I wait for them to head downstairs before running over to my jewelry box.

“Prince!” I hear my mom say. “Sorry, buddy, but you do not get to sit at the table. Even if it’s a special occasion.”

I giggle. Poor Prince.

I look at my jewelry box. There’s Beauty! She’s standing in front of what used to be the cheese shop. But now instead, it says LIBRARY. Beauty’s holding a pile of books, smiling a huge smile, and looking more beautiful than ever, because she’s truly happy. I’m so proud of her!

And wait a minute — there’s another image next to her. It’s Mr. Beast! With his arm around Freckles. They’re standing in front of the castle where a sign reads THE B&B: BED AND (EXTRA-CHEESY) BREAKFAST.

I am so proud of them.

I’m still not very proud of myself. I know we are all part beauty and part beast, but I want to try to be more beauty than beast.

And maybe there’s a way I can make that happen.

*  *  *

“Penny, can I talk to you?” I say before art class. “In private?”

Penny follows me over to the side of the hallway. “What’s up?”

I take a very big breath. “You were right,” I say. “Yesterday. It wasn’t an accident. I spilled the water on your painting on purpose. And I want to say I’m sorry.”

She jerks back in shock. “But why would you do that?” she snaps. “I worked hard on it.”

I hang my head. “I know. And it was beautiful. And I was jealous. You are really good at painting.”

“And you’re not,” she says.

“Yeah.” Thanks for rubbing it in.

She leans against a locker. “I can’t believe you admitted it. My mom told me you were probably jealous.”

My cheeks heat up. She discussed me with her mom? I’m so embarrassed. I swallow. Hard. “Your mom was right,” I say. “Can you forgive me? I’ll help in any way I can.”

“I don’t need help with art,” she says. She opens her mouth and then closes it.

“What?” I ask, leaning closer. “Please let me make it up to you.”

“Well … do you think you could help me with geography? I’m having a hard time understanding the map. And you seem good at it.”

“Of course,” I say. “Any time!”

Penny sighs. “Sometimes I’m kind of jealous of you, too, Abby. School comes so easily to you. It’s harder for me.”

Did she say she was jealous of me? Of me?

I blink at her in surprise.

“I — well, I guess we’re all good at different things,” I say. “But I am sorry about your painting.”

“It’s okay. Just remind me not to put water next to you in art class,” she says, her eyes twinkling.