Rapunzel, the One With All the Hair by Wendy Mass Read Free Book Online

you’re going to lie, you have to commit to the lie.
    â€œSilly girl,” she hisses. “There are no dragons anymore.”
    â€œI did not think there were witches, either,” I mutter under my breath.
    â€œDo I need to board that window up?”
    â€œPlease, no!” I beg, horrified at the thought of losing my one connection to the outside world. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
    â€œSee that it does not,” she says, throwing my dress and shoe on top of my trunk. “I do not give second warnings. Now stand by the window and hold your cheeky tongue.”
    As I hurry to the window, I feel the weight of something in my pocket. My mirror! I must have stuck it in there last night. My mind races. Keeping my back slightly hunched, I slip my hand into my dress pocket and slowly lift out the mirror and hold it facing me at waist level. Then I tilt it so that I can look down at it and see behind me. If it is possible for a heart to explode by beating fast, surely mine would right now.
    It is working! I can see the “bed” and the table. But I do not see the witch. My heart sinks. Then I catch sight of something in the corner of the mirror and tilt it up a smidgemore. I can just make out what looks like a rope being pulled into the ceiling! I tilt the mirror even more and see the rope disappear and a trapdoor soundlessly being pulled closed. THERE IS A TRAPDOOR IN THE CEILING! I can barely contain myself. I want to sing. To do a jig. To laugh and laugh. I have found my way out!

Our lessons have begun, and Father is teaching. He claps his hands once, and a page appears at his side carrying two pillows with gold crowns on them. Father places the first crown on my head, and the other on Elkin’s.
    â€œWe shall practice your regal bearing,” he says, standing back and sizing us up.
    Elkin and I stare at each other’s head. I haven’t worn a crown since I tried on one of Father’s when I was six, only to have it fall around my neck and land on my shoulders. It would have been funny if the tips of the crown hadn’t punctured my neck in four places. But this crown stays squarely atop my head. I really AM growing up! Or perhaps just my head is. Either way, I am pleased.
    â€œBack straight,” Father commands in that commanding voice of his. “Head forward, chin raised slightly. Arms at your sides.”
    I hear crickity-crack-pop as I straighten my back. Whydidn’t anyone tell me I had such poor posture? I sound like an old man!
    â€œNow, a king must always be gracious and courteous. When somebody bows to you, or gives you a gift, or pays their taxes on time, you will want to acknowledge them. A king does not bow, but tilts his head and adds a little bob, like this.” Father tips his head forward and to the side, then adds a small bob, like he is nodding once at the person, but sideways. Elkin and I imitate him. Elkin is better at it. With my long neck, I look not unlike a chicken.
    â€œGobble, gobble, gobble,” Elkin whispers, but not loud enough for Father to hear.
    Father instructs me not to bob quite so large, and to my further humiliation, I try too hard and strain a muscle in my neck. The muscle has completely seized up and I cannot turn my head to the left. Father sends for Mum, who wants to send for the doctor. I convince her to call for the royal masseuse instead. The doctor is way too quick with those leeches.

It seems I have NOT found my way out. Just because I know the trapdoor exists, what made me think I could reach it? The ceiling is at least five times taller than I. Jumping up got me nowhere. Standing on the table did not help much, either. Standing on the chair on top of the table brought me about halfway, but that was all.
    All the activity has made my new dress smell and I have to change it. At this rate, I shall run out of clothes before the end of the week! I dare not hang this one out the window, and even after