As I pulled the smoldering loaf out of the oven, I tried to remember exactly what I’d told Chrissy I wanted in a guy. I’d said I wanted him to be more than just handsome and rich. He had to be nice and kind. And apparently Prince Hubert was kind. Kind of crazy.

Honestly, was she trying to get my wishes wrong and stick me with horrible guys?

I waved my hands over the bread in an attempt to cool it down. Perhaps I’d taken it out before it was completely ruined. It’s hard to tell with rye bread since it’s dark brown to start with. I hoped it was salvageable because I really didn’t want to look incompetent right now.

I had to present myself to the dwarfs as an intelligent, capable person so they wouldn’t try to marry me off to some half-wit prince before Chrissy showed up again.

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My hand waving wasn’t very effective in cooling off the bread so I decided to flip it off the board, sort of like the way my dad flips pancakes when he makes them.

And that’s what I was doing when the dwarfs came into the kitchen to check on dinner.

Seven faces peered at me from the doorway. They wore seven different colored caps, and now that I saw them all together, I could tell how uneven and poorly knitted they were.

The one in the brown cap gave me a questioning smile. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cooling down the bread.”

“Thank goodness,” a dwarf in a red cap whispered.

“For a moment I thought she was trying to teach it to fly.”

The one in brown elbowed the one in red, then turned back to me. “Why don’t you put it on the windowsill?

That’s always worked in the past.” I put the bread on the windowsill, feeling their gazes still on me. Then I thought of the perfect way to learn the dwarfs’ names. I’d just call out a name and see which dwarf answered me. It would be easy. Ha—and they thought I wasn’t smart.

“Dopey?” I asked.

“Of course you’re not,” the one in the brown cap said.

“You’re just not used to cooking yet.” He went to the 109/431

cupboard, took out a stack of bowls and spoons, and handed them out.

A dwarf in a blue cap went to the soup pot and stirred it. He kept poking the spoon through it as though searching for something, then sighed, disappointed.

“Well, bring over your bowls and we’ll say grace.” The gray-capped dwarf looked into the pot. “Aye, it needs praying.”

“Sleepy?” I called out.

“I am now,” the gray-capped dwarf said. “Think I’ll turn in for the night instead of eating.” I tried one more time, searching the dwarfs’ faces.

“Doc?”

“Don’t be a pessimist,” The brown-capped dwarf said and handed me a bowl. “No one’s gotten sick from eating your food for days now.”

Why was this not working? Should I just come right out and ask them their names? We all took our bowls out to the dining room where a long table with short benches waited for us. One of the dwarfs took the bread from the kitchen windowsill, another brought a cellar of salt. When I sat down, I bumped my knees against the table because it was so low.

The blue-capped dwarf said grace and then they passed around the loaf of rye bread. The custom was to tear off a piece of bread and then pass the loaf to the 110/431

next person. This is what we’d done at the servants’

table when I was Cinderella. But that was when the cook made the bread. As Snow White I’d cooked the loaf so long it had turned into a rye brick, and each dwarf struggled to break a piece off. Finally they took to smacking it against the edge of table in order to get a portion.

The brown-capped dwarf next to me smacked off a piece for himself and then one for me. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It will soften right up once it’s soaked in porridge.”

“Thank you.” I dipped my bread into the porridge, blew on it, then put it in my mouth. Only a sense of manners kept me from spitting it back out. I’ve never been a fan of rye bread to begin with, but burned rye bread in bad porridge is worse. I made myself swallow, then took a long drink of water. It was really the only decent thing on the table.

The dwarf in the yellow cap coughed into his napkin, a clear sign that he was spitting his food out instead of eating it. “Are you all right?” I asked him.

“Me? Oh yeah. You know me, I’m just sneezing again.”

“You’re Sneezy?” I asked, glad to at least have one name figured out.

“It’s almost as though I’m allergic to dinnertime,” he said, coughing into his napkin again.

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It wasn’t a compliment, but hey, at least I’d learned one name. Of course I still didn’t know the other six names and none of my efforts had helped reveal them. I fiddled with my spoon for a moment, then decided to come right out and ask them. After all, they couldn’t think me any more stupid than they already did.

“Um . . . which one of you is Dopey?” From across the table, the black-capped dwarf took a sip of his soup, made a face, and muttered, “That would be Reginald for putting you in charge of cooking.” The green-capped dwarf sitting next to him, elbowed him sharply. “Stop it or you’ll make her cry.”

“Reginald?” I asked. “Who’s Reginald?” The brown-capped dwarf beside me let out a sigh of patience. “I am. And sitting beside me is Percival. Next to him is Cedric, then Edgar, Cuthbert, and Ethelred.

Edwin already went up to bed.” He patted my hand.

“Don’t worry, you’ll learn our names soon enough.” Another pat, this one decidedly forced. “Or if you don’t, you can continue to call us whatever adjective suits your fancy at the moment.”

“You’re not really Happy, Sleepy . . .” I let my sentence drift off. Why did they have different names than in the story? Then it hit me. I remembered what my English teacher kept telling us about different kinds of narrators in books, specifically unreliable ones. The story of Snow 112/431

White was told from her point of view, and unfortunately she was a raging idiot.

Still, I tried one more time. “No one here is Bashful?”

“Oh, I was plenty bashful when you walked in on me while I was taking a bath,” Cedric’s voice took on a parental tone. “But you’ll remember now that you must knock before you walk into the kitchen on bathing day, won’t you?”

My face burned with embarrassment. This is what I got for asking Chrissy to make me beautiful and loved and not throwing in things like respected or well thought of. I could barely bring myself to say anything else during dinner because every time I said something, the dwarfs spoke to me as though I were six years old.

I couldn’t even prove to them that I was a reasonably intelligent person because I knew nothing about them, mining, or the Middle Ages. Which was really too bad since we studied the Middle Ages in World History.

Yeah, who would have ever thought that would come in handy?

Finally dinner ended and I cleaned up. As I washed the dishes I analyzed my situation. The only advantage I had was that I knew what the evil queen would do next.

She’d come peddling apples, and although Snow White might have been foolish enough to fall for that trick, I 113/431

wouldn’t be. Even if I was incredibly hungry and an apple sounded really good.

If I didn’t eat the apple, I wouldn’t fall into that coma or trance, or whatever it was that happened to Snow White, and half-wit Prince Hubert wouldn’t have to awaken me with a kiss. I would just wait things out until Chrissy showed up. And while I waited I’d think of the perfect way to phrase my real wish so that Chrissy couldn’t possibly mess it up next time.

When it grew dark we went upstairs to the bedrooms.

Thankfully I had my own. It was cramped and dark, but I had a feather mattress instead of a straw one, and a warm fur blanket. All in all, a step up from being Cinderella. Although I still didn’t like being treated as though I were an idiot. Because I was smart. Even if I had nothing to show for it, like knowledge.