How to Slay a Beast (Book 1)

Chapter 2 - Merielle

"Mr. Breeden?" I asked, walking up to his desk a little cautiously. He was always a bit imposing to me, mostly because he was nothing like my dad. My dad took forever to say or do anything, always slow and careful with me, and never gave that much attention unless absolutely necessary. I was the oldest. He trusted me with the care of my brothers and to do as I liked, most anything else was an inconvenience. Mr. Breeden was just the opposite.  Anything, I, or any of the students asked, he gave his full attention, independent of what he was doing he was never too busy to listen, and when he had a quick, extended manner of speech such that he would answer anything fully to the best of his knowledge or have a full conversation with you like you were the most important person he was talking to all day. I liked that about him. but after dealing with my dad it was odd. And he was the only male teacher at our school and subsequently other than my dad one of the few men I ever actually talked to.

"Yes, Merry, what is it?" he asked, looking up from his laptop to tug on the red, flannel, checkered shirt he always wore.

"I was wondering, do you know if the library has any books on Cyrano de Bergerac?" I asked, hopefully. Of course we had a school librarian, but she was at least a hundred and took forever to do anything.

"I don't know off the top of my head, but we might as well go and look," he said standing up.

"We don't have to now—" I said, knowing fully well he wasn't supposed to leave his class alone.

"Nonsense no back talk now---we're going---everyone, keep working on your model guillotines, those marshmallows will be decapitated eventually, I'll be back in a minute," he said, going to the door and ushering me with him. Our assignment was to design model guillotines from household items assembling them in class. I still don't know what that had to do with World Literature. I finished mine a day ago, using sharp toothpicks for the blade part.

"Sir, they'd work better if we used razor blades," one student pouted.

"Finally someone with a brain---you think they might work better with an actual blade, Joseph? You really think so? Maybe you should try---see what happens, but you keep your fingers back," Mr. Breeden was also very sarcastic. He didn't give Joseph time to respond, instead following me out the door.

"Thank you, sir," I said, following him around the hall towards the library.

"Of course, now were you interested in a fictional account of Bergerac? There are several plays depicting his life, as I recall," he asked.

"More, factual, if possible---it's for my brother, actually. He's trying to research him, for a project," I explained.

"I don't know what we'll have here in the way of factual, but the plays can get him started---what project?" he asked, holding the door for the library open.   "I thought he'd be doing Texas History this year, wouldn't he?"

"He is," I said, weakly.

"And Ellis is never, ever going to have them doing full research papers in ELA, what sort of project is it?" he asked, leading me expertly through the rows of books.

"A defending our tree fort project," I said, a bit weakly, thinking he'd march us right back to the classroom.

"A noble pursuit---give me a couple of days, the other schools may have something to loan," he said, "Here, this work by Rostand ought to pique his interest. There are several texts as well about his life, most of it is up to supposition as little is known for certain. He does have several written works of his own, Empire of the Sun I believe is the most famous. It might be a bit thick for an eight year old, but together you might enjoy some pieces of it."