What had her mom said to get her to come? It couldn’t have been the quiche. Julie eyed the eggs and celery warily. She’d have a nice, safe PB&J later, she decided. “Who’s watching the well?” she asked.
“The three bears,” her mom said. She took a mixing bowl out of the cabinet. “Go on up and change. Anything but jeans. I don’t want to hear the seven’s spiel about girls in jeans.”
So long as Grandma was coming, Julie would happily wear a clown suit. “Fine.” Scooping up her backpack as she passed through the living room, she headed upstairs. “And put on some socks!” Zel called after her. “You’ll freeze your toes in those shoes!”
Chapter Four
The Dinner Party
Julie was always surprised by the number of exceedingly short men her mother knew. All seven of their guests were short enough to rest their chins on the rims of their plates and shovel quiche directly into their mouths. Even seated, Gothel, Zel, and Julie all towered over them. If Boots were here, he and Julie would have laughed about it, but he’d pleaded other plans—he’d promised Cindy he’d help with her mouse problem.
Lucky cat.
“Girl!” one of the seven said. Didn’t they know she had a name? She was Rapunzel’s only daughter, and they’d known Zel for five hundred years. You’d have thought they’d bother to learn her name. “Girl,” he said, “I know you haven’t had the benefits of a forest education, but it’s common courtesy to set the table with clean forks.” He held up his fork, which appeared spotless to Julie, and waved it at her.
She looked at her mom. Zel mouthed, “Please.”
Julie rolled her eyes and headed for the kitchen for the fifth time (not that she was counting). Zel put her hand on her wrist as she passed. “I know they’re difficult,” Zel whispered softly, “but they’re old family friends. We owe them a lot.”
Julie made a face. “They call me ‘Girl,’” she whispered back.
“They called me ‘Long-hair’ for three centuries,” Zel whispered. “Please, Julie. Just be a good hostess tonight. It won’t kill you.”
Old family friends—what could they possibly owe Snow’s seven? She supposed it was another thing that Mom would never explain, even if Julie ever managed to ask. Julie fetched a new fork. She laid it next to the dwarf’s plate and he inspected it. “There’s a smudge . . .” he began.
Didn’t this count as child abuse? She held out her hand for the fork and softly whistled, “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to work . . .” Unfortunately, she didn’t whistle softly enough.
“You . . . you . . . you,” the dwarf sputtered. “We worked in mines. Hard labor!”
Julie shrank back. Uh-oh. Now she’d done it. “Sorry! I didn’t mean anything.”
“You didn’t mean anything? You don’t know anything!” He waved the fork at her. “You don’t know what it’s like to be forced to work all day, knowing that someone you care about is in danger, knowing you can’t protect her, knowing she will be hurt while you’re gone but you still have to go. You don’t have any choice but to go!”
Gothel plucked the fork out of the dwarf’s hands, spat on the tongs, rubbed it with her napkin, and handed it back. “It’s clean now,” she said firmly. Quivering, he shoveled quiche in his mouth while the rest of Snow’s seven stared. Gothel looked over his head at Julie and winked.
Julie sagged back in her chair. Rant averted. Score one for Grandma. Julie tried hard not to look at her mom. She’d be hearing about this later.
Breaking the awkward silence, Zel asked brightly, “So, how’s the jewelry store?”
“Oh, terrible,” one of them answered. “Business hasn’t been the same since chain stores were invented. Frankly, I’m surprised your motel hasn’t folded, Dame Gothel.”
Grandma’s motel, fold? Julie couldn’t imagine Northboro without Grandma’s motel. How could he even suggest it? Granted, the plumbing barely worked and the heat was iffy. The swimming pool hadn’t held water in decades, and the rooms themselves still had the original purple-and-orange decor. (Julie’s mom said it was the place 1979 went to retire.) But still, Julie loved it. She’d spent summers playing jungle in the grasses and detective in the vacated rooms. She’d caught frogs in the lobby, and she’d picked apples from the tree in the courtyard.
“The Wishing Well Motel has had guests every night for the thirty years I’ve run it,” Gothel said, an edge in her voice. Clearly, the idea of the motel folding offended Grandma as much as it did Julie. The Wishing Well Motel was Gothel’s pride and joy, Julie knew—as her mom had once explained, it let Grandma have an income and watch the well at the same time. “Dame Fortune, who has all the money that luck and the state lottery can bring, books with me,” Gothel said. “Even the swimming pool is currently booked by the Giant-Ogre family for Halloween.”