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  “By the way . . . you weren’t a total failure at spell making,” I tell him.

  He perks up. “I wasn’t?”

  “Remember last week when I was talking to the judges and everything I said sounded like I was in a Shakespeare play?” I ask.

  “I do!” Mia says. “So random.”

  “It was random because after I fainted, everything I said came out in Shakespeak. If you want to make your grandma feel better, tell her if we hadn’t been able to find the cure, my mother might have killed me, it was driving her so nuts.”

  “No way!” Jesse exclaims. “I did the Spelle of the Elizabethan Tongue?”

  “Yup. You wouldn’t believe the gross stuff I had to drink to get cured. I should hate you for that alone!”

  “I owe you a hot chocolate or a milk shake,” Jesse says with that grin. “Something that tastes good.”

  Maybe I’ll take him up on that someday.

  If I can be 100 percent sure he won’t put some enchantment on it.

  Jesse goes off to say good-bye to everyone.

  “That was something else,” Mia says. “I had you pegged as a stuck-up princess, but I was wrong.”

  “I was wrong too,” I admit. “I didn’t want to work together today, but I’m glad we did.”

  We hug each other.

  “See you next week,” I say.

  “Not if I see you first,” she says, smiling over her shoulder as she walks away.

  I go to find Grandma and Grandpa, who were watching from the audience. They’re talking to Arthur Dunn, the director, and a man and a woman I haven’t met before.

  “Aria, my dear,” Arthur Dunn says. “You really know how to bring it with the unexpected drama.”

  I’m not sure how to respond, because I don’t know if they think it’s a good or a bad thing.

  “Um . . . ,” I utter with exceptional articulateness, which I’m sure makes my grandparents swell with pride.

  The man and the woman smile and nod.

  “I’m Francine Cohen and this is Jeff Montalvo—we’re the producers of Teen Couture,” the lady says. “We were just discussing with King Thibault and Queen Althea what a great story line you’ve brought to the show.”

  “We think it’ll help ratings if we promote that story line,” Mr. Montalvo says. “Especially before this episode airs. We’re going to approach Floriana Foxglove for an interview, and we want to get your parents on camera. We can run some great promos.”

  “Wait . . . what?” I sputter. “No.”

  They all stare at me like I’m speaking in tongues.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?” Ms. Cohen asks.

  “I mean, I don’t want to promote the feud anymore. It’s over.”

  “But it makes great television,” Arthur Dunn explains. “Surely you can see that.”

  “I know it does. But it won’t make great feelings for Jesse or his grandmother—or for Mom, or me.”

  “Don’t you want to win this competition?” Mr. Montalvo asks. “This will up your profile with the viewers. It’ll make you a household name.”

  “It’ll be good publicity for Rose’s business, too,” Grandpa says.

  I know what they’re saying is true. But it still feels wrong.

  Just then, Mom and Dad come bursting into the studio, followed by two policemen and several of the building security guards.

  “Aria! You’re alive!” Mom says, throwing her arms around me and bursting into tears.

  It’s good to know my mother’s powers of observation are still as sharp as ever.

  Dad engulfs us both in a princely hug. “Thank goodness. We were so worried.”

  “It’s fine. It’s all good,” I tell them, happy that they are here.

  Mr. Montalvo clears his throat. “Princess Rose, Prince Bernhard. I’m Jeff Montalvo, producer of Teen Couture, and this is my coproducer, Francine Cohen. We’re delighted to meet you. We were just discussing making your story a bigger part of the show.”

  “It could be a great promotional opportunity for your party-planning business,” Francine Cohen adds.

  “Mom, Dad, can we talk for a minute?” I ask them. “In private?”

  I see the producers exchange a glance, but then Ms. Cohen gestures to her assistant.

  “Take them somewhere they can talk,” she says, clearly not happy about this development.

  The assistant leads us to a small, windowless room—I think it might be a closet, but I don’t care as long as I can talk to my parents without anyone listening. As soon as the door shuts, I tell Mom and Dad, “I need your advice.”

  “Of course, Aria,” Dad says. “What’s going on?”

  I explain to them what happened. How all the clues were pointing to Jesse, and then when I accused him, he admitted it. But how I realized that every tale depends on who tells it—and that Jesse was brought up hearing Floriana Foxglove’s side of the story.

  “I can’t totally blame him,” I tell them. “I mean, he loves his family just the same way I love you.”

  “But you didn’t try to kill him,” Mom points out. “The only reason you’re not dead is that he didn’t inherit his family’s gift for spell craft.”

  “He’s happy about that,” I point out. “He doesn’t want to do spells. He wants to be a fashion designer.” I square my shoulders and look at my parents defiantly. “Just like I do.”

  “How can you say that, especially now?” Mom says. “Can’t you see—”

  Dad puts a hand on her arm. “Rose. Let’s hear Aria out.”

  “Jesse and I think this feud has gone on long enough. We want to be friends. But now the producers want to make a big deal about it and interview Mom, Grandpa and Grandma, and Floriana Foxglove. They want to play up the conflict angle because it would be good for ratings, even though Jesse and I are totally over it,” I tell them. “But Grandpa says the publicity would be good for your business.”

  I look at Mom, holding my breath as I wait for her to tell me what she thinks I should do. She’s staring off into the distance, and it seems like she’s fighting an internal battle. I’m scared of what the outcome will be.

  Dad puts his arm around her shoulders and gives her a supportive hug.

  Finally Mom looks me in the eye.

  “Forget about what’s good for Enchanted Soirées,” Mom says. “Let’s talk about what’s right for you.”

  I exhale, and the knot in my stomach begins to unravel.

  “I want to move on,” I tell her. “And if I win this competition, I want it to be because I’m a good designer, not because I’m Sleeping Beauty’s daughter.”

  “That sounds perfectly reasonable,” Mom says.

  “Please don’t think I’m not proud of you, Mom. I am. Seriously proud,” I tell her.

  “I know you are, Aria,” Mom says. “But it’s always nice to hear it.”

  “What if they won’t let me stay on the show if I don’t do it?” I ask.

  “Then you have to make a choice,” Dad tells me. “What’s more important to you? Winning at any cost or doing the right thing?”

  “I don’t know,” I wail. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I want to win, too!”

  “Sometimes you win in the long run by not hurting anyone in the short run,” Mom says. “That’s been the key to our success.”

  “We trust you to make the right decision, Aria,” Dad says, hugging me.

  Do I trust myself?

  I feel like Mom when she was left all alone in the castle and was offered the spindle by Floriana Foxglove disguised as a crone. Should I take it or refuse?

  “I don’t know. Let’s go back to the studio.”

  “Okay,” Mom says. “Use your best judgment.”

  By the time I get back to the studio, I’ve made my decision.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it,” I say.

  Frowns all around, especially on the faces of the producers. But Mom and Dad are smiling, so I’m pretty sure I’ve made the right choice.

>   “That will mean you can’t—”

  “Even if I get kicked off the show. I understand,” I tell Ms. Cohen.

  “Are you sure?” Grandma asks. “I thought being on this show was your dream.”

  “Being a designer is my dream,” I tell her. “I can still do that without being on the show. Sure, I’ll probably have to work harder at it, but at least I won’t have to feel bad about myself.”

  I thank the producers for the opportunity and say good-bye to Arthur Dunn, who kisses my hand and says, “It won’t be nearly as entertaining without you, dear.”

  I take one last look around the studio and say good-bye to my dream of winning Teen Couture, and then let my parents take me home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE TEEN COUTURE FINALE IS on Sunday night, and Mom and Dad agree I can host a viewing party at our house. I’ve invited my friends from school and all of the other contestants who were cut. Mom even has Enchanted Soirées cater it, although with wings and lasagna and cupcakes instead of her fancier fare.

  After weeks of competition, it’s finally down to Hugh and Mia.

  “Who do you want to win?” Nina asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I wish they could both win.”

  “You should still be in it,” Matt grumbles. “I still can’t believe you dropped out voluntarily.”

  “She followed her conscience,” Sophie says. “I’m proud of her.”

  “Yeah,” Rosie agrees. “Otherwise she might have ended up like my step-grandma, willing to do anything to win. Including trying to kill her own stepdaughter, not just once, but THREE TIMES!”

  “I thought my neighborhood was tough, but Once Upon a Time sounds totally wack,” Mia says.

  “You don’t even know the half of it,” Dakota tells her.

  “Yeah,” Nina agrees. “The tales you guys hear are only a fraction of the real story.”

  The doorbell rings and I go to get it. Jesse stands there, holding a bouquet of daisies, roses, and foxgloves, and a bottle of sweet iced tea. Although we’ve stayed in touch, I haven’t seen him in person since the day we both walked off the set of Teen Couture. I forgot how 100 percent adorable he is.

  “I promised you something that tasted better than the cure for the Spelle of the Elizabethan Tongue,” he says, handing me the iced tea. “And as for the flowers, well . . .” He blushes. “Those are for you.”

  “Thanks,” I say, burying my nose in their scent. There’s a question I want to ask him before we go in with the others. “How did it go . . . with your family?”

  He gives me a wry grin. “Oh, that.”

  “Not so well?”

  “Let’s just say Grandma always said I was a blot on the family name, and apparently I’ve only proven her right—especially by coming here tonight and consorting with the enemy.”

  He glances down at the bottle of iced tea. “Don’t worry, I’ll try it first to make sure she didn’t put a spell on it or anything.”

  I didn’t even think about that. Apparently, I still haven’t learned my lesson.

  “Luckily, Mom is more understanding,” Jesse continues. “She’s had enough of the feud too. She told Grandma to stop messing around with spells and get therapy.”

  “Wow. I bet that went down well,” I say.

  “Grandma tried to turn Mom into a pillar of stone, but she accidentally got the cat. So now we have a petrified cat sculpture. Poor Fluffy.”

  I shouldn’t laugh, but I do.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to smother my giggles. “Poor Fluffy.”

  “It’s okay. I went to the pound and adopted Cuddlecakes,” he says.

  I stare at him, dumbfounded.

  “But you hated Cuddlecakes,” I point out.

  “I wasn’t feeling that great about the idea of killing you,” he says, “so I took it out on Cuddlecakes. Okay, and I admit, I was annoyed because Cuddlecakes is the most stupid name for a dog ever. The first thing I did was change his name to Rocky.”

  The first thing I do when I get into the living room is introduce Jesse to my school friends. The second thing I do is announce that he adopted Cuddlecakes. “Except his name is Rocky now.”

  “No way!” Pez exclaims. “Does he still bite you?”

  Jesse laughs. “No, if anything, he licks me to death. He’s also taken the place of my alarm by barking at six in the morning to wake me up. Even on Saturday.”

  “And you haven’t given him an enchanted bone yet?” Lazlo asks. “If a dog woke me up at six a.m. on a Saturday, I think I might.”

  “Nah. I just let him up on the bed and then he goes back to sleep.”

  Iris smiles. “See, more evidence that there’s hope for world peace.”

  The first time Iris talked about peace, it sounded more like a fairy tale than any of the stories from Once Upon a Time. But if two families who have been feuding for over a century can give it up and learn to be friends, and Jesse can adopt Cuddlecakes—I mean, Rocky—then maybe someday we can make it happen.

  The theme music for Teen Couture comes on, and I think about how excited I was to be on the show and how much I wanted to win.

  Looking around the room, I feel like I’ve won anyway. Sure, I’m not going to get to have lunch with Seiyariyashi Tomaki, but both Mia and Hugh said they’d ask him anything I wanted to know. I would have loved to shadow him for a week, but Ms. Amara says she’s going to help me find a summer internship with a design firm. Mom even said she might be able to help me get an internship at the Costume Institute at the Met. Now that I don’t have to lie to follow my dreams and I have the support of my family, it feels like anything is possible.

  Jesse comes over with two glasses and the bottle of iced tea. He pours some into each and then hands one to me.

  “To a feud-free future,” he says.

  “A feud-free future full of fashion,” I add.

  We clink glasses.

  I watch him take a drink first and wait to see what happens. When he doesn’t die, fall asleep, turn into a newt or a petrified cute boy of stone, I laugh and drink some myself.

  The iced tea is cool and sweet.

  “This beats the cure for the Spelle of the Elizabethan Tongue hands down,” I tell him.

  He smiles.

  Arthur Dunn’s face fills the screen. “Welcome to the finale of Teen Couture. . . .”

  We don’t need Arthur to give us challenges. They’re going to come whether he gives them to us or not. But I know that together all the people in this room can create the magic to overcome them—with or without a spell book.

  Acknowledgments

  THANK YOU TO THE WONDERFUL team at Simon & Schuster/Aladdin—it’s so great to work with the wonderful Alyson Heller, publicist Aubrey Churchward, copy editor Kiffin Steurer, designer Laura Lyn DiSiena, and illustrator Angela Navarra for the gorgeous cover art.

  Most fabulous agent, Jennifer Laughran, deserves a lifetime supply of Broadway tickets and the finest edible treats. I shall keep diligently writing books to ensure that she gets them.

  I am a self-professed research geek, and indulging in my geeky passions is easier when you have interesting friends like Billy Serow, head of the Voice-Over Division at Abrams Artists Agency (NY), who was kind enough to explain the difference between a casting director and a casting agent, and Kyaiera Mistretta, Linda Urban, and @TheBestJasmine, who answered my callout for dog fashion questions on Twitter.

  My fellow Swingers of Birches and Sisters of the Brass Necklace have my eternal gratitude for their smart, sassy suggestions and superlative sanity support. Y’all are the best, and that is no joke. Special props to Sarah Albee for her genius in suggesting the Shakespeak Solution.

  To my beloved children, Amie and Josh, may your quest to pursue your life’s passion go more smoothly than Aria’s—and know that if it doesn’t, Mom is here with love, hugs, chicken soup, and really terrible jokes.

  Last, but never, ever least, thank you to my husband (!!), Hank Eskin, for booking the surp
rise room upgrade when we took our “prewedding honeymoon” while I was on deadline for this book, so that I could write on the balcony overlooking the ocean with the sound of a waterfall in the background. Twoo Wuv, indeed!

  About the Author

  SARAH DARER LITTMAN is a critically acclaimed author of middle-grade and young-adult novels, including Backlash and Confessions of a Closet Catholic, winner of the Sydney Taylor Book Award. When she’s not writing novels, Sarah is an award-winning columnist for the online news site CTNewsJunkie, and she teaches creative writing as an adjunct professor in the MFA program at Western Connecticut State University. Sarah lives in Connecticut. You can find her online at sarahdarerlittman.com and @sarahdarerlitt.

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  Charmed, I’m Sure

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  First Aladdin hardcover edition May 2017

  Text copyright © 2017 by Sarah Darer Littman

  Jacket illustration copyright © 2017 by Angela Navarra

  Jacket designed by Laura Lyn DiSiena

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