The Enchantress Returns by Chris Colfer Read Free Book Online Page A

office to talk about the creative writing you’ve been working on in Ms. York’s class.”
    “Oh?” Conner asked. Creative writing was actually his favorite part of the class. “How am I screwing that up?”
    “You’re not,” Mrs. Peters said. “It’s fantastic .”
    Conner’s head jerked in disbelief.
    “Did you just say what I think you just said?” Conner asked.
    “I believe so,” Mrs. Peters said, almost as surprised as he was. “Ms. York was afraid your stories might have been plagiarized, so she sent them to me to look over, but they’re unlike anything I’ve ever read. I assured her they appeared very original to me.”
    Conner was having difficulty processing it all; Mrs. Peters of all people was complimenting and defending him.
    “So I’m in here for a good thing ?” Conner asked.
    “A very good thing,” Mrs. Peters said. “Your stories andperspectives on fairy-tale characters are wonderful! I loved your stories about the Charming Dynasty searching for the long-lost Charming brother and the Evil Queen’s long-lost lover being trapped in her Magic Mirror. And Trix the misbehaving fairy and Trollbella the homely troll princess are such imaginative new characters. It’s very impressive!”
    “Thank you?” Conner said.
    “Can I ask you what inspired these stories?” Mrs. Peters said.
    Conner gulped. He didn’t know how to answer. Technically he had used the class to write about his experiences , so the stories weren’t necessarily “creative writing.” Was it considered lying even if he couldn’t tell the truth?
    “They just came to me,” Conner said with a shrug. “I can’t really explain it.”
    Mrs. Peters did something Conner had never seen her do before: She smiled at him.
    “I was hoping you would say that,” Mrs. Peters said. She retrieved a folder from the inside of her desk. “I took the liberty of looking at the student profile you filled out at the beginning of the school year. I found it interesting that under ‘future career aspirations,’ you simply wrote ‘something cool.’ ”
    Conner nodded. “I stand by that,” he said.
    “Well, unless you have the goal of becoming a professional snowman, is it safe to presume you’re open to suggestions?” Mrs. Peters asked.
    “Sure,” Conner said. He still hadn’t thought of any jobs that fit the description.
    “Mr. Bailey, have you ever considered becoming a writer ?” Mrs. Peters said. “If these stories are any indication, with time and practice, I think you may have what it takes.”
    Although they were the only people in the room, Conner had to remind himself she was talking to him.
    “A writer?” Conner asked. “Me?” The thought had never crossed his mind. His head instantly filled with doubts regarding the prospect, like white blood cells attacking a virus.
    “Yes, you ,” Mrs. Peters said and pointed at him for further distinction.
    “But aren’t writers supposed to be super smart?” Conner asked. “Don’t they say things like, ‘I concur’ and ‘I don’t identify with the likes of this’ ? Those kinds of people are writers, not me. They’d laugh at me if I tried being one of them.”
    Mrs. Peters exhaled a small gust of air through her nose, which Conner remembered was her version of a laugh.
    “Intelligence is not a competition,” she said. “There is plenty to go around, and there are many ways it can be demonstrated.”
    “But anyone can write, right?” Conner asked. “I mean, that’s why authors get judged so harshly, isn’t it? Because technically everyone could do it if they wanted to.”
    “Just because anyone can do something doesn’t mean everyone should,” Mrs. Peters said. “Besides, anyone with an Internet connection feels they have the credentials to critique or belittle anything these days.”
    “I suppose,” Conner said, but his defeated look said otherwise. “What makes you think I’ll be a good writer? My storiesare so simple compared to other ones out