I guess, if you wanted to be good, you'd do what Jay and Evie and Carlos and Mal did. You'd let those self-righteous, self-aggrandizing, hypocritical wardens at Auradon brainwash you. You'd start going to their tea parties – so civilized, so pastel, so vapid – and you'd start thinking things like:

"Maybe no one should question the ethics behind getting fairies to do all your hard work."

"Maybe we shouldn't ask what drives a person to villainy, maybe they just deserve to be trapped inside a dome."

"Maybe there is only one way to be good, but a thousand ways to be bad."

I understand the appeal. I really do. We all wish we were born on the side of the fence where our crystalline singing voices and flawless hair could be enough to guarantee wealth and contentment for the rest of our lives. And then there's the romantic notion of being that oh-so-troubled VK with the strained relationship with your damaged parent, shunned by the popular kids because of your alternative style, but having the kind and generous heart of a princess. If only they could see beyond your lowly street rat status! Maybe magic and friendship will fix everything!

But there are two sides to magic, and friendship is a salve not a cure.

I'll tell you what my father said to me the last time I saw him before his mysterious disappearance:

"If somebody seems too good to be true, it's because they are."

I mean, really think about this. My father, once upon a time, did something wrong (you and I probably have very different views about what exactly that was, but that's an argument for another day), so he gets punted to an island full of people much more dangerous than he ever was, with no chance to rehabilitate because in order to survive he has to be every bit as ruthless as his fellow prisoners. And the royal goodie-goodie devising this cage match of raw ambition and dark magic? A guy who was turned into a beast for eleven years for being rude at a dinner party. Now if that isn't the kind of person who should be able to scrounge up a little sympathy…

But no. Sympathy could upset the status quo. Sympathy could mean that the heirs of villains with royal blood could make succession claims one day.

Sympathy is a threat to power.

I'm sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes. You're not here for my philosophical ramblings. You're here to learn for the story of how a new batch of VK's were given a chance to learn to be good in a world full of evil. It's a great story, you'll love it. There're make-overs, and winter dances, and magic treasures, and new friends and familiar faces, and secrets, and betrayals, and an attempted murder. It was a hell of a year at Auradon Prep, no one can deny that.

And I had the best seat in the house.


"Does this shirt look too tight?" Armand asked, flexing in front of one of the many full length mirrors we'd encountered in one of the many waiting rooms we'd be thrown in since arriving in Auradon.

I looked up from my reading, a treasured copy of Isolationism in Pride Rock: The Hyena's Case. It was my fourth or fifth time reading it through. Like all of my books, before bringing it with me, I'd swapped the cover out for something more… palatable to my new schoolmates (in this case Glass Slippers and Fancy Yogurt: How to Treat Yourself like Royalty).

Armand was dressed very simply in a white t-shirt, with his preferred distressed black jeans and his worn brown leather boots. His dark hair was loose and combed neatly to one side, his dimpled chin jutted from a square jaw, and his broad shouldered, naturally muscular physique made him look more like a statue of Hercules than the son of Gaston.

"It looks tight," I told him.

"But too tight? I want it to look too tight," he clasped his hands to one side of his bright red belt and squeezed them just enough to make his biceps pop. "I want everyone to think that there's no shirt in the world that can hold the grandeur of Armand."

"It could be the tightest shirt in all the realms and it wouldn't matter," I shrugged. "They're going to see what they want to see when they look at us, not what we want them to see."

I could feel the other two shooting inquisitive glances at me. One of them, the only other girl, I didn't know too well. She was going to rule Auradon if she wanted to, that was obvious right away. She was tall, blonde, and a perfect mix of athletic and feminine. Her mother had been involved in some sort of scheme to destroy Atlantis. Her name was Ingrid, and if I'd had her looks, I would've gone for the full secret princess routine straight out of the gate. The fourth member of our gang of charity cases was an altogether more notorious figure.

He was as tall as Armand, but all sinew and bone. He looked like he'd never eaten enough to be satisfied in his entire life. He was called Cadfael, and he was supposedly the son of The Horned King, but there were more than a few rumours about how the term son was being defined.

If you knew how to pay attention to things that weren't easy to notice, you could see him around the Isle, standing in shadows never too deep or too faint to be suspicious. He hadn't said anything on the ride over, or in the three hours of shuffling and moving and following ushers since then. He just took everything in. When his eyes landed on me, I felt like a jaguar being watched by a crocodile.

It wasn't a feeling I was used to.

"What are they going to want to see?" Ingrid asked. She sounded nervous, and I felt bad because she didn't seem like a person who was used to being nervous, otherwise I probably wouldn't have been so candid.

"It depends on the person," I shut my book properly. "Some of them are going to look at us like sad waifs who need lots of instruction and patience, and everything about us will seem unrefined or desperate. Some of them are going to look at us like intruders, being brought in to compete with them for accolades and resources – more mouths at the cafeteria, more rungs on the social ladder – and they'll decide that anything that goes wrong while we're here is because of us. They'll give themselves away when they form the first mob. A handful are going to want to be like us, because they've decided that we're edgy. They'll tell us all the Isle bands they know, invite us around to give them eyeliner tips, be largely annoying—"

I didn't get a chance to finish, my voice trailing off into a whisper as footsteps drew closer in the outside hall. It sounded like more than one person.

I was so distracted by wondering if they'd overheard me at all, I almost didn't notice how mortified Ingrid had started to look during my mini-overview of our future social prospects.

"Your girlfriend's kind of a downer," she said to Armand.

"Yeah," he chuckled, plunking down on the sofa next to me and wrapping an arm around my shoulders, "but she's usually right."

"I'm not his girlfriend," I clarified.

"Of course you are," he said, as the door opened and three new people entered the room.

At the head of the little triangle they formed was a short, smiling woman in a pale blue dress. The Fairy Godmother herself, a woman who decided to bide her time for almost twenty years of her goddaughter's suffering only to show up and lend the girl a pretty dress and an impractical pair of shoes for a few hours. Her generosity has always been highly overrated.

Behind her were Belle and the Beast. I could feel Armand shift uncomfortably beside me. He'd told me, when we were first selected for this year's program, that he was least looking forward to having to meet the King and Queen. He couldn't articulate why, but he didn't have to. In a second moment of weakness that day, I moved ever so slightly against his chest, to let him think that I was more nervous than I actually was. If he felt like he had to be bold on my behalf, he'd swallow his own fears. He gave me a reassuring pat and settled into the new closeness, and I could feel his heartbeat start to slow down.

"Welcome," Fairy Godmother said with the oozing sympathy women like her usually reserved for post-breakup margarita parties. "We're so glad to have you with us. I don't know how much you know about our last group of exchange students—"

"Oh, everything," Ingrid supplied with a dry sarcasm I immediately admired. "Golly, we just couldn't stop talking about how lucky they were to be forcibly removed from their school and friends and never heard from again."

Belle looked at Ingrid with generic maternal pity. Poor thing, she was probably thinking, she simply doesn't know how to behave.

"Yes, well." Fairy Godmother went on, clearly a little ruffled by the reply. "Of course, that's not strictly true. They had video chats with their parents, and campaigned for several of their friends from the Isle to attend alongside them. All four of them were among our most successful graduates last year, the daughter of the Evil Queen was valedictorian. And Mal, daughter of Maleficent, is set to become the next queen of Auradon, if she so chooses!"

Behind her, Belle and the Beast exchanged a knowing smile.

It could've meant either ah, young love or over our dead bodies is she going to actually marry our son. It didn't matter much either way.

"Since it was such a successful program, and a passion project of Young King Ben's, he's asked that we continue it this year – he's currently travelling abroad, otherwise I'm sure he would've loved meeting all of you personally."

Armand made a high-pitched, skeptical noise in the back of his throat.

Belle's serene expression broke for just a second, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

Was it because he was Gaston's son? Or was it because he obviously doubted the benevolence of her only child and heir? Some mixture of both, I decided.

"I've heard good things about Young King Ben," I said, with my most convincing shy smile. "I think anyone who wants to give us a chance… I mean, he obviously wants the world to be a better place, and that's really nice."

This earned me a nod from the Beast.

"Ben believes that you have the right to your own stories," he said. "It's an important opportunity, and one I know you won't waste."

I mustered another self-conscious smile, then quickly looked down at the hands folded in my lap.

It was hard not to laugh. I could feel Ingrid's amused approval, and I knew that if I met her eyes, we'd both burst into a full-on cackle.

For his part, Armand was well accustomed to my sudden swings in demeanour.

"There are like three different versions of you," he'd told me a few months earlier, after I'd gotten him out of a tight spot with one of Madam Mim's granddaughters. "I like all of them."

After that I let him hang around more. Mostly because I'd been under the impression that there were only two versions of me, and I wanted to find out what he thought the third one was.

"I've asked my daughter, Jane, to show you around the building. She's your age, and she became close friends with our last batch of VKs," Fairy Godmother said. "She knows more about what you're going through than you might expect. I hope you'll all see her as your own, miniature fairy godmother. But first, we're having an assembly to announce your arrival to your classmates and give you a proper introduction."

"It seems like the best thing to do," Belle added. "That way there won't be as much gossip and speculation. They'll know exactly who you are, and why you're here. Now, if you'll just line up, let's see, we'll do boys on one side and girls on the other. My goodness you're all very tall. Well, almost all of you."

She smiled condescendingly at average little me. I decided to look embarrassed and ignore the very obvious way she placed me next to Cadfael instead of Armand.

"Oh!" I said, with a semi-legitimate flash of worry, "Our things! My books! Is it safe to just leave them in here?"

"Why, of course!" Beast laughed, "What could happen to them?"

"Stolen, vandalized, lit on fire, cursed as a prank, dipped in poison…" Ingrid listed, causing all three adults to look so deeply, deeply sorry for our troubled lives.

"We don't do things like that here," Belle told us.

I have to confess, in my whole sixteen years living on the Isle of the Lost, I never once had to worry that a bunch of junior princesses in waiting were going to make a bonfire of my literature collection. So her reassurances weren't all that comforting.

"Can we lock the door?" Armand asked. "Just in case."

"You'll find that there's little need for locked doors here at Auradon Prep," Belle replied.

"If it makes them feel better…" Fairy Godmother said softly.

"No, no, the Queen is right," Beast said, putting his hand up to halt further discussion. "This is an important first experience for them. They need to see that their things will be safe and untouched when they come back to them."

A ripple of nerves ran through our little group as we followed the procession of adults out of the room. I noticed beside me Cadfael very slightly moved his hand, like he was pushing a wave through the air, then turned an invisible key. I made a point of not looking over my shoulder when I head the whisper-soft thud of the door's wood against the frame, and the soft mechanical click of the lock.

It was a bit of a surprise that they led us into a formal garden, and not an assembly room or cafeteria. The place was crowded with cliché royal plants, like box hedges and Wonderland roses, and there was an ornate white pavilion that looked to be our destination. Along the side of the garden were trays of assorted refreshments, and the whole thing had the distinctive air of an engagement brunch, even though it was obviously a welcome back party for seniors. Every girl in the group was dressed in a knee-length dress of a late summer hue.

I cursed myself for wearing my usual go-to of white skinny jeans, although I was nowhere near as out of place as Ingrid, in her black commando boots with low-tied laces and the tongues sticking out over military green leggings. Her sheepskin lined bomber jacket was the most masculine piece of clothing in the entire garden. That included all of the Auradon guys, who apparently thought bright yellow trousers and baby blue polo shirts were a good statement to make.

When we were lined up like victims of a firing squad in front of the pavilion, Fairy Godmother produced a tea cup from somewhere or other and tapped it daintily with the side of a spoon. The sound rang out over the crowd, and all eyes turned to us as a hush fell over the garden.

"First of all, welcome back to what will be your final year at Auradon Prep. It's a year that will be tinged with the sadness of leaving, but full of promises of the great things to come, and we truly hope that it will be your greatest year yet," she announced with such saccharine sentimentality I worried about my blood sugar. "As you know, our past exchanges with students from the Isle of the Lost have been extremely rewarding—"

"Why do they keep calling this an exchange?" Cadfael whispered to me, and I almost jumped because it was the first time I'd ever heard him speak. "They haven't sent any of their children to study on the island."

"They probably think 'forced assimilations' is too much of a mouthful," I whispered back, doing my utmost not to let my lips move too much.

"—introduce this year's new students. They are the lucky recipients of this opportunity to finish their education among Auradon's elite. First we have Armand, son of Gaston," Fairy Godmother motioned for Armand to step forward, and he did.

"Armand," Queen Belle announced, "we forgive you for your father's crimes and accept you into our community."

The crowd broke out into polite applause.

"Oh, how sweet," Ingrid muttered under her breath, "a name-and-shame party, just for us."

"Ingrid, daughter of Helga Sinclair," Fairy Godmother announced, and Ingrid stepped forward with defiant swagger. "Ingrid, we know that your tenacity will reward anyone lucky enough to be your friend."

The applause came, and I still don't know how Ingrid managed to flip everyone off without lifting her fingers in the slightest, but she did, and I was impressed.

"Cadfael, son of the Horned King." Cadfael didn't step forward, he just cast his eyes along the faces in the crowd. Most of them were murmuring to one another, trying to find out if anyone knew who the Horned King was. "A fresh start is our gift to you, and your talent for magic may prove to be your gift to us."

Here we go, I thought, and braced myself for what was sure to be the most important performance of the day.

"Greta, daughter of Prince Hans of the Southern Isles," Fairy Godmother announced, and before I could even step forward, a ripple of murmurs filled the courtyard. I picked a spot on the grass, and stared at it, letting my face fall in a tragic mask of sorrow. I wrung my hands softly, in a self-comforting gesture I knew to be popular among the more anxious of the royal crowd. "All of us give you our trust, and in return we accept your gentle spirit."

The single tear of gratitude was a hard-won touch. Crying only one single tear takes months of practice, and I'd done it to seal the deal on my first impression. Just to look like that oh-so-troubled VK, shunned by the popular kids because of my father's villainy, but having the kind and generous heart of a dependable sidekick. If only someone would give me a chance to be their bestest best friend.

Like my father used to tell me before his mysterious disappearance:

"Hide in the story they give you."