by Ameriie
I stop laughing. Jack looks more serious than I’ve ever seen him.
He looks up at me, his eyes moving side to side as if he’s trying to see deep into my soul, one eyeball at a time.
I turn my gaze back to the gold-dotted darkness below and lean farther over the railing, letting the cool breeze whip my hair against my face.
“Jack, it never crossed my mind.”
Jack doesn’t return for a long time, so long that I begin to think he isn’t ever coming back. Summer slides into autumn, and my parents head to a cluster of clouds over Germany on royal Northern Hemisphere business.
And then, one midnight, Jack returns.
We’re in the basement and Jack is leaning back onto his hands while staring into the fire. Goldie, basking in the warmth of the hearth, ruffles her feathers and raises her head for a second. She looks at Jack’s hand like she wants to stab it with her beak. She’s still miffed about his absence; I think he grew on her.
Jack speaks for the first time tonight. “I considered staying away.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have come back.”
“It’s not like you were going to come down.”
I don’t answer.
“And anyway, my uncle and I are back home to Cambridge this week.” He sighs. “So you don’t want to be friends anymore?”
“Jack, you like your uncle’s cat, right? But can you really say you’re friends?”
“Yes.”
I shake my head, and Dad’s words fill my brain and then my mouth. “It’s not my nature.”
“It doesn’t have to be your nature to not have friends.”
But Jack doesn’t know what I mean, and it’s best that way, anyhow.
I say, “Remember that cabinet? My parents just got something I know you’d like to see.” For days, Mom couldn’t stop talking about that missing harpy of a harp, but then she found something more interesting to put in its place. The moment I saw it, Jack popped into my mind, because I knew he’d love it. “Just didn’t know if you were coming back.”
Jack looks sheepish, as expected. I don’t wait for a reply, just scoop him up and take him upstairs, and he only squirms a little.
We get to the bull room, and I set Jack down on one of the cabinet shelves, next to a tiny black velvet pig that trots around and hiccups silver marbles. Jack oohs and aahs, and the pig nuzzles his hand.
“Does it bite? What does it eat?” he asks. “Doesn’t it get lonely locked up in here?”
“No and nothing and I don’t think so.”
There are so many wondrous things in this cabinet, things that have made me proud ever since I really stopped to look: human-sized helmets and swords from antiquity; enormous goblets that were stolen from giants who lived in the depths of Mount Ararat but reclaimed; a golden egg that is said to be one of the first ever laid; a human-sized, jewel-encrusted crown that was given to one of my ancestors for mercy shown; a fortified slab of wood said to have been part of the hull of Noah’s ark, which a crew of giants helped build.
What does Jack see when he looks at these things? Money? Fame?
I see a proud history, buried and overlooked.
Jack runs a fingertip along the dulled edge of a saber. “My uncle would love this.”
“I’m sure.” I set Jack on the floor and secure the cabinet.
Jack walks over to the bronze bull, presses his palms against its breast, and looks up expectantly. I lift him onto the bull’s neck and he lies back, but as soon as he puts his hands behind his head, he starts. He twists around to see what poked him in the head.
“Is this a latch?” he says.
“Stop squirming—you’ll fall.”
“It is. Am I lying on a door?” Jack pushes himself to his feet and shuffles backward so he can see the hinged door, which runs like a spine down the bull’s back. “Brilliant! It’s some kind of trunk, isn’t it?” If I let him continue his attempts to pull the thing open, he’s going to slide off the bull and break something.
“Relax,” I say.
Jack straddles the bull’s haunches, watching wide-eyed as I undo the latch. As soon as the door is opened, he launches forward and lowers himself into the empty space.
“It’s so slick inside . . . Wow . . .”
“Do you smell blood?” I ask because I’m curious.
“What’s that?”
“Never mind, nothing.” I’m sticking to my original theory.
“So uh . . .” His voice slides funny, an attempt to smooth the sharp edges of caution. “I’m guessing this isn’t your father’s bullion box.” A forced laugh echoes upward.
Am I sad? I knew in my gut it would come to this, even before I really knew. But yes, I do feel a pang of regret; just because you know something’s coming doesn’t make you feel any less bad for it.
I close the lid and latch it so that no matter how hard Jack pushes, it won’t open.
The thing is getting them to trust you, the animals. He’s got fear permeating every bit of his body, but it’s not like I care about sharpness or acidity. That’s not what this is about.
I walk to the cabinet and pull open a drawer. I bet this is what a person feels like when they have to slaughter one of the chickens they’ve been feeding all year. But Jack isn’t a chicken and I’m not just any person. I’m the future Empress of the Northern Hemisphere, and just as Jack ingested the python, just as he ingested fierce, unflinching power incarnate, I have to ingest Jack so that I can take my people into our next era. There’s a lot to learn, and I can’t do it scared.
Jack wouldn’t want that.
I grab a box of matches and turn to face the bull. In one of those TV stories, this would be where I change my mind, where I think about all our conversations and how Jack has helped me open up, find myself. I’d overcome my natural instinct to see us as two different species and I’d let him out and we’d be friends or maybe even romantic interests while everyone pretends not to notice a relationship between a giantess and a normal-sized human boy would never work in the end because logistics, and that’s just for starters. But this isn’t TV—it’s real life.
So I swipe the match against the side of the matchbox and ignite the wood beneath the bronze bull. I consider staying here, because perhaps I owe Jack this much, but I’m not a masochist and punishing myself won’t change anything so I decide to do some work on that chair, maybe finally pick a leather piece for the seat. That’ll clear my head.
I open the door to the basement and hear the first of Jack’s shouting. I’ve seen Dad use the bull plenty while hosting feasts and barbecues, enough to know that about forty minutes from now, the echoed cries from inside the bull’s bowels will have long gone silent, and the smoke pouring from its nostrils (which were engineered with pipes to make human cries sound like a bull’s bellows) will have thinned to wisps, and all will be done. I shut the door behind me and walk down into the basement.
I shiver a little—maybe because it’s chilly, maybe because I feel bad about what I’m about to do tonight (you know, breaking my “I don’t eat anything with a face” motto), maybe because I feel the importance of this moment—and I tell myself, Even climbing Mount Everest starts with a single step. Considering everything to come, eating meat is a small sacrifice I’m willing to make for the greater good. And there’s a certain beauty in this, really, because it’s because of Jack’s belief in me that even this tiny step is possible.
I sit at the hearth and pick out a leather piece I saved from a while back, a skin I had tanned after one of Dad’s meals. Though I’ll probably need a few more, this piece is smooth and supple, which makes up for the stupid toad’s head marring its surface. Like I said, bad life choice. The boy and I never even got a chance to exchange more than five words before Dad snatched him up. But that’s okay. It’s cool, as they say below. Because I was smart enough to toss down two bags of beans instead of one, and in forty minutes, the fearless powers of the python will course through my veins.
The world was
ours, once. Fee fi fo fum. Perhaps it can be ours again.
Thanks, Jack. This chair’s for you.
TINA BURKE’S VILLAIN CHALLENGE TO AMERIIE:
“Jack and the Beanstalk” Meets Phalaris of Agrigento
GIANTS AND TYRANTS
BY TINA BURKE
Surely you know “Jack and the Beanstalk,” but are you scratching your head over who Phalaris was? Be glad that you never met him! Phalaris of Agrigento was a Sicilian tyrant from the sixth century BC, who is included on many Most Horrifying Historical Figures lists. He might have been the epitome of villains, renowned for eating babies and roasting his enemies to death in a giant bronze bull.
Mashing “Jack and the Beanstalk” with Phalaris allows for a contrast between new and old villains in Ameriie’s story, “Jack.” To understand my point, let’s look more closely at giants and tyrants.
THE COMMON DENOMINATOR FOR BOTH IS HORROR.
Told in first person, Ameriie’s story subverts many tropes. The empress’s perspective allows the reader to explore the mind of a giant and the heart of her culture. The reader identifies with her and is lured in line by line, downgrading the horror happening around her—and ultimately the horror that befalls Jack.
GIANTS ACT AS A METAPHOR FOR GROWING UP.
“Jack” offers a new outlook through its focus on a giant at the cusp of adulthood. When we’re children, we can’t wait to grow up. We want to be adult- or giant-sized, yet somewhere along the way, we no longer admire and idolize the difference that we sense; we become afraid of the unknown. Ameriie’s giant feels the same way. She wants to see the world far below her cloud, but she’s afraid and can’t even peek over the rail. Ironically, Jack persuades her to do it, to be brave, to claim her future. He didn’t realize what that meant for him.
WE CAN OFFER NEW PERSPECTIVES THROUGH FAIRY-TALE RETELLINGS.
One common exploration of the struggle between good and evil, heroes and villains, is the fairy tale. Fairy tales speak to our love of happy endings, and fairy-tale retellings in particular speak to our moral codes while affording the opportunity for marvelous adventures. Although giants are normally considered mythical monsters, they become more in retellings; finally, they have been granted a chance for validation. Ameriie’s story provides a tipping point in favor of the giant. The reader likes Ameriie’s giant and roots for her. She’s more complex and layered than the giants in the original story.
“JACK” SUBVERTS THESE REPRESENTATIONS AND PLAYS WITH OUR EXPECTATIONS.
“Jack” challenges age boundaries in character and culture. Love of her people and family drives the adultlike protagonist even while she frets about her still-forming identity, enjoys trivial pursuits (e.g., watching magicked television), and performs chores and daily duties (e.g., staining and stamping leather). The blurred age boundaries create a universal feel to the story and highlight the similarities between our life and that of Ameriie’s giants. Are we so different from Jack? Or from Ameriie’s giant? Would we have made the same choice to betray a friend when faced with the demands of custom and family pressure?
“Jack” forces the reader to reconsider expectations of both giants and tyrants. After all, we can discuss the meaning of giant representations in literature or realize our own complicity in cultural stereotyping not just the giants in our lives.
GWEN AND ART AND LANCE
BY SOMAN CHAINANI
Wednesday
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
Lance du Lac just asked me to Prom. On the *phone*.
FROM: ELAINE
TO: GWEN
Is that the Goth kid with greasy hair who smokes under the bleachers during football games, because I smell it when we cheer on the sidelines
Do you even know him
What did you say
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
Yes
No
You think I answered his *call*? He left a VM. So creepy. Texted back I’m going with someone else
FROM: ELAINE
TO: GWEN
???
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
!
FROM: ELAINE
TO: GWEN
ARTHUR PENDRAGON ASKED YOU TO PROM?
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
:)
FROM: ELAINE
TO: GWEN
OMG. Dying. Dead. Those abs. Those blues. What a stallion. They should replace that David statue with his. And put it in my house.
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
Rather have the real thing. Art and I belong together.
FROM: ELAINE
TO: GWEN
Good luck. No girl has pulled the sword from that stone.
#Excalibur
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
Takes a queen to pull #Excalibur
FROM: ELAINE
TO: GWEN
OMG. YOU’RE GONNA HOOK UP WITH
ART PENDRAGON.
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
Don’t tell anyone. Will post on Insta when we’re official.
FROM: ELAINE
TO: GWEN
Secret’s safe with me.
Btw just booked our hair and mani-pedis for Saturday
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
Perf, picking up my dress from the tailor’s! It’s straight off the runway from Milan . . .
**ROUND TABLE BANK**
ALERT—Dear Guinevere, Your account balance has been overdrawn. Please log in . . .
FROM: MORGAN
TO: GWEN
Hi girlie! Got the other cheerleaders’ $$ for Prom limo—did you send yours?
FROM: DAD
TO: GWEN
Guinevere, the bank just e-mailed me an overdraft warning for your account. What don’t you understand? Our assets are frozen until the SEC investigation is complete. There is no money for you to spend. I had the bank block charges for your Prom limo and Prom dress so you wouldn’t incur further fees.
FROM: GWEN
TO: MORGAN
Ugh, I wired the $$ but my phone has been glitchy. Would never miss the limo with you girls. Especially when you see who my date is . . . :) Will give you a check tomorrow!
FROM: GWEN
TO: ART
Hi! Amaaaazing job at the game yesterday!! KNIGHTS RULE! I cheered super loud to distract the other team during that field goal—pretty sure they missed because of me!
With all your hard work on the field you probably forgot Prom’s on Saturday! Better ask that special someone before it’s too late . . . :)
FROM: ART
TO: GWEN
Gwen! What’s up?
You ladies did great yesterday
And yeah. Prom. Ugh.
Btw Lance said he asked you but you’re locked. Who’s the lucky guy?
FROM: GWEN
TO: ART
You’re friends with Lance?
FROM: ART
TO: GWEN
Yeah, we go back
Don’t hang at school much
Complicated
FROM: GWEN
TO: ART
What else did Lance say about me?
FROM: ART
TO: GWEN
I know he likes you. Told him he shoulda asked you sooner.
You really don’t want to tell me who you’re going with huh :P
FROM: GWEN
TO: ART
You don’t know him.
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
CALL ME NOW.
FROM: ELAINE
TO: GWEN
Sorry I hung up on you.
You told me Art Pendragon asked you to Prom and now you’re telling me he didn’t.
I can’t believe you lied to me.
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
And I can’t believe there’s a $2000 BET POOL about whether I’ll hook up with Art Pendragon at Prom! I told you not to
tell anyone!
FROM: ELAINE
TO: GWEN
I didn’t! I only told the squad.
How was I supposed to know you were MAKING IT UP
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
Suppose Art finds out!
FROM: ELAINE
TO: GWEN
Knight Cheerleaders = Circle of Trust
FROM: ART
TO: GWEN
Hey. You seen the #Excalibur tag on Joust?
FROM: GWEN
TO: ELAINE
THE WHOLE SCHOOL IS ON JOUST BETTING IF I CAN PULL #EXCALIBUR. ART WANTS TO KNOW IF I’VE SEEN IT.
FROM: ELAINE
TO: GWEN
Can’t talk. French tutor.
FROM: GWEN
TO: ART
I hadn’t seen it! Not really a fan of those shady apps.
You must be flattered. Guess people want us to go to Prom together :)
FROM: ART
TO: GWEN
Flattered? Not sure about that
All the Knights want us to go together too.
FROM: GWEN
TO: ART
So why don’t we?
FROM: ART
TO: GWEN
1. You’re going with another dude
2. I told Lance you were hot and he said you and I look alike, which means I’m a narcissist and want to hook up with myself
FROM: GWEN
TO: ART
1. Another Dude’s appendix burst and he’s in the ER and can’t go to Prom so now I can go with you!
2. Lance is just jealous. You and me belong together. Prom King and Queen in gold crowns. Rulers of Camelot Prep. Don’t you want me as your queen?
FROM: ART
TO: GWEN
2. Couldn’t do that to Lance.
FROM: GWEN
TO: LANCE
Hi Lance! So nice out tonight. Too bad we have that English test tomorrow. Mr. Merlin said the essay is on whether “Hades and Persephone” has a happy ending. We could study together if you want. Btw, you wouldn’t care if Art goes to Prom with me, right?
FROM: LANCE
TO: GWEN
I’d rather talk on the phone.
FROM: GWEN
TO: LANCE
Reception is bad in my house.
FROM: LANCE
TO: GWEN
Well to answer your questions, yes, I’d care if you went to Prom with Art seeing that you lied to me about going with someone else.