Cyrano
Claire was blushing when Trudy walked into their room again.
“What is it-a letter from your sweetheart?” Trudy asked,
“No, it is a letter from Mr. Rueben. You remember I left my journal entry at class?”
Trudy nodded, excitedly taking the letter from Claire’s fingers. This is one of the joys of being young- easily forgetting that you are no longer friends with someone.
This irritated Claire for she had never spoken to Trudy about any of her “issues” with the school before, save sneaking out, and hadn’t mentioned what her journal entry had been about. She waited nervously as Trudy’s eyes jumped from line to line in her speedy way.
“Well, I guess it was a nice letter though I don’t really know what he meant by calling you tall. You’re not tall or redheaded…he must have been confusing you with someone else. I suppose he is tall, but why is that worth mentioning? And you can be a little flighty in class…”
Claire snatched the letter back.
“I am not flighty and he didn’t say so!”
“Why else would he compare you to a butterfly?” Trudy said as if this were obvious.
Claire tucked the letter into a box beneath her bed despite the complaints which issued from Trudy about not having finished reading it.
“Well, it is Friday, though it hasn’t been as lovely as we predicted, so we must be off to Literature Class.” Claire said coolly implying that she was quite “over with” the arguing.
Trudy glanced at the clock to differ but was proven wrong and silently they “primped” themselves to go.
“I hope that all of you have read your first chapters of Cyrano De Bergerac.” Mrs. Wake said when the class began punctually.
“Yes Mrs. Wake.” Was the general murmur.
“Good then!” She said proudly. “Who can tell me something about it?”
Several hands took flight.
“Yes-Miss Tyler?” She said pointing to Wanda’s bony hand.
“Cyrano is self conscious of his large nose?” Wanda said.
She was one of those girls who were too self-conscious to ever make a statement. She always had to say everything like a question.
“Yes! Very good Wanda. Anyone else? A boy perhaps?” Mrs. Wake asked, scanning the class with short-sighted eyes.
Mrs. Wake, who was a very fair lady with blond-gray hair and startling blue eyes, was always trying to balance the sexes by calling on them equally and helping them equally and even smiling at them equally. Equality was “all the rage” those days.
A boy’s hand came up immediately, but the face stayed focused on the copy of Cyrano De Bergerac on his desk as he spoke.
“Um, Mrs. Wake ma’am. Um, why does it say that Mr. Burgerack…”
And here the class broke out in such laughter that he ended his question right then and there and folded his arms. Judith leaned over and, in her authoritative way, explained the correct way to pronounce the name. Claire simply pretended (in vain) not to notice the sad mistake, but a moment later she was thankful for the commotion. What was that scurrying near Mrs. Wake’s desk? A field mouse! She knew that if one of the other girls were to see it they would scream out in terror and a lumbering boy would jump up and end its life before anything was said. The mouse had stopped in the shadow of the desk foot and was nibbling something in its tiny pink hands. Claire slipped out of the desk while everyone was still looking at the embarrassed boy (who was, by the way, Garry Hobble) and picked him up by his tail and then dropped him into a mint tin which she had to empty suddenly by pouring six mints into her mouth at once. She then put the lid on the tin and slipped back into her chair.
“Miss Winters! What is it that you are crunching over there?” Mrs. Wake asked, for everyone had settled by now.
“Mimphs ma’am.” Claire said through the cinnamon flavored mouthful.
Everyone giggled and Maria, who said everything that came to her mind, whispered: “That’s unlike her.”
Claire turned pink. The tin remained under her apron all during class where she opened the lid every few minutes, for she was afraid that he would run out of oxygen.
When class was dismissed, she held the tin carefully in one hand and all of her books and things in the other as she walked out to recess. Trudy, who had been sitting beside her, ran up and caught her by the shoulder excitedly.
“What are you going to name him?” She asked in a loud whisper.
“Whom?” Claire asked as if she were innocent.
“The mouse of course!” Trudy said, quite flibbertigibbet-ish. “I saw everything! I will never tell of course and he can stay in our room but you have to name him and feed him bits of your meals, though we can take turns with that.”
Claire couldn’t help but grin.
“Cyrano.” She said in a moment of thrill. “Because of his nose.”
And Cyrano the mouse became a famous secret of Beekman Boarding School.
