Once upon a time there was a young girl with hair as black as night, lips as red as blood, and skin as white as snow. Her mother died when she was very small, and, being otherwise alone, she went to live in a house with seven men who tried to protect her from all the dangers of the world. They lived peacefully together for many years. But just one bite of a poisoned apple brought chaos to the little house, and in an effort to protect her, she was spirited away to a castle in a far-off land, where she was meant to live happily ever after.

That sounds like a fairy tale (well, that is a fairy tale, actually), but it’s also the story of my life, with a couple of revisions, of course. For starters, the hair as black as night is dyed, the lips as red as blood are thanks to my favorite lipstick, and the skin as white as snow is because I wear a lot of sunscreen. And the poisoned apple was actually an apple martini (or five, but I’m not the one who drank them, that was Alexa Rudolph). And, as it turned out, getting spirited away to the castle is just where this story begins.

I spent the first 16 years of my life living in a brownstone in Greenwich Village. My mother, Samantha, died when I was a newborn, and left me to the care of her very best (very gay) friend, Bruce. Bruce lived at the time in an artists’ collective with six other gay men. None of them had any particular desire to have a baby in the house, but somehow when I got there the Dads were overwhelmed by my infant charms.

And that’s how it came to be that I have seven dads – Bruce, Gary, Dale, Spencer, Danny, Henry, and Simon. How I ended up in a far away castle is a whole other tale.

It started with Carter Vandegraff, the preppy rich boy who sat next to me in Geometry for an entire school year.

“Hey, it’s Kate, right?” he asked me on the way into the last class before finals. I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t know my name. I didn’t exactly hang with his circle. Manhattan Prep’s student body is Upper East Side elite - I only attended because Gary is the music teacher, so my tuition was free.

"Pippa. But I can totally see how you would hear that as Kate," I said dryly. I was trying to keep my hostility to a minimum, but guys like Carter only ever talked to me because they wanted to copy my homework. Not that I ever did my homework, but I certainly wouldn’t have let them copy it if I did.

"Pippa, right." He flashed me what I’m sure he thought was an irresistible smile. "What I need to know is how you got this." He grabbed my right hand and ran his thumb across the back stopping just above the garnet and gold ring that I always wore.

“It’s a bit small for your fingers, don’t you think?”

Carter looked down at my hand again. “Not your ring, sweetheart. The stamp.”

“Oh, the Velvet Lounge stamp,” I said, pulling my hand free from his grasp. “I was there last night to see The Loom.”

“You were at the Velvet Lounge?” he asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “How did you get in?”

“They just let me in. I can be very charming.” I flashed him my irresistible smile, but inside I was seething. I couldn’t believe that womanizing, party boy Carter Vandegraff, of all people, was the one busting me for having a fake ID.

“They 'just let you in.' Uh, no. They card everyone there. Try again.”

I sighed. When Gary was a working musician, instead of a music teacher, I would go with him to gigs. I loved it. But then he stopped playing clubs, and nowhere will let in an unchaperoned 16-year-old. So, I did what my teachers were always encouraging us to do and I found a creative solution to my problem. Twenty minutes alone in the brownstone’s art studio with the driver’s license that Simon was perpetually losing and I had a fake that could get me into any bar in the city to see any band I wanted.

I sighed again as I answered Carter. “Okay, fine, I have a fake ID. But it’s not that good.”

“Not that good? The bouncers at the Velvet Lounge are hardcore. There’s no way you’d get in without an incredible fake. Tell me where you got it,” he demanded

I don’t know why I said what I said next; maybe it was his insistence, or my pride, but before I could stop myself I blurted, “I made it!”

“Really,” he purred, leaning in closer to me. “Well, I’d really like a fake ID that could get me into places like the Velvet Lounge.”

“I’d like a lot of things,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Some magic beans would be nice."

“Make me one, and I’ll pay you $200,” he said, clearly missing my point about wanting things you can’t have. “And,” he continued, “I’ll tell everyone else that it’s $350.”

I knew it was a terrible idea, but all that money was irresistible. My face must have given my feelings away, because Carter smiled at me.

“Great. We’ll drop the photos and the money in your locker tomorrow.” He didn’t even wait for a response before walking off.

I did four IDs for Carter and his friends. They told their friends, who told their friends, and by the end of the summer, just about every student at Manhattan Prep was able to get into all of the hottest clubs in the city. To make the most of the last day of summer and their perfect fake IDs, some of my classmates had a completely crazy party at Enchanted Eden, a nightclub famous for their apple martinis. Alexa Rudolph drank so many that she ended up in the hospital. When her parents started interrogating her about where she had gotten her fake ID, she gave my name up pretty much immediately. It was almost funny, considering that when she’d put in her order, she’d called me "Paula.”

As unusual as it may be, having seven parents has lots of advantages. But it’s always terrible when I’m in trouble and it seemed an expulsion warranted a full tribunal. Henry, a director, naturally took charge.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be so thoughtless, Pippa,” he said calmly in his "I’m-disappointed-in-you" voice. "I thought you knew better than to put your classmates in danger like that. Do you know just how - "

"Simone Carver?” interrupted Simon, who had been idly examining the ID they’d found in my wallet. “Bloody hell, Pippa, did you use my driving license to make this?" His brow furrowed. "Do you happen to know where it is? I haven’t been able to put my hand on it in weeks."

I shook my head, about to tell him that I’d put it back months ago, but didn’t have the chance.

"I’m going to lose my job," Gary moaned. "I’m going to be unemployed, a starving music teacher. That’s not even cool, like a starving musician would be."

“Actually, you know what? She did a fabulous job with these. I’m going to have to look into some better art classes,” said Danny, who had been inspecting some of my handiwork. "She’s really wasting her potential."

“Are you kidding me, Danny?” Dale exploded. “She’s wasting her potential alright, but it’s not because she’s directing her artistic ability poorly.”

"I’m just saying, Dale," Danny shot back defensively. "Transformational art like this is very ‘in’ right now, and I wouldn’t want her to miss out on the movement."

Dale was so angry he couldn’t speak. He just gestured helplessly at Danny as his face turned purple and the vein in his forehead popped out. I started to worry that he might give himself a stroke.

Spencer, the family peacemaker, stepped in at that point. “Okay, fighting about it isn’t accomplishing anything. Everyone take three deep, cleansing breaths, and let them out slowly.” He breathed in, then out, gesturing at the other dads until they did the same. "See, now isn’t that better?" He turned to me. “Okay, now that we’re all in a more centered place, we can decide what to do. Pippa, clearly we’re going to have to make some changes.”

It was then that I noticed how unusually quiet Bruce had been. As my official legal guardian, he was the most outspoken about anything concerning me and it was a little alarming that he had been so detached. So when he did finally speak, it was like a lightning strike.

“You’re right, Spencer. We are going to have to make some changes.” He looked at me with a mixture of anger, fear, and what, confusingly, I thought was pride. “She’s going to boarding school. In Switzerland.”

The room fell silent for a moment, and then exploded in a chorus of protest. But I didn’t join in; it was clear that Bruce had made his decision, so I left the room to start packing.

Twenty-four hours later, Bruce had dragged me across the world to my new school - a storybook castle with towers and turrets, glistening pink stone walls and blue slate roofs set on an isolated peak in the Swiss Alps. He had told me only that he and my mother had met there as students and that after a test of my abilities, everything would be explained. Then he kissed me goodbye as a grinning red-headed man pushed me through a door with more enthusiasm than I thought necessary.

In a completely unexpected and bizarre turn of events, I found myself in a labyrinth. A long hallway, bare and white and cold, stretched off in either direction, giving no indication which way I should go. The chilly white halls stretched endlessly ahead, and paralyzed me with their blank uniformity. I wasn’t sure how a maze would demonstrate my academic ability, and was more than a little suspicious about what kind of school would attempt such a thing. And I certainly couldn’t imagine how I was supposed to find my way out without a single clue to guide me.

Deciding that any action was better than no action, I eenie-meenie-miney-moed and started resolutely down the narrow, low-ceilinged hallway to my left. What seemed like an eternity passed before I finally came to a door in one of the walls. Hoping to escape the claustrophobic corridor, I opened it and was immediately disappointed to find another white hallway. This one, at least, didn’t seem very long. I quickly reached the other end and an intersection of even more endless white halls. Since I had no idea what I was doing, I was thrilled to see that this one was occupied. He only looked a few years older than me andwas possibly the biggest guy I had ever seen. His dark skin gleamed over enormous muscles, each bicep as big as my torso. I couldn’t help but wonder where he bought his shirts.

“Excuse me? Which way should I go from here?” I asked timidly, fearing it would be too simple for him to just tell me.

“Two rights, three lefts, and then through the door on the right,” he said in an incongruously friendly Australian accent. Doubting that he had told me the truth, I turned to make a left.

Three steps along, I paused. He probably expected me not to believe him. I turned back to follow his directions but mid-stride had another dreadful thought. What if he expected me to expect him to expect me not to trust him? Hopelessly confused, I decided to ignore him and just headed in the direction that felt right.

As I walked the endless hallway, I began to wonder whether this “admissions test” was actually a test of my mental stability. If it was, I didn’t think I was doing too well. It was impossible to judge time or distance as I continued down the lonely corridors and I was starting to suspect that I was walking in circles. It seemed like I had gone miles, but everything looked the same so there was no way to know. I sighed with relief when I eventually came to another intersection with yet another enormous guy.

“Can you tell me where to go?” I asked hopefully. He didn’t flinch, just continued to stare straight ahead. I put on my best smile. “Please?” I pressed.

Still nothing. “Come on, just tell me how I get out of here!” I insisted, frustrated.

He looked at me suddenly. “Stačí použít svou moc.”

I wanted to cry. When I was signing up for a language, the Dads had been adamant that French, the language of art, love, and culture, was vital for a citizen of the world. Clearly they had never contemplated that one day I might find myself trapped in a labyrinth with an unhelpful Slav.

Not sure what else to do, I decided to keep following the hall I was in and set off running. Each stride came faster and faster as my fear that I would never find my way out grew.

My adrenaline was pumping and I was panting and clutching my side when I came across another giant guy. Only this one was on the floor, gushing blood from his leg.

"Help...me," he groaned as I ran to him.

"What happened?” I asked, nervous about all the blood. “How do we get a medic?"

"I...need...you...to...help...me," he moaned, reaching out a hand to me. He took a deep, painful sounding breathe. “They don't know I'm hurt." I took his hand in mine and tried not to feel dizzy as the coppery scent of blood hit me.

“Please,” I begged. “If you tell me how to get out of here, I can get help." Before he could say anything else, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he lost consciousness. I started to shake him.

“Wake up!” I pleaded. “Please wake up!” His eyes fluttered briefly open, then shut again. I stared at his wound, still gushing blood, as I tried to figure out how to help him. I was already starting to feel panicky about how much he was bleeding before I realized that there was something in this maze that had done this to him. And I didn’t stand a chance against it. I needed to find help.

Sticky from all the bIood, and a little light headed, I set out running as fast as I could. I quickly found a door and tore through it, praying I would find a way out. Instead I found a boy - tall and lean, with dark wavy hair. He was lounging against the wall, looking bored, but snapped to attention as I came in.

“I need help,” I panted, pulse racing, thinking of the dying boy.

He looked me up and down lasciviously. But when he reached my bloodstained hands, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Is any of that blood yours?”

I shook my head, too out of breath to explain. “Okay, gorgeous,” he said, visibly relaxing. “I can give you a hint.”

“But there’s an injured guy-” I started.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you have to give me the answer to a riddle before I can help.” I stared at him in disbelief but before I could protest he started his recitation.

“Of no use to one
Yet bliss for two
The exchange of tulips
Between me and you
The beginning of a kindness
An end to ennui
The center of passion
A start to what could be
Riddle me that
Riddle me this
To solve this riddle
Just give me a...”

He trailed off, looking at me expectantly.

“Are you kidding me?” I said, incredulously. He shrugged nonchalantly. I wanted to hit him, hard, but I was so worried about the bleeding guy I decided to just play along. “A kiss?” I ventured.

“Close, love, but remember, I said I need you to give me the answer,” he said, raising his eyebrows and grinning at me mischievously.

“You can not seriously expect me to kiss you to get help!” I exclaimed, enraged.

“Eh,” he said, a crooked grin on his face. “It was worth a try.”

“I need you to be serious!” I demanded. “There’s a guy back there who is bleeding to death. We need to get him some help!” With each word my voice rose, until by the end I was yelling. “Tell me how to get some help!”

“Defnyddiwch eich grym” he blurted out. He paused, looking puzzled. “I didn’t even know I knew that in Welsh,” he muttered, half to himself.

I had had enough. It was one thing to mess with me, but someone’s life was in danger. I stepped forward, looked him straight in the eyes and said as firmly as I could, “Tell me, right now, in English, how to get out of here and get a medic.”

“There isn’t a way out,” he said. “They’ll stop the test when you finally use your power.” He looked completely startled that the words had come out of his mouth and blinked confusedly a few times, then broke into a huge smile. “Well, congratulations, darling, looks like you’re a Snow White.”

“Snow White?” I repeated, bewildered.

“Yeah, and don’t worry about Hamilton, he’s fine, just part of the powers test.”

“The powers test?” I asked. I was completely baffled.

“Yeah,” he said, as if I should know what he meant. “He isn’t really injured, sweetheart. The point of the maze is to make you Zennies show your powers, and that happens so much more easily when you’re stressed.” He smiled at me mischievously.

The more he said, the less I understood. I was glad the other guy wasn’t actually hurt, but I really needed someone to explain what was going on.

“My name’s Rowan Thatcher, by the way” he said. “If you ever want a little one-on-one practice with that power of yours, beautiful, it would be my pleasure.”

He smiled at me wickedly, but before I could reject his suggestive offer the doors behind him opened and a small grey-haired woman walked in.

“Thank you, Mr. Thatcher, that will be quite enough of your assistance for today,” she said sternly. He saluted, and then winked at me as he left.

“Congratulations, Pippa,” she smiled. “Now that you’ve demonstrated your power here in our maze I’m thrilled to welcome you to Madrina Academy’s new class. Why don’t we go back to my office for a little chat?”

The False Heart is a completed manuscript by Jules Karlavagn and Ally Varley,
and is ready for representation and sale. Please email them to discuss it further.