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cheery.”
    I also don’t do cheery.
    She makes her bed. “Hurry! You don’t want to be late for breakfast.”
    Screw breakfast! I just need a cup of black coffee. Trust me, I’m even more evil without one.
    “Lalala! Lalala!” She won’t stop.
    What am I waiting for? While her back is turned, I bolt out of bed, charge through the swarm of birds, and sprint to the nearest door. I jerk the door open and slam it behind me on the beak freaks.
    Dragonballs! Wrong door! The foul odor lets me know immediately where I am. The bathroom. Yet another reminder I’m not at spa. There’s a bucket for a tub, chamber pot, chipped pitcher, and a few ragged towels. Something’s missing. A mirror!
    It’s not possible. Every halfway decent bathroom has a mirror, right? I check inside every drawer, under the tub, between the towels…even in the wretched chamber pot. Zilch!
    I storm back into the bedroom “Where did you hide the mirror?” I shout at Elzmerelda.
    “Don’t you remember?” She grins. “Mirrors aren’t allowed at Faraway.”
    My body shakes, and sweat runs down the back of my knees.
    I’m having major mirror withdrawal.
     
     
     

CHAPTER 5
     
    Why the hell are we outside? More bloody sunshine! I’ve got a splitting headache and feel jittery all over. I need a cup of coffee. Desperately. 
    “This is our Enchanted Garden,” beams Elzmerelda. “We grow our own vegetables, fruits, and grains.”
    It’s all one big green blur to me. I’m getting edgier and edgier. A rabbit scampers by me. I want to crush it. Turn it into rabbit stew. Seriously, if don’t get my daily dose of caffeine soon, I am going to cause some major damage.
     “Get me my coffee!” I order.
    A single, simple cup of black coffee. What’s so difficult about that? Even in that decrepit dungeon, I always got my morning coffee.
    “Oh, we don’t drink coffee at Faraway,” she says in that sickening singsong voice. “We only drink herbal tea. It’s part of the healing process.”
    My life is over. I’m never going to make it out of here without my coffee.
    “Here’s a basket.” The loony hands me the extra one she’s holding. She’s so relentlessly cheery a fire-breathing dragon couldn’t melt her smiley façade.
    I’ve had it. Coffee or no coffee. I’ve got to get out of here. My eyes search in every direction for an exit until Miss Cheerful and Deranged yanks me toward a patch of berries. 
    “What kind of tea do you like?” she asks. “My favorite’s chamomile.” 
    Mine is anything that will shut her up. Permanently.
     
    ***
     
     “Lalalala!” sings a stout, silver-haired woman in a red frock and bonnet, waving a wand. When she turns her back, I catch sight of a pair of wings and a butt as big as a warthog’s.
     “People, let me hear you sing it louder!” shouts another big butt woman in an identical green getup. I recognize her immediately. She’s that rude fairy spa-mother I met yesterday. 
     “Bring it on!” cheers a third wand-waving, winged woman in blue who could easily be the shorter, roly-poly sister of the first two. 
    How can they be so energetic so early in the morning? I bet they get coffee!
    Singing their “lalalalas” in perfect harmony, the trio is supervising a pathetic group of losers who are picking berries and attempting to sing along. There’s a troll with glazed eyes and a pronounced limp, a woman about my age but triple my size, and the scary-skinny chick I saw mopping floors yesterday. She bears a strong resemblance to my new “roomie,” except she’s anything but cheerful. Who are all these freaks?
     “This is the way we start our day,” Elzmerelda tells me. “The Good Fairies believe singing brings out the best in people.” 
      Is she kidding? It’s bringing out the worst in me. This “lala” stuff is driving me crazy. I know. It’s a conspiracy to prove I really do belong in this nuthouse.
    “And they believe a rustic diet will restore our souls.” Doesn’t