When she read us stories her little eyes grew wide and her voice grew excited. Some of the kids in her class stared at her, mouths open, as if her words were dripping honey. Me and my brother Jamie thought she looked plain daft. ‘“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is fairest of them all?”’ the teacher read. ‘It’s not you,’ Jamie muttered and I sniggered. I snorted too loud. I couldn’t help it. Miss McLennan slammed the book shut. ‘Marie Bruce, go and stand in the corner,’ she said and her mouth wrinkled like a breakfast prune. I blew out my cheeks. She always picked on me. Jamie made trouble but I was punished. He liked that. Brothers. The teacher went on, ‘The wicked queen went into her most secret room and she made a poisoned apple.’ And the class went ‘Ooooh!’ ‘From the outside it was beautiful, and anyone who saw it would want it. But anyone who ate a little piece of it would die.’ ‘Ooooh!’ You know the story. The queen pretended to be an old apple seller and visited Snow White, who refused to eat the apple.
