Being a spider is a heck of a lot harder than you think. First of all, it's near impossible to build a decent web. It's got to be thick and strong, yet almost invisible; delicate and balanced, yet wide and spanning. And then, once you've got all that done, there's nothing to do. You have to sit and sit and wait forever until some bug is dumb enough to get caught. This can take days. During all that time, you can't move an inch; you can't even twitch, or the bugs will be able to tell you're there.

And then! Jump, dive, get a bite! Leap, dodge, jump back in again! Scuttle around, trying to remember where the sticky threads are and where they're not. And all this, too, after days and days of complete inactivity.

Think that's fun? No. Which is why I honestly always preferred a box of mac and cheese to catching my own food. With mac and cheese, you don't have to wait very long. You can heat it up, scarf it down, and get on with your life.

That's what I want to do—get on with my life. Grow up, go to college, get a job, and be happy. Not wait. Waiting in Ferryport Landing is like waiting in the center of a web. You don't go anywhere. You're absolutely motionless. But instead of waiting for days, you're waiting for years, maybe even longer. It could easily turn into centuries.

And maybe some of the Everafters can wait that long, but not me. Of course, that's something of an oxymoron, isn't it? An impatient spider? Daddy always said I needed to have more patience. He told me nearly every morning as I stood around waiting agitatedly for him to finish cooking pancakes. It didn't just apply to pancakes, though. It was everything.

I hated lines, so I always cut in front. I hated not being somewhere on time, so I started running everywhere. And most of all, I hated waiting for the Grimms to die out.

I still remember one particular report card I brought home. Straight A's, and Outstandings in participation. Daddy read it with a beam on his face, then reached out and ruffled my hair. "That's my boy," he said. "You'll be off to one of the best colleges before we know it." But when I reminded him about the barrier, he waved away my concerns. "Just wait. We'll get out of here eventually."

I hate waiting.

But wait I did, because that was all I could do. I told myself that Ferryport Landing was a web, and I was at the center of it. I just had to wait for the Grimms, like the big, fat, idiotic flies they were, to bumble into it and die. But I couldn't twitch. I couldn't show a single sign that I hated them, or they'd figure me out. I couldn't give a single hint I was an Everafter, or they'd suspect me. I could just wait, virtually motionless, until the right moment. And though it would be a long wait, it would be worth it.

I told myself this again and again and again.

It was hard, though. On Sabrina's first day of school, I couldn't disguise my hatred of her. I wasn't Bella, after all. I was good at grades, not acting. So I all but hid behind Natalie, knowing—hoping—that Sabrina would assume I was just another stupid human. And I'm pretty sure it worked. She was too busy picking fights with Natalie and trying to ignore that fairy boy to pay attention to me. I was just the giggling idiot.

Ha! Giggling idiot! If only she knew why I was giggling. I giggled because every time I saw her, I immediately constructed a mental image of her caught in a web, thrashing about, trying to free herself. And as for "idiot," I highly doubt that she was all that clever herself. After all, look who she chose for her best friend—my sister.

And then one day, I though my wait was over. Deep under ground, inches away from the barrier, all that stood between the Grimms and death was a blonde girl with a broken arm and a shovel. She was terrified, though she said she wasn't. She was waiting for death.

And I stood there and laughed at the irony. Who's waiting now, Grimm?