The Knight and the Squire

The Place Where Promises Aren’t Kept [Chapter 7]

I guess you’re probably wondering: Mike, any cavities discovered at the dentist? Well, yes, unfortunately. I had a little one in the back of my mouth. Just one, mind you. My mom still took me out to lunch anyways. She did make me promise that I would stop drinking sodas late at night and that I would have to brush AND floss my teeth every night.

School was going as well as school went. I’d dare to say there were certain parts of it I liked, too. I think it takes a good teacher to inspire you, even at the very end of the day when you have a math class but all your brain power is run out.

Thinking about it, the class the first thing in the morning is bad, too. You’re still a little bit sleepy. It’s like your body wakes up and is able to eat food and make your legs walk you to the bus stop, but thinking takes a little while longer. I guess that’s why teachers always have cups of coffee in the morning. They have to do more thinking and do it earlier too.

I think Mrs. Carpenter was one of those good teachers. You might remember she was the first class I had in the morning, teaching us literature and language arts. Mrs. Carpenter had short brown hair that I had only ever seen tied up in one of those bun things at the back of her head. She always wore dresses that reached the floor, and they came in all patterns and colors. Those dresses also had belts around the waist, but they didn’t work like how a belt for pants worked.

Mrs. Carpenter spoke in a high-pitched voice. Some other kids made a rumor that sounded like she was calling for a dog all the time. She sometimes spoke fast, too, especially when something was really exciting for her. Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever saw coffee in her hands or on her desk anywhere. Maybe she was one of those strange people who were able to make their brains work in the morning.

“We’re starting a rough draft today, for a story you’ll all be writing,” she said as she began the main lesson for the day. “First off, I want you to come up with a conflict for your story. There’s that word again. I mentioned to keep a look out for the conflict of ‘An Unkeepable Promise.’ There’s a big one. Who can remind us what a conflict is?”

She was asking about the book that we’d been bringing back and forth to class. I had been able to keep up with some of it. I knew the definition of the word, too, but raising my hand wasn’t something I dared much to do. A hand came up from the front row, predictably.

“A conflict is something that the main character or characters have to deal with.”

“Exactly,” Mrs. Carpenter said with a load of praise. “Something they have to overcome. So then, in the story we’re reading, what is the conflict that Crystal is dealing with?”

Another couple of hands flashed up about the front areas of the classroom, all ready to answer. “Crystal learned that… her brother isn’t her real brother.”

Mrs. Carpenter nodded. “Exactly. And why is that a challenge?”

“Because she really wants to tell him,” another person answered.

“But that makes Crystal also worried because…”

The final person was called upon. “Because… because she’s afraid that might make him sad.”

Mrs. Carpenter made a few short claps and nodded. “Yeah! Perfect! And we’ll see how that turns out. So, your job today, with some pencil and paper, is to come up with a character, in a setting— a place, and decide what their challenge is, what conflict they’re going to face.”

Something struck me right then. Between my mom’s book about the man who pretended to be a knight and my own adventures with Jakey on Rune Quest, I had the perfect conflict. I was, of course, going to make a different ending than one that ends up being smashed by goblin hammers.

I had never written faster than that in my life. I’m sure I had never written as sloppily, either. My thoughts were being scribbled onto the paper as fast as my health bar had gone down that Friday. I think I had like half a story while the other people around me were still coming up with names for their characters. They were all just talking and wasting time anyways. I barely noticed Mrs. Carpenter wandering around the room. She eventually came up behind me. I only noticed a slight hum and nod of a head out of her. I don’t know why, but it was slightly embarrassing, and it threw me off my concentration.

Before I could do much more writing, the bell for the end of the period was ringing. Mrs. Carpenter gave us one last direction before letting us pack up. “Please finish these up at home and bring them back tomorrow to turn in.”

I almost told Jakey about the story I was going to write. When I met up with him, I realized that writing a story about him, at least one based on him and me, was a little bit embarrassing. I also imagined him calling me a nerd or something for enjoying a school assignment so much. Jakey never mentioned anything about school, except when it sucked.

I was excited enough about the rough draft that I even wrote down a few more points about it even before I got on Rune Quest at home. After that, I packed it nicely in my backpack ready for the next day. I didn’t know what was awaiting me then.

Mrs. Carpenter had a jar full of numbered sticks, one number for each of us. It was fair, I guess. She could pick people without just choosing the same people who always raise their hands. She was ready with them that morning, right away. “Okay, I hope that everyone put together a character or two and came up with a conflict for them to deal with. Let’s hear some of them before they get turned in. Number… eight.”

I could see some people still frantically writing theirs, even though it had been homework. I was there with both sides of the page filled out, overflowing with the makings of a story. The boy who got called up to read had a draft about a farmer, but none of his plants were growing. Everyone was surprised (I guess) by the twist being that the farmer was actually using cooked beans that could never sprout. When he finished, I hoped that the next number wouldn’t be mine. Well, I was spared by at least one person, but my luck ran out on the next pulling of a stick.

I trudged up to the front of the classroom after hearing my number called. All of my classmates stared at me like I was the goblin king himself and I was ready to drop a load of gold from them.

“Uh…” I began, “I don’t have a title yet. But my… main character is a knight. He’s strong. He also has a squire. A squire… is a guy that helps the knight. He helps put on his armor and… sharpen his swords, I guess. Oh, this takes place during the olden… middle ages time. Well, the squire fights bad guys and enemies, like goblins, with the Knight, but he isn’t very strong. The problem… the conflict is that the Knight has to defend his weak squire, even if that means that he… the knight gets hurt too. But… the squire does get stronger! He didn’t like seeing the knight get hurt, so he trains hard too! So… yeah.”

I heard only one pair of hands clapping. It was from Mrs. Carpenter. “What a conflict that is! And we’re also seeing the overcoming of that conflict. A squire… that’s a word I haven’t quite heard in a while. As Mike said, a squire was like a partner to a knight, a knight of shining armor some might say. Their armor had so many pieces and layers that a knight couldn’t put it on by themselves. What a noble pairing.”

I smiled at my classmates who were attempting to clap as quietly as possible. Some people were probably trying not to laugh. I was about ready to head back to my seat when a hand raised up in the air. Mrs. Carpenter looked between the girl and me, waiting for me to answer. I didn’t want to, obviously, so the teacher took over. “It seems we have a question. MacKenzie?”

The girl responded. “If the… squire is fighting, does he have his own set of armor? Does that mean the squire has a squire too? Is he trying to be a knight too?”

I took in the question. I looked at Mrs. Carpenter to see if she was going to make me answer. The look in her eye said that she was expecting my response. I took a breath.

“No. Uh, the Squire’s armor is simpler. He doesn’t have to fight, but he does.”

A boy from the front row blurted out. “Wouldn’t the knight get mad if the squire is just getting in the way? It would be annoying to protect the squire if he wasn’t able to fight.”

Their questions seemed like they were picking away at my story. “Maybe… well, the knight was a squire before he was a knight, and he knew how hard it was!”

“Wonderful questions,” the teacher said, stopping any others before they started. “We might call that back story. Now, that doesn’t mean you have to write all of that for your story, but you can give hints for your readers, or even just have it in mind while writing your characters. Thank you, Mike.”

While Mrs. Carpenter was still sending praise my way and explaining the setting of the Middle Ages, I hurried back to my seat. I barely listened to the other people reading. At the end of the time, all the paper drafts were passed to the front and collected by the teacher. Finally, the bell rang and released me from any further judgment from those people.

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