Author's Notes: I do not own Once Upon A Time. I don't. It's sad. Hi, readers. Thank you so much, please let me know what you think and happy reading.

Every high school in America has a queen. At New Amsterdam Prep, it was Taylor Billingsley. Taylor was blonde and perfect and just what she thought she ought to be. She had the cute boyfriend, her dad had some big Wall Street job and her mother was descended from actual royalty, which she mentioned at every possible opportunity. When there wasn't one, she made one.

She acted like a queen, ruled over everyone with an iron fist with a Tiffany tennis bracelet around it.

Then there was Beatrice French.

Taylor hated Beatrice because she couldn't understand her. She was a quiet girl with thick brown hair and black plastic rimmed glasses that obscured brown eyes. She had no powerful connections, just a mother who worked at the New York Public Library. Taylor didn't even know what she was doing at this school. Beatrice took no interest in the daily dramas of her classmates, she stayed glued to her iPad, her iPhone and her Macbook. She did her work quietly and efficiently. She didn't get in Taylor's way, but she was hardly admiring her and Taylor didn't like that.

One day, a teacher put Beatrice in a group with Taylor because as usual Beatrice didn't have a group. It involved making political posters for history class. Taylor did all the talking with her friends and Beatrice did all the work.

"Beatrice, we need more glitter," Taylor announced.

Girls like Taylor always needed more glitter.

"It's in the supply closet. Go get it."

Beatrice went out in the hall and to the supply closet.

"Could have said please," Beatrice muttered, walking to the closet. She flipped the light on- the switch was outside- and went in to begin searching through the shelves for a suitable container of glitter.

In a swift sequence, the door opened and the light flipped off. Beatrice turned back and before she could do anything she heard the locks close.

"Oh, no." Beatrice went and banged on the door. "Hello? Someone's in here!"

There was no reply, just the sound of cruel, girlish laughter.

"Oh, come on, guys," said Beatrice.

Then she heard the dismissal bell ring and the deafening sound of students leaving and realized her dilemma.

The thing was that Beatrice had never gotten over her fear of the dark. She always had something on. Her night light, then the TV. She was useless in the dark, shaking. In all fairness, Taylor didn't know she was toying with one of Beatrice's deepest fears, she just thought she was humiliating her by getting her stuck in a closet for a while.

Beatrice was never very good at being fair while she was angry.

Beatrice spent an hour trying to get out. When that didn't work, she slumped to the floor and put her head on her knees trying not to fall apart.

After an infernal amount of time passed, Beatrice heard footsteps down the hall and muffled voices.

"Look, I know my daughter and trust me, if this bag is here, she's here-" Her mother's voice was unmistakable.

"Mom?!" She knocked on the door. "Mom!"

There was a flurry of footsteps and soon the light switched back on and the door was open. Her mother stood with the janitor holding the red leather messenger bag she had left in the classroom.

"Oh, Beatrice," said Belle. She gave her a kiss and a hug. "Sweetheart, what happened? How did you ever get stuck in there?"

There were two ways to play this. One, tell her mother everything which would involve a trip to see the headmaster, Belle shouting at him and a big meeting with Taylor and the other girls where eventually nothing would happen because Taylor's dad had just given the school money for a new aquatic center and Belle French had not. Belle worked at the New York Public Library but the not inconsiderable money for Beatrice's schooling came from some settlement she didn't talk about. Despite the fact that it cost more for a year here than a moderately priced new car, Belle would pull her out because she wouldn't let her daughter suffer, even for the best possible education. The first way got Beatrice nothing and she knew it right away.

Beatrice shrugged. "Just clumsy, I guess."

Beatrice was actually only slightly clumsy and had nothing on her mother's clumsiness. Clumsy was a convenient cover, though, especially for any kind of organized sport. She had only been made to play volleyball once in her life after the bruises on the other girls, which had actually been unintentional.

"Oh, my poor girl," said Belle. "Come on. Let's get you home."

Beatrice agreed and went home and said nothing because she didn't want to hurt her mother's feelings.

It didn't mean she was done.

Belle French sat nervously in the conference room, digging her nails into her fingers. One of her lawyers, Kenya Watts, squeezed her hand sympathetically.

"It's going to be okay, Belle. She doesn't have any power over you now."

Belle nodded, not quite able to believe that. She looked down at her swollen belly, hoping that Kenya was right for the sake of her child.

The door opened. Mayor Mills walked in with a wall of dark-suited attorneys. They sat without a word.

The lead attorney for the City of Storybrooke was called Albert Spencer. He had a piercing gaze and Belle had a hard time imagining him as a nice man.

"Mister Spencer, is your client ready to talk?," asked Saul.

"I'm not giving her anything," Regina muttered under her breath.

"What was that, Ms. Mills?," asked Saul.

"Don't answer that," warned Albert.

"I am not giving that whore anything!," Regina shouted.

"Well," said Saul, "I see your client's on her best behavior today. Her sparkling personality will play well at trial."

"What trial?," Regina spat, ignoring her lawyer's expressions. "One look at that woman and any jury will know I was just trying to keep a public menace-"

"Public menace?," asked Saul. "To be a public menace you would have to charge her with something! You had her locked up in a mental hospital with no sign that she's a danger to herself or others! Not to mention the complete lack of prenatal care Miss French had before arriving in Boston. That's wrongful imprisonment and child endangerment! Do you know what wrongful imprisonment is? That's a civil rights violation. One call to the Justice Department and there are going to be investigators all over your sleepy little hell hole."

Regina's face gave away very little, but it was the first time Belle had ever seen her look something like panicked.

She turned to Albert. "You never said anything about an investigation. Would they send more people to Storybrooke?"

"They're bluffing," Albert reassured her.

"I went to law school with the First Lady," said Saul. "One call."

The tension hung in the air.

"Give her what she wants," said Regina.

"Mayor Mills-" Spencer tried to object.

"Whatever the price, pay it," said Regina. "Anything to get that imp's harlot away from me."

"Imp's harlot?," asked Saul. "Where do you get these insults from?"

Regina ignored the slight. "I have one condition."

"A condition?," asked Kenya.

"Belle French never sets foot in Storybrooke again."

Belle hesitated, her soft little voice finally coming out. "My father's still there-"

Regina scoffed. "He doesn't want to see you."

"I..." Belle stammered.

Regina leaned across the table. "Nobody wants to see you there. There is no one waiting for you."

"Belle, you don't have to agree to this," said Saul. "She has no right to ask this."

Regina was right. Moe French had made it very clear on their last visit, even sending her to talk with the nuns. What made her want to tell Regina no?

There was one other consideration. Her baby. She had no way of providing for her. She would have to give her up without it. Money was the only way to take control of her fate. Money would make sure her daughter had a life that was whatever she wished it to be.

"Fine," said Belle.

Saul looked to Regina and Albert. "Let's talk numbers."

"I'm done here," said Regina, standing up. She looked at Belle. She was wounded, but not down and couldn't resist adding in one last tidbit.

"He is never coming for you."

"Who?," asked Belle.

Regina plastered that icy smile on her face as Belle stared at her in panic. Then she left.

Taylor walked into school, expecting the bodies to part as she walked the halls as usual. They did, but they were accompanied by whispers and stares, not admiration.

"Oh my God, Taylor," said Harper, one of Taylor's chief lackeys. "How could you be so stupid? To send all that stuff to everyone?!"

"What stuff?"

Taylor noticed everyone looking at their phones. She walked over and ripped one out of the hand of a mousy freshman.

Taylor's scream could be heard all the way out at the new aquatic center her dad had paid for.

Beatrice had waited out the morning in her usual spot in the library. She was able to just get snippets of the gossip as it made its way through the school. She spotted Taylor and her death glare in the reflection of the special display case. Beatrice turned back to her Macbook.

"Hi, Taylor. You look a little pale. Couldn't get a spray tan appointment?"

"You evil little..."

"Is something wrong, Taylor?"

"You hacked my computer, you put my Facebook and my texts and my grades and-"

How could it be considered hacking if her password was something as easy as MrsBieber4ever? "I don't like what you're accusing me of, Taylor. I was as surprised as anyone to see you telling the whole school all of your secrets. Still, it's liberating in a way, isn't it?"

"You know you did it! You're always on your computer doing God knows what!"

Yeah, like reading, Beatrice thought. "What I know, Taylor, is that you're not very nice to people and sooner or later, something like this was bound to happen." She paused. "Look on the bright side, there were no pictures."

"Pictures?," Taylor asked.

"Yeah, I mean, I've heard that some people keep all sorts of embarrassing pictures on their phones and computers. At least you didn't have anything like that."

Taylor's face was red by now and she looked ready to spit blood. She took one step towards Beatrice and that's when she added...

"I would imagine, Taylor, that if you were to plan any sort of retribution against the person who did this, they would release any of those sorts of pictures."

"You little bitch."

"Yeah, back at you," said Beatrice, collecting her things. "Excuse me. I have to get to class."

Beatrice walked past Taylor leaving the girl seething.

Revenge felt pretty good.

"How is she?"

Belle looked up from her book and smiled. "August, I'm sorry, I-"

"You were caught up in the book," he said, sitting on the bench next to her.

Belle nodded. "Guilty as charged."

It was a chilly November day. August had agreed to meet Belle here in Shepherd's Bush. Belle was the only mother to venture out with an infant and got some stares. August was the only one that understood the reason why, that Belle still unknowingly hung onto her ways from their old land. There were other dangers in this world, but August wasn't convinced cold air was one of them. He peered into the stroller. The baby girl was sleeping and bundled up, a stuffed lamb keeping her company.

"What's she called?," asked August.

"Beatrice."

"Beatrice?" August couldn't hide his surprise, though, considering her father's name she had gotten off easy.

"Why does everyone have that reaction?"

"It's not a name you hear a lot..."

"Have you read Much Ado About Nothing?"

"No..."

Belle gave him a chastising look. "Some writer you are. Two lovers with a war of words between them."

"And Beatrice is the girl?"

"She's a strong, intelligent, independent-minded woman who settles for nothing less than true love."

"That reminds me," said August. He held up a bag.

"Oh, August, you didn't have to do that."

"New baby gets a gift," said August.

Belle took the bag and pulled out an ornate, leather bound book with "Once Upon A Time" in gilded letters. "What a beautiful book," she said, caressing her hand over the letters. She began flipping through the pages. "How lovely. Thank you."

"I thought you might like 'Beauty and the Beast.'"

Belle groaned. "Is it the name thing? Everyone says that."

"Well, it's the name thing," August admitted. "And the book thing. Not to mention you kind of look like her."

Belle looked at the illustration and was unimpressed. "Lots of people look like her. Shouldn't this beast be hairier?"

"None of these are the usual tellings," said August.

"The Ogre War?," Belle asked skeptically. "Are these even meant for children?"

"They're meant for her," said August, looking at the baby.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your girl has a destiny." He quickly amended that upon Belle's worried look. "Everyone does. This will help her."

"I'm home!"

Belle French entered balancing an armful of books, a pastry box and her over-sized bag. She put down the stack of books next to another stack from a previous borrowing.

"Beatrice, where are you?"

"In here, Mom!"

Belle went to Beatrice's bedroom. The girl was as usual, glued to her iPad.

"What's up?," she asked.

"I am so sorry that I'm late!," said Belle, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "I am a horrible mother."

"Did you get the collection?"

"Yes, we did. You're so sweet to ask." Belle smiled and ran her hand through her daughter's hair. "I got to read the email from school. Something about cyber security?"

"Oh, that girl, Taylor, she had all her texts and Facebook messages forwarded to the whole school. And she was cheating on her boyfriend, buying papers and had an appointment to see a plastic surgeon about butt implants."

The butt implant thing might have been made up, but it was going to happen sooner or later Beatrice reasoned.

"Oh my," said Belle. "How terrible. What a thing to happen on your birthday."

Beatrice shrugged. "It's not like people really take notice of me anyway, Mom."

Belle looked at her sadly and gave her a hug. "Well, I do. Come on. I've brought you something."

Beatrice followed her mother to the kitchen. Belle took out a pastry box and opened it revealing a box full of cupcakes adorned with buttercream red roses. She took one out and placed it on a small blue floral china dish.

"From the Cupcake Cafe?," asked Beatrice.

"Only the best in the city for my Beatrice." Belle placed a candle on top and lit it. "Make a wish."

Beatrice made the wish she had made every year since she discovered what wishes were for. They weren't for toys or games, but things you couldn't get to on your own. Things you needed magic for. That was why you couldn't tell anyone: revealing the intention made the magic lose its power. At least that's what she had decided.

She wished she could find her father and blew out the candle.

Belle gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, God, eight-fifteen," said Belle. "Time to order dinner."

What Beatrice couldn't know was that she shared a birthday with someone and she had also just made a wish.

Next Time: Beatrice and Belle each get a tarot card that leads to their future. Only one of them will be in the Enchanted Forest.