just last week, Nox came to see me for a sore throat, and I mixed him a tonic that cleared it right up. And when Peter lost his sense of smell after having a bad cold, I made a broth that fixed everything. I inch closer to the tangle of brambles where she’s perched. She doesn’t move, so I keep talking. And when Deirdre sprained her ankle after running from a bear in the Hollow Woods, I made her a splint, and now she’s walking just fine.

I hold out my hand. She doesn’t recoil, but she doesn’t move any closer either. Time to bring out the big guns. I strain my neck toward my friends below me. Deirdre? Can you please back me up here?

Deirdre takes a flying leap, landing on the tree branch next to me.

Did I mention she’s a flying squirrel?

Or that the she I’m trying to help is a songbird?

Lily, my bearded dragon, pokes her head out of my shirt pocket to listen to Deirdre’s mix of clicks, clucks, and high-pitched squeaks that will hopefully get through to the little red bird with the injured wing. I can only make out parts of what she’s saying.

I’m not fluent in squirrel yet.

Not like other humans! Really cares… Knows medicine! She can help… Trust her. We do! Friend!

I smile at that last word. I don’t have many friends. When you tell the kids in the schoolyard you can talk to animals, most call you a liar. Or a freak. Some even say you’re evil. Hey, I get it. It’s an unusual, uh, talent to have, but it’s a big part of who I am. Besides, I am really good at this helping animals thing.

I notice her wing is sagging. She might have snagged it taking off from a tree, or maybe she bumped into a giant. My animal friends say it happens a lot. The songbird curiously sniffs my fingers with her beak.

That’s it now. Climb in, I say in a soft voice. Deirdre chimes in too, squeaking her encouragement.

Finally, after a moment of hesitation, the bird steps into my steady palm! Below, I hear the chattering cheer of my friends.

What’s your name? I ask the little bird as I carefully cradle her fragile body.

She chirps in a small singsong voice.

Scarlet? How lovely to meet you, Scarlet. I stand up and walk her over to my office.

My office is really just a quilt I stole from the maid’s quarters. (Mother wanted it tossed anyway.) On the blanket, I have my satchel of herbs that I pinched from the kitchen and mending tools I’ve gathered from our sewing kits. I store everything in a hollow log near the clearing so no one questions what I’m up to when I go on my daily walks beyond our garden gates.

I rinse my hands with the little jug of water I’ve brought with me, then open my satchel and pull out the small fabric slings I’ve been making while Mother thought I was practicing my needlepoint. Finding one that looks to be the right size, I get to work, setting the bird’s wing as best I can. Scarlet tweets excitedly when I’m finished. Then I mix basil, chamomile, and willow bark seeds together with the water.

This should help with the pain, I tell her. Come see me again in a few days, and we’ll see how your wing is mending. If you want, we can help you find a safe place to sleep in the meantime. I place the mixture in a tiny thimble and encourage Scarlet to drink. After a few sips, she tweets at me excitedly, and I know she’s saying thank you. She has a sibling that lives in a hollowed-out old oak three trees over so she’ll be safe there while she heals. That’s a relief.

Everyone is so excited about Scarlet’s new sling that they can’t keep quiet. Between the neighs, snorts, and chittering from other animals, I’m worried a big, bad wolf—or worse, the main house—will wonder what’s going on.

Keep it down! I say with a laugh. You’re going to give us away! The noise decreases slightly, and I lean back and soak in the sunlight filtering through the trees.

I live for moments like this. Being a creature caretaker is all I’ve wanted to be. Mother thought it was a phase I’d grow out of, which is why she didn’t pay Father any mind when he bought me a leather satchel filled with animal doctor supplies. But ever since, I’ve been pulling spiders out of drinking jugs, mending birds’ wings on my bedroom windowsill, rescuing wayward kittens from hungry foxes, and getting an occasional visit from a unicorn that has lost its sense of direction.

I won’t be growing out of it anytime soon. I don’t know how I’m able to talk to animals or know what they need, but I’m smart enough to know you don’t give up a gift like that. I hope that someday even creatures beyond Cobblestone Creek will seek me out for help. But first, I need to find someone to teach me proper creature care techniques.

"Devinaria!"

I sit up straight. The birds stop chirping. Lily pokes her head out of my pocket again, and we stare at each other worriedly. No one should be looking for me out here. Not when I swore I was going to Mother Hubbard’s Tea Shoppe with some girls from class.

Devinaria! Where are you?

Drooping dragons! The voice grows louder, and I hear trumpets sounding in the distance. It’s as if a royal procession is about to roll right through the forest. I hear footsteps, then heavy breathing, as if someone’s running in our direction.

I jump up, trying to put all my supplies away before someone sees them. Then I remember what I’m wearing. I look down at my undergarments and torn shirt and spin around in a desperate search for my skirt. The shirt and bloomers I’m wearing aren’t much different from the outfits the boys in the village wear, but the ensemble is definitely not—as my mother would say—princess appropriate.

Princess Devinaria! Our footman Jacques sounds out of breath as he stumbles into the clearing. There you are!

I cringe. I hate when people call me that. Devin is just fine, Jacques. I try to maintain an air of dignity as I grab my skirt from a bush and quickly wrap it around my waist, pinning it on the side where I’ve cut it for easy on-and-off situations. With a ribbon tied and draped down the side, no one can tell I sliced the skirt open (other than Jacques, who has just seen my little trick and looks quite alarmed).

How, um, did you even find me out here? I run a hand through my hair and pull out a leaf. Did you need something? I ask him.

Miss, it’s urgent! Jacques’s eyes widen as the trumpets sound closer. "Your mother…father…the trumpets… Miss, it’s coming, and…"

I inhale sharply and stumble backward. Lily flicks her tongue wildly. No, I whisper.

Yes! Jacques insists, grabbing my hand. Your invitation is here!

Royal Academy

From the desk of the Fairy Godmother

Headmistress Olivina would like to cordially welcome*

Devinaria Nile of Cobblestone Creek, Enchantasia

to Royal Academy for her first year of princess training!

Please arrive with a training wand, mini magical scroll, several quills, and no fewer than three ball gowns, two petticoats, and three pairs of dress shoes. (Please note: Glass slippers should have scuffed soles to prevent injuries due to heavily waxed floors.)

Personal stylists and tailors will be on-site to assist all students in creating their signature royal style. We look forward to seeing you one week from today!

*The word welcome is only a formality! Attendance at RA is mandatory for all young royals in the kingdom. Questions should be sent by magical scroll to the Fairy Godmother’s office.

Chapter 2

You Are Cordially Invited

Jacques pulls me through the clearing, and I let him because I’m numb, numb, numb. I’ve been dreading this day for a long time. My heart pumps harder as we near the grounds of the cottage.

Okay, it’s not really a cottage. I just call it that. It’s a castle. The word castle just sounds so obnoxious. Like, Sorry I’m late. It’s a long coach ride from my castle. I hate when some of the kids at school say things like that. I hear the village kids talking about us sometimes. Fancy-schmancies they call our type. If only they could see what I’m wearing right now.

Mother is already pacing at the garden gate as we approach, and that’s when I realize I have a bigger problem than the invitation to end all invitations. Such as the fact that my clothes are torn and I’m covered in dirt and leaves when I said I was going to Mother Hubbard’s. I dig in my heels on the grass, and Jacques falters.

Princess! He strains to keep me moving. We must…go… Wow, you’re strong.

Hanging from tree branches all day is great for upper-body strength.

I can’t go, Jacques. I pull back. I’m sorry.

Your mother is waiting!

I can’t let her see me like this!

He pulls.

I yank his arm back. We could play tug-of-war all day.

Devinaria?

We both turn to the garden gate, where Mother is peering through the ivy that clings to the fence. She has an elaborate updo for a Tuesday afternoon and is even wearing her tiara. Seeing her makes my stomach start doing cartwheels.

I wave. Hello, Mother.

She steps through the gate with a look of horror on her face. "You? You! You!" She’s pointing and stuttering as she takes in my appearance. She touches my torn skirt and cries out. Jacques lets go of my arm and slowly steps away from me. He can sense a teakettle about to whistle when he sees one.

You look lovely today, Mother! How was your luncheon with the royal court? I curtsy clumsily.

I left early when I heard what was happening. Get in the house this instant! She grabs my