Page 174 of Naughty Nelle

Rage is rising inside me. I demand to know what’s going on.

“Everyday, after morning meditation, we have castle clean-up,” explains Elzmerelda as she polishes a bureau. “The Good Fairies believe that hard work builds strong bodies and minds.”

Is she joking? Haven’t those cheapskates heard of the word “servant”?

“Jane, what are you waiting for? Get going!” snaps Fanta, jabbing her wand into my back.

These Badass Fairies aren’t life coaches; they’re slave drivers.

“During clean-up, we all take turns meeting with Shrink,” Elzmerelda tells me after they fly off. “Winnie’s meeting with her now. Then it’s Sassy’s turn, What’s-His-Name’s, and finally mine.”

I’m hardly listening to a word she’s saying. I’m too busy squeezing water out of the mop.

Sasperilla tickles my nose with her duster. “Having fun yet?”

It’s bad enough I’m doing slave labor, but there’s no way I’m putting up with Skinny Bitch’s sarcasm. I toss the bucket of dirty water at her. She shrieks.

“Now, I am.” I smile. She looks like a drowned rat.

Before Sasperilla can retaliate, Fanta flies in, touching down between us.

“Look what she did to me!” screeches Sasperilla, wringing out her soggy curls.

“You can talk all about it with Shrink.” Grabbing her by the elbow, Fanta steers her toward the front door.

Sasperilla turns her head and sticks her tongue out at me. I give her my always-effective icy stare.

“Get back to work,” Fanta barks at me.

The Badass Fairy’s words echo in my head, and I’m suddenly a little girl again, scrubbing the gritty stone floor of the cramped, one-story flat I share with my mother. A chorus of voices coming from outside distracts me, and I peek out the window. Children are playing on the street. They’re laughing, singing, having fun. How I long to join them! “Jane, what are you doing?” yells my mother. Yanking me by my hair, she shoves my head into the bucket of dirty water. I hold my breath, counting the seconds, not daring to open my eyes to the sting of the septic suds. Thirty-one…thirty-two…thirty-three… Finally, she jerks me out. She throws a mop at me and hisses, “Get back to work!”

I mop the castle floor frantically to erase the memory. I hate you, Fanta.

---