Page 206 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 13

Sunday. A day of rest. There are no scheduled activities or therapy sessions. Thank goodness. After the past two days of breakouts, breakthroughs, and breakdowns, I’ve had enough. Finally, I can focus on my escape plan.

At breakfast, Fairweather reminds us that today is talent show day. “The show must go on!” she declares.

Dragonballs!

“We all feel it’ll be therapeutic. What everyone needs right now is a little fun!” says Fanta. Flossie adds that the three of them will be available to assist anyone who needs help with their act.

The only act that interests me is making myself disappear. I’ve been here almost a week and still haven’t come up with a single idea that works.

As I pop a boysenberry into my mouth, I have an unexpected breakthrough of my own. Boysen. Poison. Duh! I’ll find some poisonous berries and feed them to Shrink, Grimm, and those three blubbery fairies. Kind of like my old Snow White trick! Why didn’t I think of this before? With all the berries around this place, there’s got to be a few lethal ones; I mean, I only need five of them. Oh, yeah, and one for that armed guard Gulliver.

My eyes dart from bush to bush. How will I figure out which berries are poison? It’s not like I can go on a tasting spree. With the way my luck’s been going, the first one I sample will be poisonous, and I’ll be the one to go. I know. I can try them out on Sasperilla. The skinny bitch deserves to die. There’s just one big problem. Sasperilla won’t eat a thing!

Just another lamebrain idea. I’ll never get out of here.

Over lunch, Elz is eager to discuss our plans for the talent show. She’s surprisingly chipper given all she’s been through. Hook, who’s seated between us, probably has something to do with it. I’m still not sure I trust him even after his emotional breakthrough yesterday. In fact, I’m surprised he’s not wrought with anger after what Shrink and Grimm put him through. Maybe Elz is the quick fix he needs.

Elz tells us she’s going to sing; Winnie’s going to juggle, and Rump, who hasn’t stopped saying, “R-rumpelstiltskin is my name,” is obviously doing some kind of jig. He’s already practicing in the corner. The clickity-click of his clogs grates on my nerves.

“What are you going to do?” Elz asks me.

“I have no clue.”

Hook eyes me lustfully. “Maybe you and I can do a little number together.”

I’ve changed my mind. I definitely don’t trust him.

Elz, who’s missed Hook’s come-on, offers to sing along. A trio.

“I can’t sing,” I say. Honestly, I have one of the worst singing voices in the world. My “lalas” scare off forest critters.

“I bet you have some other secret talent,” Elz insists.

“Her only talent is trying to look like me!” says Sasperilla, pushing her way into our conversation. “Have you noticed how little she eats?”

I eat more than I’ve ever eaten around this place, but it’s not worth arguing with the skinny bitch. But she’s reminded me that I do have a talent! I can look like other people. I’m a master of disguise! I fooled my very own stepdaughter in those hag get-ups. Every one of them was brilliant.

“I’m going to do an impersonation.”

“Of whom?” asks Elz, dying of curiosity.

“It’s going to be a surprise.”

I smile wickedly. I’ve just hatched the perfect escape plan.

The talent show is right after dinner. I have less than six hours to get it together. To transform myself into Fanta and walk straight out the gates of Faraway.

Wasting no time, I obtain some green fabric from Flossie and ask her to help me design a frock that’s like the one she and her sisters wear. She helps me make the pattern, then hands me a needle and thread.

“Good luck, dear,” she says. “I must help Fairweather and Fanta set up the banquet hall for the show.” She flies off.

How dare she leave me! I don’t know the first thing about sewing. Now, I’m sorry I blew off her workshop.

Fumbling with the needle, I start sewing the pieces together. My stitches zigzag all over the fabric, and beads of blood are everywhere from pricking my fingers so many times. But somehow, I manage to finish. I hold up my costume. After all is said and done, it’s surprisingly quite good. Time to try it on.

Something’s wrong. Very wrong. I can’t get the dress over my head. Crap! I’ve sewn the edges of the neckline together. I rip them apart and slip on the dress. No problem—except for the sleeve I’ve accidentally torn off. The dress is ruined! And there’s no more green fabric.

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