When the Oakdales finally dropped me off at home, I sprinted to the mailbox, took a deep breath, and opened it.

It was empty.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I just closed it as calmly as I could and headed toward the house. I needed peace and quiet to think . . . and maybe bang my head against the wall.

I planned to spend the rest of my afternoon off in my room, but the minute I entered the house, I heard Mom calling me from the kitchen.

She sat at the table, finishing a sandwich. "How was Geoff? Was he excited to go?"

"Yeah, he was. Listen, Mom, I'm going to go lie down for a bit."

Mom looked surprised. "Are you feeling okay, honey?"

"I just need a quick nap," I said, when a pile of papers on the countertop caught my eye. More specifically . . . a pile of mail.

"A bunch of advertisements," my mother explained, following my gaze. "I don't know how much money they waste each year trying to sell us those silly tooth-whitening potions . . ."

I rifled through the mail, my mouth dry. There was an ad from Finale Dental, a couple of bills, a postcard from my mom's friend Mildred who was vacationing in Marina. And then . . . there it was, a sleek dove-colored envelope with my name written on it in elegant gold pen. The return address said: Office of the Council for the Advancement of Fairy Education. I turned it over in my hands, staring at the golden seal in the shape of a seven-pronged crown.

"Oh yes, that came for you," Mom said. "Strange. C.A.F.E doesn't normally advertise."

I didn't respond, as I was busy feeling the envelope. It was so thin. If I'd gotten accepted, wouldn't they have sent more information? Hadn't Jessaline mentioned receiving a packet?

All of a sudden, it hit me. I hadn't gotten accepted. My application had been denied. The envelope was thin because it contained a very polite, three-sentence rejection. I felt as though cold water had been poured over me. Jessaline had been accepted, and I had not. And that was that.

"What's wrong? Aren't you going to open it?"

I had forgotten Mom was even in the room. "Nah, you know what? It's probably just an advertisement like you said," I said, carrying it to the wastebasket. "It's not worth opening . . ."

"Well, open it just in case. What if it's something important?"

Curiosity had gotten the better of Mom, I plainly saw. I moved to the window and stood facing her while I slit open the envelope, trying to think of a quick story. Instead of the single sheet of paper I had expected, an entire sheaf burst out with a popping noise and a flash of color.

I gave a startled shriek and my heart stopped when I saw what was written on the first cream-colored page.

I rubbed my eyes and read it again. No, I hadn't been imagining things. The words were still there.

"What is it? You look like you just got hate mail." Mom's grin faded. "It isn't hate mail, is it? Because I've gotten some before. Rival shoemakers in Heliotropia, you know, can't stand that I thought of heels with letter charms first . . ."

I looked at her. It was time to do it. Time to just pull out the tooth. "Mom," I said, taking a deep breath, "I got accepted to a four-month internship at C.A.F.E. They want me to be a fairy godmother trainee."

She gaped at me. "What? But you didn't even apply!"

"Um, actually . . . I did."

We stared at each other.

The front door creaked open and Dad's cheerful voice sounded in the hall. "Boy, we're really starting a trend with these pumpkin toilets." He looked back and forth between us. "What's going on, ladies?"

"Sit down, Humphrey. Noelle has something she'd like to tell us," my mother said stiffly.

I couldn't bear to repeat what I had just said, so I handed Dad the letter.

"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing," I babbled. "I just wanted to see if I'd get in. The advertisement was right there in the library . . ."

"Why would you even apply for another job?" Mom exploded. "I thought you were happy helping us. I thought you knew just how much we needed you." If anyone had perfected the art of the guilt trip, it was her.

"Look, I'm sorry, Mom. But it's not like I haven't told you before," I said, avoiding her eyes. I couldn't stand the way she was looking at me, so shocked, so disappointed. "I've been stuck in Indigo my whole life. I want to see what else is out there."

"What else is out there?" she scoffed. "People who want a job like the one you're throwing away, that's what else is out there!"

Dad cleared his throat. "Noelle, we only want the best for you . . ."

Mom interrupted him. "Everything we've done has been for you. Why do you think we didn't set up shop in the city? Why live in a rural kingdom on the outskirts of Finale, instead of in Irisia? Because we wanted you to grow up in a wholesome environment."

I knew where this was going. "But there's crime everywhere, Mom, even here!"

"It's different in the city. There are thieves and pickpockets just waiting to rob you. There are bandits who lure victims into the woods. And witches. Don't get me started on the witches."

Now would not be a good time to mention that witch-fighting is a specialty at C.A.F.E., I thought.

Dad finally broke into my mother's ranting. "That's enough, Elizabeth. Noelle, would you mind? Your mother and I will discuss this in private."

The tension was thick enough to slice with a goblin cleaver. I trudged upstairs and flopped onto my bed, staring at the drawings on the wall. One pencil sketch caught my eye, the one where I had reimagined Indigo Castle as a pumpkin castle, complete with pumpkin carriages in front. I thought of Princess Cynthia, the queen's stepdaughter who had never left home. That makes two of us, I thought, feeling sure that Mom and Dad would never agree to let me go.

I waited for hours before finally wandering downstairs to hear the verdict. The house was empty and the shop was closed. I peered out the window and saw my parents in the patch, reclining on two pumpkins, deep in conversation. They glanced up when I approached.

"Have a seat, Noelle." Dad patted the pumpkin beside him. He cleared his throat. "Your mother and I have discussed it, and we have agreed that it's best if you go to Irisia for this internship."

I stared at him, shocked. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged. "You're sixteen now. You're a young woman. It's perfectly natural to want to see other places. Right, Elizabeth?"

Mom sighed. "We understand why you want to go. But Noelle, have you given this whole fairy godmother thing enough thought? I mean, you don't even like our own princess!"

"I have to at least try," I said. "Miss Jenkins' sister said the job takes a lot of creativity. I think I could be good at it."

Dad shrugged. "There you have it then. And four months isn't very long."

"I suppose it isn't," Mom conceded.

"And I think we're both hoping that your time away will make you realize just how much all of this is a part of you," my father added, gesturing to the pumpkin patch around us.

"I won't be home to help you make shoes for the King's Festival," I said softly to Mom.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be okay," Dad said. "We'll hire some temporary help."

My mother gave me a half-smile. "He's right. We'll have to manage somehow."

A feeling of impossible, overwhelming, foot-skipping joy filled my lungs and I hugged both of my parents. "Thank you, guys. I'm going to make you proud, I swear."

"Well, that's settled. You've got a week left with us, so I suggest you make the most of it," my father advised.

The first thing I did was write to Geoff about my acceptance and give him the C.A.F.E. address. That was all I had time to do in the way of celebrating, because Mom and Dad seemed determined that I work even harder to make up for the time I would be away.

When I wasn't lifting pumpkins into wheelbarrows for delivery or attacking garden slugs with a spray bottle, I was in the shop developing a crick in my neck from bending over the worktable. Mom had set me on about two dozen pairs of freshly-made shoes to sand.

"Mom! I'm not a six-armed tree nymph," I protested, during my last weekend at home.

"Bad analogy, dear. Tree nymphs aren't crazy about wooden shoes," she said. "And anyway, a dozen pairs is nothing. You've got elf blood, which means . . ."

"Nimble fingers without the green tint," I finished.

She wagged her finger at me. "Very good." She had been in a brilliant mood all week, having completed two new pairs of heels for Queen Ingrid and Princess Octavia.

I picked up a scrap of sandpaper and began rubbing it across the bottom of one of the shoes Mom had artfully fashioned from rosewood. Later, we would paint on a navy sole made from a special homemade mixture, which she jokingly called her sole-lution. This liquid paste would harden, adding weight to the shoe without making it too heavy, as well as keeping it slip-proof. When that process was done, the fun part of decorating and embellishing would begin.

I was still engrossed in this task when Mom came out from the back room with a pair of pink satin shoes. The heels were clear and filled with rose petals that had been dipped in a special glaze to keep them fresh forever - a design I had come up with last spring.

"I want you to have these," my mother said, looking misty-eyed. "You need to put your best foot forward out there. You'll be representing our family in the wide world." Before I could thank her, she handed me another gift: a leather pouch filled with shoemaking tools, including a miniature hammer, nails, sandpaper, a brush, and a pot of sole-lution. "I know you'll be busy, but I hope you'll find time to keep up your skills," she added.

I gave her a fierce hug. "I promise to make at least one pair of shoes," I said, "and I promise they'll be the best I ever made, Mom."

Later that night, Dad had a few parting gifts of his own. He came into my room, where Mom was helping me revamp my wardrobe until not even Jessaline Snapp could find fault with it, and handed me four tiny tendriled pumpkins that each fit perfectly into the palm of my hand.

"Bring them with you wherever you go," my father said in a gruff voice. "One for me, one for Mom, and one for you."

"And what's the fourth one for?" I asked.

"For luck," he said simply.

Before I knew it, the day of my departure had come. This time, when we went to the station, it would be my turn to embark. I had woken up with a queasy feeling in my stomach that only intensified as I watched the fields roll by from the back of Dad's wagon.

I couldn't help clinging to my parents when we arrived at the station. "It's really happening, isn't it?" I asked, a small lump forming in my throat.

"You can come home anytime," Dad said, hugging me tight. "If it doesn't work out . . ."

"It will work out," I told him, forcing a smile.

"All aboard the nine o'clock carriage to Irisia!" yelled one of the station attendants, waving a big blue flag. "We depart in ten minutes!"

I shrugged. "That's me."

"Write home every week, and don't forget to take care of those pumpkins," Dad warned.

"Keep those shoes wrapped in linen. We don't want the heels breaking," Mom added. "And dress warm."

"Mom, it's ninety degrees out here."

After a dozen more parental tips, they finally let me pick up my suitcases and get in line with the other people traveling to Irisia. I handed my ticket to the driver, who nodded and threw my bags on top of the carriage without further ado.

Inside, I found an aisle lined with navy blue carpet that matched the seats. My carriage was less crowded than Geoff's, which meant that I scored a whole row of seats to myself and didn't have to share the armrest. I pressed my face against the window, watching my parents stand by their wagon.

They waved until the carriage door closed, the horses whinnied, and the wheels began moving beneath me, taking me away from the only place and the only people I had ever known.

I watched Mom and Dad grow smaller and smaller until they were nothing but specks of color among the fields. And then I turned and faced forward, to the horizon, where my new adventure awaited me.