Page 198 of Naughty Nelle

“That some young girl was fairer than you.”

My blood is bubbling like the evil potion that sent me here.

Shrink looks hard into my eyes.

“Jane, you may have played a game of pretend with your so-called magic mirror. But it played a game of reality with you.”

Anger mingles with confusion. I hate Shrink! And I don’t believe a word she’s just said. My mirror was magic!

She takes a spin around the room before I can swat her.

She returns, hovering above me but not within reach. “By the way, Jane, how do you feel about Visitor’s Day?”

Her words slash through me. How can she be so cruel? I wish this session would end.

To my relief, the chime sounds.

“Time’s up for today, Jane. I’ll see you here tomorrow.”

I’m in no mood for group. I don’t even care any more about meeting Winnie’s husband. I’m sick of this place. I’m sick of singing “lalala” and picking berries; I’m sick of washing dishes and mopping floors; I’m sick of people telling me what to do; I’m sick of not saying whatever-the-hell I want to. Most of all, I’m sick of being humiliated, shot down to nothing by some know-it-all bug of a woman who tells me bodacious lies about my magic mirror. From now on, I’m staying focused on my one and only goal—getting out of this hellhole. There’s no way I can stick it out here for two more weeks. More than ever, I need to get back to my castle. And that damn mirror.

Waiting for group to start, I contemplate an escape plan. But it’s futile; Faraway’s a fortress; there’s no way out. Out of the blue, I have an epiphany. I’ll bribe that giant of a guard, Gulliver. They probably pay him bubkus, so he’ll jump at the chance to make a little extra dough. But wait, where am I going to get the money? Dragonballs! This isn’t going to work.

I unfortunately have to put a new escape plan on hold when Winnie walks in with her husband John. With his strong chin and nose and head full of wavy auburn hair, he could be what I call good-looking, if years of hard work hadn’t prematurely aged him. He nervously takes a seat between Winnie and Grimm, who welcomes him to the group. Sasperilla glares at him as if he’s carrying some infectious disease.

“Does anyone have a question for John?” begins Grimm.

Elz raises her hand. “Why can’t women find shoes that fit?”

“Good one!” snorts Sasperilla.

“Elzmerelda, that’s not the kind of question I had in mind,” says Grimm, somewhat exasperated.

All eyes turn to What’s-His-Name. He’s rolling on the floor, in a fit of hysterical laughter.

Grimm thumbs his bristly beard and nods approvingly. “Good. You’ve remembered your sense of humor. Now, I want you to get up and concentrate on remembering your name.”

“C’mon, say it, matey,” shouts Hook.

What’s-His-Name makes an unintelligible grunting sound. “Ruhruhruh.” Frustrated, he limps back to his seat next to mine. I give his stubby hand a gentle squeeze. At least, he tried.

No one has any further questions for John; Grimm takes over.

“John, how do you feel?”

“Tired.”

That’s obvious by the dark circles and creases around his eyes.

Grimm continues. “Why do you feel tired?”

“I have to work and take care of the kids by myself. It’s exhausting.”

“Did your wife have to take care of them by herself?”

John fidgets with his fingers. “I suppose.”

“No, John, the answer is ‘yes.’ Say it, ‘yes, my wife had to take care of the kids by herself.’”

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