UnEnchanted (An Unfortunate Fairy Tale 1)

“No, but see! Wouldn’t you want to know if they did?”

“I hate you Nan Taylor!” Mina shot out. “You’re a dream killer, you know that right? Dream KILLER.”

“Gee, Grimy, keep it down,” a male voice shot out from behind their seat.

Her face flushed red. Mina hated her last name, an easy target for name-calling: Grime too easily translated to Slime, Brine, Grimy. She couldn’t wait until she got married and could legally change her name; if she could ever overcome her awkwardness and talk to a boy.

Sitting back, she let Nan talk on about the latest episode of Glee and even sang a few bars from the new hit single she downloaded on her iPhone. Mina didn’t even own an iPod, the closest thing she had was an old CD player. That was something else about Nan, she was addicted to Glee and every popular reality show on TV. She didn’t understand her best friend’s infatuation. Mina’s own life was already a reality show; why would she want to watch someone else’s?

The bus reached Babushka's Bakery, and all of the wary and bored teenagers filed off and waited in groups. This was Mina’s chance to scan the crowd and find the tall blonde-haired Brody Carmichael. Sure enough, he was standing next to Savannah White, who looked every bit a princess with her long white-blonde hair, porcelain skin, and big blue eyes. Brody seemed distracted as Savannah latched possessively onto his arm, marking her territory as only a female high school student could.

Brody was the fantasy of every girl’s dream. He was a perfectly blended cocktail of aristocrat and jock. The Carmichaels prided themselves on family lineage and could follow their ancestors back to when they first came over on the Mayflower. They raised racehorses, owned a clothing company, and were by far the richest family in the state. Yet, Brody never let it get to his head. He never raised his voice, never bullied anyone, and seemed completely oblivious to his social status and effect on girls.

Her daydreaming was interrupted as a plump man hurried out of the gray, brick factory.

“Welcome, children, we are so glad to have you here at Babushka’s world famous bakery. You can call me B.J.,” the man said, smiling and wiping what looked like leftover powdered doughnut from his face. “Let me introduce your tour guide, Claire. She will take you around the factory and answer any questions you have.”

The tour guide, a striking blonde woman named Claire, walked out of the factory in a form fitting white lab jacket, yellow helmet, and goggles, which did virtually nothing to impede her leggy, model-like beauty. There were some obvious whistles and jabs among the boys, and even Brody stood a few inches taller within her presence. She smiled warmly at them, red lips framing perfect white teeth, and motioned the class to follow her into the factory. Her walk sashayed and her red heels clicked on the cement sidewalk to a rhythm that only she could hear.

The boys followed like puppies, mere inches behind the tour guide, while the popular girls, including Savannah, hung back shooting hateful glares toward Claire. A challenge had clearly been drawn, without one spoken word, and the girls flipped, powdered, and glossed their lips in preparation to retaliate. Mina felt a moment of pity for the poor tour guide; she had personally seen what it was like to be on the receiving end of jealous girls from Kennedy High.

Mina looked at Nan to see if she noticed, but Nan was preoccupied with her texting. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed Nan’s sleeve and led her after the group of students into the factory with Nan texting the whole way.

Claire took them through a fluorescent-lit hallway lined with photo murals of the Babushka's baking factory’s history. She paused every few feet to explain the history, as Mina grabbed a chewed up pencil and notebook out of her broken backpack and struggled to catch up. “This is our founder, Larry Brimwell. In 1911, he started the bakery out of his two-bedroom home, and later moved it into a rented building in the international district in 1913.” A grainy, black and white photo could be seen of a man with a white apron and hat, rolling small balls of chocolate on a small kitchen table. Out of focus and barely visible underneath the table was a small brown-haired boy playing with a wooden car.

The next wall mural was depicting a smiling Mr. Brimwell outside of a small vacant building with a “For Rent” sign in the dirty, paned window. A severe, unsmiling blonde woman stood next to Mr. Brimwell, one hand holding a small clutch purse. This was obviously his wife, holding the hand of their little boy. Mina stopped to stare at the picture of what was supposed to be a happy family, but the picture seemed odd, almost forced. Mina wondered what was really going on in Mrs. Brimwell’s mind.

“It was Mrs. Brimwell who saw the potential of turning the bakery into a full-scale factory and invested all of her inheritance into the company against her father’s wishes. Soon after they purchased this current factory, Larry died of scarlet fever. His wife and son were left to take on the family business, alone.” Claire stopped speaking, her voice quavering for only a split second, before she cleared her throat and dazzled the group with her smile again. “Through hard work and perseverance, they made it into the baking empire it is today.”

“Who runs it now?” Pricilla Rose, or Pri for short, had raised her hand but asked the question before being called on.

“Mr. Brimwell,” Claire replied.

“Why, that would make him almost a hundred years old,” Pri said, surprised.

“Silly me,” Claire chuckled. “Please forgive me, I meant to say his grandson, B.J. Brimwell, who met you at the front door. He didn’t look quite 100, did he?” Heads bobbed in understanding, and a few boys even laughed at the dull joke.

More facts were mentioned and the tour kept moving. Mr. West told them they would have a paper due concerning their tour, and Mina needed an A on this paper, badly. Sometime during the lecture on the usefulness of different sugars in the chocolate process, Mr. West had become separated from the tour group, but only Mina seemed to notice their ward’s absence.

Claire seemed to enjoy the extra attention from the boys, particularly Brody, and did nothing to discourage them. The tour went through the stockroom, the drying room, and the mixing rooms. Every room looked the same, sterile and depressing; the workers even more so in their drab white coats, shower caps, and listless, droning movements. The expression on every one of the workers face was the same; blank.

Mina noticed that many of the students were becoming bored and more than a few could be seen trying to stifle their yawns, so as not to upset their guide. Mina felt her eyes start to go heavy as if she hadn’t slept in days.

Slowly the atmosphere of the tour changed. Mina hardly noticed when the steady stream of facts slowed significantly and Claire’s voice no longer echoed loudly enough to reach the back of the room. In fact, Claire had hardly spoken above a whisper for the last five minutes. The rest of the class became incidental as the tour now seemed to only consist of one V.I.P.: Brody.

Claire would lean in and gently put her hand on his shoulder to direct him if he was turning the wrong way. She would whisper a comment that only he seemed to hear. Everything about the small movements and encounters between the two seemed odd, out of place. Claire stopped walking to listen to a comment that Brody made, turned her head coyly to the side and giggled. Actually giggled. Now Mina wished that she wasn’t at the back of the group, so she could hear what was said. But someone obviously did overhear; Savannah moved in for the kill.

Savannah flipped her blonde hair and physically stepped between Claire and Brody, her nose turned up in challenge. “Excuse me. Perhaps you could stop paying so much attention to my boyfriend, so we could actually hear you in the back.” Claire’s eyes turned dark as Brody grabbed her elbow and turned on her.

“You have GOT to be kidding, Savannah. Are you trying to embarrass me?”

“Are you? When’s the last time you were so interested in a stupid bread barn?”

“Oh, come on. Really, you want to do this now?”

“Do what now?” she asked coldly.