Protagonist Bound

by Geanna Culbertson

  With this understanding whole-heartedly absorbed, throughout my schooling I had ardently, stubbornly refused to back down to the tyrannical traditionalism she tried to force upon me. And she, in response, had kept me in her merciless line of fire as punishment for the impertinent behavior.

  Over the years she’d dropped in on lectures to randomly call me out, ordered surprise inspections of my room in the hopes of finding unauthorized contraband like sports mouth guards or playing cards, and had on more than one occasion altered my school schedule so that my chosen electives like Archery or Advanced Horseback-Riding were swapped out for something she knew I’d hate like Sewing or Advanced Banquet Planning.

  In spite of all such interference though, the worst of her treatment had always been moments like this.

  When there were no classmates, no friends, no teachers around to witness her harassment, it took a turn for the psychological. Irritating things like room inspections or even a semester’s worth of stupid coursework I could handle, shrugging them off as I refused to allow her ridiculous tactics to get the better of me. But this kind of oppression—targeted specifically at my heart and the innermost doubts and beliefs that dwelled there—that was hard to take. Especially given how direct these hits of hers had become over the years.

  As much as Lady Agnue resented me, after being under her roof for the majority of my adolescence, she’d come to know me well. Thus, she’d fine-tuned her malice in a way that made getting inside of my head a legitimate possibility. And when she had me cornered like she did at this very moment, she’d become shrewdly skilled at unleashing it.

  I, in turn, had to do everything I could to keep my guard and sass-levels up, and stand my ground despite it. Like now, for instance.

  I reined in my anger at her last comment as best I could and crossed my arms.

  “Scold me if you like, Lady Agnue, but I don’t know if I believe that’s true. Why can’t female protagonists be heroes? Look at my friend Blue. She is just as strong and brave as any of the boys at Lord Channing’s. She can be the hero of her own story one day. I just know it.”

  Lady Agnue paused for a moment and seemed to mull over my comment.

  “Blue might be an exception to the common rule,” she said slowly. “I will give you that.”

  Wait. Did she just concede my point?

  “So you agree then, that an ordinary girl could be a hero?” I asked hopefully.

  “Do not get excited, Crisanta. I do concede that, even though the odds are slim, your little friend Blue might be able to become some kind of heroic character. However, you must realize three things. First, Blue is a tomboy—a breed all on its own that is much less valued. Second, there is a difference between being a hero and being heroic. And third and most importantly, you are not an ordinary girl. You are a princess. Although you are as poor an example for one as there can be found, that is what you are, that is all that you are, and, ergo, that is all you will ever be. Your role, unlike hers, has already been assigned.”

  “What if it hasn’t, though? I mean, who says I can’t be both?” I asserted much less confidently. “Maybe a girl can strive to be more than what she is. Maybe I could strive to be more than what I am and someday become a good princess and a good hero?”

  Lady Agnue emitted a precocious snicker and shook her head as if I had just told her the most amusing of jokes.

  “Oh my dear child, no. I am sorry, but you cannot be both. No one can be both, as the roles are contradictory by nature. That point aside, even if they were not, this dream of yours is still foolish for, as I have just explained, you are not even a good princess to begin with.”

  I opened my mouth in retort, but nothing came out. And in my hesitation, Lady Agnue took that as her cue to drive home the vicious point with resolute sternness.

  “Overall, Miss Knight, while your gumption was once cute, it is truly high time you stop mistaking rebellion for strength and individuality for free will. You must accept who you are and realize that this girl cannot be erased. She is you; she will always be you. All your wishing and denying and fighting will not change that. So please, for your own sake, do stop filling your head with such dangerous, empty ideas and fall in line where you belong. I do not want any more trouble from you this year. Understood?”

  “Yeah, Lady Agnue,” I huffed indignantly. “I got it.”

  “Yes, Miss Knight. A princess must always say ‘yes’, and not ‘yeah’.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.”

  Oh goody, the boys are coming.

  The rest of the week went by in a blur—causing Saturday to arrive faster than expected. Now, mid-morning on the day in question, our entire floor and several others had become uninhabitable. Different perfumes clouded the air, extra traces of glittery eye shadow rested on every bathroom sink, and high-heeled shoes that girls had thrown about lined the hallways like colorful, strewn spikes.

  It wasn’t just the princesses behind this feminine tornado either; the common protagonists were in just as bad a tizzy. Yes, it seemed without a doubt that the majority of the student body had gone completely mad.

  That, in a word, irritated me.

  Seriously, what was it about boys that made teenage girls all riled up and desperate to please with tight dresses and mile-high footwear? Who cared if some shallow prince thought you were cute or not? It was all utter lunacy in my opinion—wasting time like that trying to impress them. If you were going to devote countless hours a day to making yourself better in some way, you should’ve been doing it for your sake not some boy’s.

  Case in point: in the amount of time Jade spent in the bathroom mirror this morning making sure her eye makeup was perfect so that her crush (Prince Theopold) would notice her, I’d finished my research paper for my Animal First Aid elective, completed a full workout on the pull-up bar Blue and I kept hidden in our closet, and learned how to make an inverted fishtail braid from SJ.

  Thankfully, both my friends had also deemed it unnecessary to participate in “Mission Makeover” this morning. SJ didn’t have to because she was just naturally the prettiest girl around and could put on any outfit in her closet and be the best-dressed girl in a room. Blue and I, on the other hand, just didn’t care about turning the boys’ heads. We weren’t like grungy or whatever; we took pride in our personal appearances like every girl should. But we definitely didn’t find it necessary to jump through any extra hoops for our so-not-prince-charming’s.

  As a result, when noon came around, the three of us marched confidently past our frazzled classmates—unaffected by the frivolous preoccupation with garnering the attention of the heroes from across the way.

  SJ, Blue, and I journeyed to the area of the practice fields where we usually met up with Jason and Mark. I had my satchel, Blue some weapons, and SJ her new potions book. That worn-out thing hadn’t left her side since Madame Alexanders had gifted it to her at the beginning of the week. In part, that was because she read it whenever she had a spare second. But it was also because she was worried that something would happen to it if she let it out of her sight for more than a few minutes.

  This might have seemed like overkill, but I could understand. I had the same type of relationship with my wand-bearing satchel, after all.

  Our group stopped walking when we reached the river that separated our school from the forest surrounding Lord Channing’s. The In and Out Spell should have been going down any minute, and I wondered if maybe it already had.

  A gnome statue on our side of the river marked the exact border of the spell’s barrier. Stupidly, I decided to test if it was still active by sauntering up to the water’s edge and extending my finger to touch the air where the force field would have been.

  This was a bad call.

  No sooner did my index finger make its way into the air space above the gnome’s head did I receive a substantial purple shock.

  “Ow!” I squeaked as I jumped back and rubbed my hand.

  “Crisa,
you should know better than that,” SJ chided.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I got the message.”

  Residue particles of magic dust fell from the barrier where I’d touched it, floating around my nose and making me want to sneeze. I blew the glittering ash out of my face.

  Some might have thought the sparkly substance pretty. But since it was useless to anyone outside of the realm’s transportation department who harnessed magic dust for fuel, I just found it irritating and, also, a bit patronizing at the given moment.

  I crossed my arms in annoyance and waited, glaring at the gnome with his judgmental, pointy beard and unnecessarily big overalls.

  A few ticks of the clock later, we watched as the In and Out Spell was actually taken down—the purple color of the force field temporarily returning to view while it lowered into the ground.

  Satisfied, my friends and I began to pass the time until Jason and Mark arrived. I took out my wand and changed it into a sword—planning to keep it in that form for the rest of the afternoon since I very well couldn’t risk any boys seeing it morph. Blue, meanwhile, emptied out her bag of weapons. She had brought a sword, her hunting knife, and some climbing rope to entertain herself with for the day.

  You know, typical stuff a girl keeps in her purse.

  After a few minutes the two of us engaged in a casual sword fight—our blades glinting in the weekend sunlight each time they clashed. It wasn’t exactly an epic battle; nevertheless, ordinarily not even an earthquake would have been enough to shake Blue’s focus away from a duel. However, when we heard a familiar voice yell “Hey guys!” from somewhere in the near vicinity, she immediately stopped fighting and whirled around.

  Her face lit up. “Jason!”

  Blue high-fived our friend with excitement.

  Jason Sharp hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d seen him. His hair was perhaps a bit blonder from being outside all summer, but it retained its normal boyish style—the vague shape of an upside down salad bowl with slight bangs. His eyes were blue as ever, and he wore his typical “game-face” as well as his weapon of choice (an axe holstered within the sheath on his back). Like Blue and her knife, he rarely went anywhere without this favorite tool of his.

  Jason’s trademark impish grin gently set the dimples into his face as he greeted us and we began to exchange pleasantries. As we did this though, I suddenly took notice of another boy about twelve feet behind Jason who was heading our way.

  It was not Mark. Frankly, I couldn’t recall ever having seen this boy at all, which was strange because most students at Lord Channing’s and Lady Agnue’s had been going to school together for years.

  Jason saw my surprise and introduced the stranger who joined our group in the next instant. “Everybody,” he said, “this is Daniel.”

  In response to Jason’s introduction, Daniel gave us one of those obnoxious cool guy head nods and a sorry attempt for a smile.

  I stared at him with intrigue, but also hesitance.

  Daniel wore a leather jacket that was rugged and ill taken care of. Despite its coverage, I was still able to notice how strongly he was built beneath it. (Which was very, in case you were wondering.)

  The majority of the rest of his ensemble was unexceptional, except for the golden pocket watch I saw half-concealed within his pants pocket.

  As for the man himself, he was a couple inches short of six feet tall and had chocolate brown hair that set off his deep, oak-colored eyes. His chin was strong, much like his other features. Moreover, he had a tan as noticeable on his face as the boredom in his expression, which he tried to mask with cordialness.

  I didn’t know why, but seeing him made me take a slight step back—like his presence knocked me off balance somehow.

  “Where’s Mark?” Blue asked bluntly as she eyed Daniel and looked around to see if our other friend was somewhere behind.

  “He’s not here. Actually, he’s taking a temporary leave of absence,” Jason replied. “Lord Channing made the announcement on move-in day. I guess Mark is sick or something and will probably take the whole year off. Daniel here is my new roommate.”

  We were sad to hear that Mark was sick and weren’t sure how to process the news. So, our attention turned to his so-called replacement instead. The three of us studied Daniel momentarily to decipher how we felt about this.

  SJ and Blue seemed to decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. They shook his hand and introduced themselves.

  I was a bit more reluctant.

  Daniel had a way about him. I couldn’t quite place what it was, but I got weird vibes from the way he looked at me—like he already had me figured out and was enjoying the fact that the familiarity was not reciprocal. It was now my turn to introduce myself though, so I was forced to swallow down this aversion and try to be congenial.

  “Um, hi,” I said. “I’m Crisa.”

  SJ elbowed me.

  What was that for? I wondered, perturbed.

  Oh, right, princesses give formal introductions. Duh.

  “Crisanta Knight,” I added to please SJ.

  He nodded as if he knew, and shook my hand. When he did, I received a small static shock—like a low-grade version of the one I’d gotten a few minutes ago from the In and Out Spell.

  We both pulled away.

  An awkward beat passed before SJ broke the ice by bidding us adieu. Since Mark was not there, and swordplay was not her forte, she was going to spend the afternoon reading in the garden. She waved goodbye, told Daniel it was a pleasure meeting him, and headed back toward the main grounds. A second later, before I had the chance to choose how I would spend the rest of my own day, Jason inadvertently made the decision for me.

  “Hey, Blue,” he said excitedly. “You wanna go climb the big fig trees in the orchard? I bet I can beat your best time from last year.”

  Now I realize that to most girls this might not have sounded like that great of a Saturday plan, but Blue could not have been more delighted by the idea. And she agreed to it so fast that she did not stop to think what the turn of events would mean for me.

  I couldn’t go climbing. See, normally I was totally gungho for almost anything action-packed. But intense climbing and I just did not mix well. This wasn’t because I lacked the strength. Like I said, I worked out in the practice fields almost every day and could even do a decent amount of pull-ups on the bar in our room.

  Which, let me tell you, is no easy task.

  Don’t believe me? Give it a try. Pull-ups when you’re a girl are nuts!

  No, when it came to tree climbing what I tended to fall short on (pun most certainly intended) was the dexterity. Between the rough, yet slippery feel of a branch within your hands, the difficulty of clinging to that branch while your shoes blindly searched for footholds, and the persistent, realistic threat that both might snap at any given moment, it never tended to end well. Every time I tried, I severely injured myself and/or those around me. The last time Blue and I had gone climbing together, for example, I’d broken my arm and knocked her out of the tree as I fell—causing her to sprain an ankle and one of her wrists.

  We’d just gotten back to school and, needless to say, I was in no mood to put either of us out of fighting shape so soon. This, unfortunately, didn’t register to Blue until I huffed, “Great, now what am I supposed to do?”

  “Oh, right. Sorry, Crisa,” Jason said, backtracking. “We could do something else if you want?”

  “Well . . .” I started to say.

  Then I caught a look at Blue who was shooting me a sort of silent “please.”

  “Thanks, Jason. But you two go on ahead,” I conceded.

  It was nice of Jason to offer; dude was always putting others before himself. But he and Blue were really good friends and were no doubt excited to catch up. I wasn’t about to hold them back. Jason still seemed to feel guilty though. So, in his innocent, yet misguided attempt to remedy the situation, he made an even more horrible suggestion than tree climbing.

&
nbsp; “Crisa, Daniel’s an awesome sword fighter. Why don’t the two of you hang out and practice?” he said, gesturing to the sword in my hand.

  Suddenly I lamented bringing my wand. The sheath swung across Daniel’s shoulder apparently had a sword in it as well, so neither of us had a plausible excuse for rejecting Jason’s proposal. As consequence, we were both victims of our friend’s good-natured idea and the unwritten rules of social decorum that dictated we go along with it.

  After some unenthusiastic “yeah okay’s” from both Daniel and myself, Jason and Blue headed off toward the campus orchards and left us alone together.

  At first we stood there facing each other wordlessly. I didn’t hang around with boys one-on-one very often, so I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to initiate the conversation or if there was some secret code word to get his attention or whatever. Eventually, after shifting the weight back and forth between my left and right foot for a bit, I cleared my throat in an attempt to start a dialogue.

  “Soooo . . .” I began.

  “Yeah?” he responded.

  Ugh. This was going to be like pulling teeth.

  “So do you want to fight or what?”

  Daniel eyed me up and down like he was calculating something. “Sure,” he finally responded. “Could be interesting.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean it’ll be like a test of my control.”

  He removed his sword from its sheath and spun it confidently to add flourish to the point. “I’ll have to go against my instincts and hold back. Practice restraint.”

  I gave him a really skeptical brow furrow to hint that I needed further elaboration. He, in turn, went on to provide it and thus affirm what my instincts had been telling me since I’d first laid eyes on him. I did not like Daniel.