BREATHE: A NOVEL A thesis submitted to the Kent State University Honors College in partial fulfillment of the requirements for University Honors by Emily Gerren May, 2016 Thesis written by Emily Gerren Approved by ________________________________________________________________, Advisor ______________________________________________, Chair, Department of English Accepted by ___________________________________________________, Dean, Honors College ii TABLE OF CONTENTS ACKNOWLEDGMENTS………………………………………………………….…..iv CHAPTER I…………………………………………………………….…………….………1 II...………………………………………………………….…………….……..39 III…………………………………………………………….……..…….……101 IV…………………………………………………………….…………….…..146 V…………………………………………………………….…………….……204 VI…………………………………………………………….…………….…...219 AFTERWORD…………………………………………………………………………246 BIBLIOGRAPHY.………………………………………………………….……..…...249 iii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS A lot of people guided this novel into its current state, but I owe my greatest thanks to my committee. Dr. Robert Sturr’s constant guidance kept me and the book on track. From misplaced modifiers to the greater context of young adult literature to understandable fight scenes, his suggestions and encouragement were key in making the book what it is today. Dr. Susan Sainato has been there for me since the first day of my freshman year. She values the love of learning, and she passed a great deal of that on to me. Her classes were not only enjoyable but inspirational, and she has always validated the presence of creativity in the academic world. Her coaxing kept my creative streak alive and thriving. Dr. Sarah Harvey’s classes in the Classics enlightened me on an astounding tradition upon which Breathe is built. The artwork and architecture she presented provided me with endless visual inspiration for this book, and her suggestions on literary sources played an integral role in the framework of the Otherlands. Finally, Dr. Kimberly Winebrenner was there from the start to support my desire to revisit Breathe. Her suggestions both at in the preliminary stages of the thesis and at my defense were invaluable, and her encouragement helped get me through the editing doldrums. Thank you all for your wisdom and your kindness. iv I Of all the students in Master O’Hara’s class, I was the best at pretending to like free sparring. Puzzle-piece floor mats squeaked as we all lined up, facing each other, and waited to be rearranged. Smiling pleasantly, I placed myself across from Timothy, whose eyes I could realistically meet, and whose uniform was neat and ironed and crisp from taking it easy on himself. He avoided my gaze. I knew that, on the one in a million chance that I actually sparred him, it would be an easy fight. Master O’Hara did not enjoy watching easy fights. He paced the line slowly, nodding to students and telling them, “Switch with Kendra, go across from Mike, end of the line” in his typical ‘we don’t have time for me to draw out my vowels’ voice. We replied with well-trained yes sirs. Timothy was plucked from his place in line. I did not glance around to see who would take his place. I was first. The rest of the class trotted to the back of the room, some of them hiding amongst the punching bag forest, others sitting eagerly at the edge of the mats. Feet together, arms at my sides, I bowed. Six-foot-eight Viking-bearded Dan Myers bowed back. Five-foot-three me slid one foot back on the puzzle-piece floor, and he mirrored my movement, hopping as he did. Somehow, it made him look bigger. 2 It didn’t matter how much bigger he was, I firmly reminded myself; we were evenly matched, according to the black belts on our waists. Someone of his size had to build up to a kick, because, duh, physics, and I saw it coming a mile away. I hopped back, relaxed, letting it swing past me. It took half a second to recover and then I was placing my own kick, nice and neat, on his hip (because that was the highest I could reach, which had always bothered me, but there were always heels. Just not here). He actually stumbled a bit, much to my delight, and I battered him with a series of smaller kicks, forcing him back. We came so close to the mirror that I could make out the beads of sweat on the back of his neck, possibly there because of the thirty push-ups a minute ago, but more likely because he was about to be taken out by a small woman. My next kick landed square on his stomach, and he stumbled back with a cough. His heel was inches from the boundary. I twisted, setting up a roundhouse, throwing all my weight into it. His eyes widened. Clear, dark, haunting gray. And the world lurched to the side, and I went off-balance. He sidestepped. I promptly fell on my face. Not literally on my face, but that was what it felt like. I spun back to my feet, flustered, and he was advancing. His foot caught my shoulder and I knew he was holding back because I wasn’t knocked all the way over. I danced backwards, quickly as I could, my heart racing. There was a very distinct possibility that, no, we weren’t evenly matched. But I refused to believe it. I lurched up 3 and back to put as much space between us as possible, and in doing so, I put my head directly in the path of Dan Myers’ telephone-pole-sized ankle bone. The sound it made when it connected with my skull was somewhere between a thunderclap and a car crash. I was very annoyed indeed when I was back in my head, staring at the way-too-bright fluorescents in the ceiling. Why were those even there? We didn’t need light. And Master O’Hara was definitely yelling through a bullhorn at Dan Myers. I tried to lift my head. “Nope.” Kendra gave me a gentle tap on the forehead and repositioned an ice pack that I could just make out at the edge of my vision. “Uuuugh.” “You’ll need more than that to convince me.” Her smile was gentle, which I found annoying. I could hold an ice pack to my own forehead. I tried. It didn’t work. Someone lifted my head for me, slipping a jacket between me and the mat as a pillow. I caught sight of Master O’Hara and Dan and was surprised to see that the bullhorn was, indeed, imagined. The rest of the dojang was in a state of relative chaos, as well; there were about six bottles of Gatorade lying as offerings by my feet, and the box fan sat next to me puttering away. Someone was pulling Deanna, the desk girl, in by the hand because there were rumors that Deanna knew first aid. She seemed to be of the opinion that calling a professional was the better option, because she was dialing something on her 4 phone with the other hand. “I’m fine,” I insisted, but it came out sounding more like “Ahmbluuuuuh.” “That’s nice, honey.” Kendra patiently nodded to me. “Rrrgh.” “I see.” By that time, Master O’Hara had finished yelling and was telling Deanna not to call an ambulance (I wasn’t sure how to take that), and he came over and knelt by me. I pressed my hand against my forehead, taking a slow breath. “What just happened, Isobel?” he asked, frowning. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him not frowning, so that was a nonissue, really. “I was hit in the head with a tree, sir.” Finally, that was intelligible. “Really?” His frown lines got deeper. “A tree that was attached to Dan Myers.” I pointed at said tree. “Called his leg.” “That’s more like it.” His frown turned less frowny. “And are you feeling dizzy at all? Nauseous?” “A bit dizzy, sir. Not sick.” I tried to sit up. Kendra prevented it again with a well- placed poke in my shoulder. I shot her a look. “I’m sure I’m fine, my head just hurts because an ankle hit it at warp speed. Can I go home?” “That’s fine. I’ll call your mother.” He turned on his heel towards Deanna. That was what healed me. I pushed myself upright, ignoring Kendra’s look of extreme distaste. “Sir. Please don’t call my mother.” I would never, ever, ever hear the end of it. I’d spend the next month in the hospital. The next three years in counseling to 5 make sure I was ‘coming to terms with what had happened.’ And then she would have to do the same thing to get herself back on track. “I can drive myself home. I feel fine.” “I’m not sure I believe that.” He reached for Deanna’s phone. I jumped to my feet and lurched forward and put my hand between them before he could touch it. “Please, you have no clue what that’ll do to my mom. She’s already worried all the time; this’ll put her over the edge.” He frowned very hard at me. “I’m fine, sir. Please, just let me drive myself home.” Since I was standing up and making real words, I was hopefully making up for what the past few minutes had suggested. I’d been hit in the head, yes, but I did not have a concussion. Master O’Hara didn’t really stop frowning, but he did sigh and say, “Go sit down in the lounge. Give it an hour, have Deanna watch you. If you’re still fine, you can drive yourself home.” I snatched my bag and one of the sacrificial Gatorades and bolted before he could change his mind.