The knights shoved me into the room. I stumbled awkwardly, hitting the ground and scraping my hands on the rough stone beneath me. Pretty rude, but judging by their scowling expressions and drawn weapons, I had a sneaking suspicion these guys weren’t all that concerned with appearing hospitable.

After being dragged through the castle and up many, many flights of stairs, we’d ended up in some kind of throne room, complete with dozens of noblemen and women dressed in a menagerie of fancy finery. It looked like a medieval painting come to life, and everyone in the room was staring and pointing at me; also rude.

A raised golden throne at the end of the room caught my attention, sitting on which was a muscular, bearded man who I assumed was the king. He was slouched forward on his throne, eyelids heavy, and tried and failed to stifle a yawn. I’m sure running a kingdom was a lot of work, and normally, I’d have been more sympathetic toward his condition, but at the moment, I was kind of preoccupied with the all-consuming fear I was probably about to get beheaded…or drowned…or burned at the stake, or whatever people in the past decided to do with folks they didn’t like.

“Greetings, sire.” A tall, spindly man stepped forward and bowed deeply to the king, his billowy trousers and impractically large hat making him look even stupider than he sounded. This was the guy who captured and dragged me to this oversized, drafty castle. I didn’t like him and, as such, had decided to dub him with the unflattering moniker of Poofy Pants.

“We found this riffraff near the outskirts of the kingdom,” continued Poofy Pants, his nasal voice making him sound like a cartoon villain, “and we are charging her with the heinous crime of practicing magic.”

A gasp sounded out from several onlookers as they continued to stare at me with abject horror and fascination. I rolled my eyes. “The only thing magical here is how you balance that stupid hat on top of your head.”

Poofy Pants whipped around, narrowing his eyes at me, the knights raised their spears against my neck. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have antagonized my captors, but I get snarky when I’m stressed. Poofy Pants bent down to my level, stared at me with open disdain, and thumped me on the forehead. I blinked, too surprised to say anything in response. Maybe I should’ve called him Jerk Face.

“Claiming the use of magic is a serious accusation,” said the king, his voice surprisingly strong and authoritative for how tired he looked. “What proof do you have, Inquisitor Melvin?”

Inquisitor Melvin? I decided to keep my nickname of Poofy Pants, but took solace in the fact this guy’s real name was also stupid-sounding.

Poofy Pants proudly lifted my school backpack into the air, ensuring the entire room could see. It was bright orange with colored patches and cute little animal clip-ons adorning the straps; it looked horribly out of place in the ornate throne room. He opened the pack and stuck his hand inside to rifle through it. A few moments later, he pulled out a bright red plastic flashlight.

“Behold!” cried Poofy Pants, waving around the flashlight. “A cylindrical tube that has harnessed the power of the sun. With one simple click, the might of the cosmos is at this fiend’s disposal!” Poofy Pants flicked on the flashlight, causing a beam of light to fly directly in the face of one of the knights.

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“My eyes!” screamed the man, grabbing at his face and running into a nearby wall. Poofy Pants winced apologetically and resumed his unwelcome rifling through my stuff, eventually retrieving my smartphone and brandishing it dramatically in his palm.

“While it appears to only be a slab of metal, upon closer inspection, I found this magical rectangle can siphon a person’s soul and trap them inside for all eternity! Observe.”

Poofy Pants tapped several buttons on my phone, pulling up and playing a video of an old improv skit I’d performed in middle school. Dad was right; I desperately needed to give my phone a password.

“Hey Joey,” the recording of me said comically, swinging my arms to and fro, “Whaddya call a pig that does karate?”

Joey gave an exaggerated shrug. “I dunno, Piper, what DO you call it?”

“A pork chop!”

Joey and I slapped our knees and guffawed with laughter. A laugh track played in the background, heightening the sense of cheese. I winced as I watched the recording of my tween self. Joey and I had wisely decided to cut off all communication after that performance.

“I don’t think there’s a magic strong enough to make that joke funny,” whispered someone in the crowd. I shot them a glare; everyone’s a critic.

“And what is a spellcaster without her tome of dark magics?” Poofy Pants reached back into my bag and, with great effort, pulled out one of my school textbook: a chunky old thing that was probably older than anyone in the room. I groaned. It was my Spanish textbook–¡no me gusta!

Poofy Pants flipped open the dusty book and skimmed through the pages. “What kind of vile spell is this?” he muttered. “¿Dónde está la biblioteca?”

Fearful whispers leaped up around the room. “What does it mean?” asked a well-dressed woman, hands pulling protectively towards her chest.

“It’s probably a spell to summon a flock of winged demons,” whispered her male companion, eyes darting around as he crossed himself.

Despite the situation I was in, I had to stifle a laugh. If Poofy Pants really thought he was in possession of a spellbook, it was pretty dumb to read a random part aloud.

Poofy Pants slammed the textbook shut and pointed a knobby finger at me. “Your majesty,” he exclaimed, voice ringing across the room, “These magical items should be more than enough evidence to prove we’re dealing with someone truly arcane and heinous.” He swept his arms out and spun in a circle to catch everyone’s eyes. “I assert we are dealing with a powerful and incredibly evil wizard!”

Gasps of shock and surprise echoed around the room, eclipsing the gasps from only moments earlier. “Uh, I’m a girl,” I replied, too offended to keep quiet. “Wouldn’t that make me a witch?”

Poofy Pants smiled toothily at me. “Was that a confession?” Crud. Me and my big mouth.

The king gave a long, resigned-sounding sigh. “Very well, let’s get this over with.” He gave a tired nod to one of the knights, who reached for a scabbard at his waist and pulled out a dagger. The weapon was polished silver, and the hilt glittered with several gemstones. It was beautiful but would be significantly less nice to look at once it was slicked red with my blood.

“Practicing magic is a serious offense,” the king continued, staring down at me with intense green eyes. “The only fitting punishment for this abomination against the natural world is death.”

I could feel my forehead beginning to break into a sweat. “Uh, can I get a retrial?”

The king blinked in surprise. Had no one ever asked him that before?

“No,” he said flatly.

Well, it was worth a shot.

The knight with the dagger knelt at my side and held the steel up against my neck. I swallowed hard, accidentally cutting my throat on the blade. Despite the horrible situation I was in, I took solace in the fact this was only the second-worst thing that had happened to me today.