Contents ( 42)
- The Art of Breathing
- Part One: How We Became Who We Are
- Prologue: Or, Where the Kid Hears the Word of the Day
- 1. Where Tyson Learns to Breathe
- 2. Where Tyson Makes a Phone Call
- 3. Where Tyson Graduates and Bear Freaks Out
- 4. Where Tyson Says Good-Bye
- 5. Where Tyson Gets the Mail
- Part Two: Coming Home
- 6. Where Tyson Comes Home
- 7. Where Tyson Gives a History Lesson
- 8. Where Tyson Attends the Most Awkward Party Ever
- 9. Where Tyson Plans Attends a Protest
- 10. Where Tyson Gets Arrested
- 11. Where Tyson Gets His Ass Handed to Him
- 12. Where Tyson Writes Bad Poetry and Gawks at Frat Boys
- 13. Where Tyson Decides to Man the Fuck Up
- 14. Where Tyson Asks Some Questions
- 15. Where Tyson Remembers Theresa Jean Paquinn
- 16. Where Tyson Learns the Benefit of Therapy
- 17. Where Tyson Meets the Man Who Becomes Helena Handbasket
- 18. Where Tyson Gets Screwed at His Own Birthday Party (And Not in a Good Way)
- Part Three: Just Breathe
- 19. Where Tyson Goes to Helena Handbasket’s Sex Dungeon
- 20. Where Tyson Beholds the Awesome Wonder That Is Paul Auster
- 21. Where Tyson Receives Advice from the Six Sages
- 22. Where Tyson Makes a Phone Call
- 23. Where Tyson Hears the Inevitable
- 24. Where Tyson Meets His Match
- 25. Where Tyson Says Hello, Where Tyson Says Good-bye
- 26. Where Tyson Touches upon the Inevitable
- 27. Where Tyson Faces the Music
- 28. Where Tyson Breathes
- 29. Tyson And Dominic
- 30. The Art Of Breathing
- Epilogue: Or, Bear’s Perspective, As It Were (Yeah, He’s Gonna Freak)
- Author’s Note
- Excerpt
- Prologue: Or, Where Bear Answers the Door
- More from TJ Klune
- Readers love the Bear, Otter, and the Kid Chronicles by TJ Klune
- By TJ Klune
Author’s Note
Excerpt
More from TJ Klune
Readers love the Bear, Otter, and the Kid Chronicles by TJ Klune
About the Author
By TJ Klune
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
For Eric
I didn’t know how to breathe until I met you.
Thank you for teaching me how.
Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.
Part One: How We Became Who We Are
Maturity is a high price to pay for growing up.
—Tom Stoppard
Prologue: Or, Where the Kid Hears the Word of the Day
HE’S A big kid, much to my dismay.
Bear’s always told me that being a vegetarian is stunting my growth, and even if I thought that was true (which it’s not—Bear’s always saying stuff like that because he’s jealous of how awesome I am and nervous about his immortal soul), I still don’t think I could eat a baby cow to become taller. Try to think of that the next time you stuff your face with a hamburger: that cow was somebody’s mother or father or son or daughter. It’s easier to not eat meat when you anthropomorphize what you are putting in your mouth. Besides, Bear’s short and he’s a carnivore of the highest order. I may only be nine years old, but even I know my big brother can be full of crap sometimes. He’s special that way.
I’m only a few houses down from the Green Monstrosity, after having followed a line of ants for the last half hour (did you know that some species can carry up to fifty times their body weight? That’s like me picking up a car) when I feel eyes on me from somewhere. I try to ignore the feeling because I’ve got things to do—big things—and I don’t want to be interrupted by some nosy neighbor we have yet to meet because we’re too busy actually living our lives for once. But that needling sensation doesn’t go away, and I give in, maybe out of curiosity, or maybe just to glare at whomever is interrupting my expedition. For all I know, these ants would have led me to some secret underground ant colony where I would have made the find of a lifetime by discovering a new species that would forever be known as Tysonious McKennnicus. That alone would have been my ticket into the Ivy League of my choice and cemented my future as the world’s leading vegetarian authority on this rare find. But no. Not going to happen. Now I have to deal with some looky-loo who’s probably wondering why I’ve been staring at the sidewalk for the last thirty minutes, oblivious to his impending doom from interrupting my scientific endeavor that would have changed the face of myrmecology (the study of ants, duh) forever. I swear to God if I end up having to go to Arizona State because they’re the only school that’ll accept me, there’s going to be hell to pay. I refuse to go to a college whose only claim to fame is having the world’s longest keg stand at a party thrown by the fraternity Notta Hava Fuchure just because I couldn’t complete my destined quest.