In Between the Lines

Chapter 3: The Assignment - and Other Matters

The rest of the weekend passed by unceremoniously. I'd spent Saturday night binge-watching Marvel movies after work, and because I'd cleared my Sunday for my father's return, I ended up spending all day alone, lounged by my pool, rereading Pride and Prejudice for what must have been the hundredth time in my life. My father called to apologize and promised that he'd be back by Wednesday—and that he'd make it up to me by attempting to make us dinner. I knew he meant how sorry he was considering he was a horrible cook.

By the time Monday rolled in, I was already in a better mood. I was sitting in English, my second class of the day, when our teacher Mr. Neibs announced our next big project for class.

Mr. Neibs was everyone's favorite teacher at Lincoln Valley High. Apart from looking like an exact replica of Albert Einstein with his frizzy snow-white hair and equally snow-white mustache, the old man was exceptionally creative when handing out projects—which made English feel like less of a mandatory class and more of an extracurricular. And though I had only been at Lincoln Valley High for a few months, he was quickly becoming one of my favorite teachers, too.  

"I will be assigning each of you prompts originating from children's stories—fables, to be specific," he began. "This could range anywhere from Hansel and Gretel, to Goldilocks, to Jack and the Beanstalk, and so on. Your job will be to take two characters from each of those stories and make them your own. Describe them to me in full detail, from physical appearance to mental and emotional wants and needs.

"I want their background stories, their dreams and hopes, and whatever else you can think of. If you happen to think of their favorite color, tell me their favorite color. I want as much detail as possible, alright?" He began passing papers down each row. "These are your rubrics. Use them as a guideline as you create your characters."

"Mr. Neibs?" The kid who sat in front of me raised his hand. His blonde hair fell in silky, effortless waves to just past his shoulders. I was sure almost every girl in the class envied him for it. "No offense, but what's the point of this assignment? If the stories are already written, then why does it even matter?"

"That's an excellent question, Arthur, and actually brings me to my next point." Mr. Neibs addressed the rest of the class. "As Mr. Faller has pointed out, these characters have already been written. They have their own stories—beginnings, actions, dialogue, and endings. Your job is to find a way to explain why they act the way they do, why they say the things that they say. The real challenge is to find a way to put a spin on these characters, make them into your own, without straying from the boundaries of the stories."

Several perplexed glances were exchanged throughout the class.

Mr. Neibs sighed.

"Is everyone familiar with the tale of The Boy Who Cried Wolf?" He asked the class without really asking—considering he pointed right at me. "Lyra, are you familiar with the tale?"

I nodded, feeling everyone's gazes suddenly cast on me.

Why did you have to call on me, Mr. Neibs? I was just starting to like you.

"Care to refresh our memories?"

"Well . . ." I chewed on my lip, recalling what I could of the tale from when I was still a child. "It's a story about a shepherd's son who was responsible for watching his father's sheep. He falsely claimed there was a wolf along the hills of the town. Whenever the villagers came to help, they found that the boy was simply bored and playing a joke, and he did this several times. One night, when there was actually a wolf along the hills, the boy again cried wolf, but the villagers didn't come because they didn't believe him anymore. And because of that, all of his father's sheep were found dead. The wolf had killed them—at least, in one of the versions. In another, it's the boy that's eaten by the wolf."