Why We Fight

My mother appeared in the doorway to the Head Teacher's office, looking as close to furious as I had ever seen my calm, collected mother look. Her face was tense, her hands clenched tightly at her sides, so hard that her knuckles had turned white.

Uh-oh...I'm toast.

I sat in the hard wooden chair across from the Head Teacher's desk. The teacher, Catherine, did not look any happier than my mother. My ears were still ringing after the long, drawn-out lecture I'd gotten from her about five minutes earlier.

Then again, I thought, Once I tell Mom why I did it, she'll understand...I hope.

Of course, the white knuckles were not a good sign. Neither was the tightness of her mouth, for that matter. Who was I kidding?

Yeah. I'm definitely toast.

"Is it true?" Mom asked. Her blue eyes were narrowed, searching her my face for signs of guilt. I couldn't even look at her. Where did mothers get this supernatural ability to read minds, anyway?

Catherine nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so, Serena. Jenevieve struck another student today. I tried to reach your husband as well, but..."

I had no idea how Dad would react to this. Maybe he'd be furious, or maybe he'd be proud. He's the one who taught me how to fight, after all. And why would he do that if he didn't want me to use my skills?

That's what you get when you have a swordsman for a father and a pacifist for a mother. Totally, completely and unbelievably confused.

"I quite understand," Mom replied, her eyes never leaving my face. I felt sick with anxiety. "Jenner is quite busy at the moment with the Council."

"So I've heard," Catherine said. Her hazel eyes betrayed no emotion, but even I knew perfectly well what most of the rats thought of my father. His opinion regarding our leader Nicodemus' Plan was very well-known, probably because he had a tendency to shout it a lot.

I almost hate the Plan, and not because I don't like the idea of moving. I hate that it causes so much trouble--Dad and Nicodemus used to be friends, but not anymore. Same with Justin. I missed them both.

"At any rate, she's been assigned detentions for the rest of this week and all of next, and she must write a letter of apology to Ethan."

I winced. That letter was not going to be easy to write, especially since I really wasn't all that sorry. I wasn't a bad liar, but it would kill me to swallow my pride and write it at all. Maybe that was the point.

I knew I should be sorry. I could feel it in Mom and Catherine's steely looks. But the only emotion I felt, as soon as my mother entered the room, was a massive rush of shame.

My eyes fixed on a spot by Mom's feet, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. My cheeks flushed crimson with anger as I remembered the ugly word that had summoned the rage from within. The one that had caused my hand to ball into a fist, and strike Ethan.

Traitor!

That couldn't be true. I mean, I loved my dad. He couldn't be a traitor. Just because he didn't agree with Nicodemus didn't make him a bad person! Alright, so I'm biased. Mom has always said that Dad couldn't do wrong in my eyes.

Okay, so that's not quite true, I thought. My parents have been arguing more and more lately. Much as they tried to avoid fighting in front of Paul (my older brother) and I, the tension in the air would have been obvious to the blindest, deafest mole. Several times, I've come home to find Mom sitting on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands as though in total despair. To think that my beloved father was responsible for all of this was unthinkable--and yet there it was, staring me in the face.

Why is this tearing us apart? What's happening?

Mom nodded, acknowledging Catherine's words. "Understood. Now, if it is acceptable, I will take my daughter home. I wish to have a few words with her as well."

I was jolted out of my thoughts by Mom's voice. There was an icy note that I rarely heard there. I was in so much trouble.

"Naturally," Catherine agreed. "Good day."

"Jenevieve," Mom said, motioning with one hand. "Come. We're leaving."

************************************************

As we entered the corridor, I felt the cool, dark air from the fan ruffle my dress and fur. It was a welcome bit of relief after the stifling air of Catherine's office, but I couldn't enjoy it. Not when I knew Mom was so upset.

We continued onward, not exchanging a word. The only sound in this empty corridor was the soft pit-pat of our footsteps. Everyone else was gone, most likely at dinner. My stomach growled, but I tried to ignore it. At the moment, hunger was the least of my worries.

At last Mom stopped, near a small, carpeted alcove near the library. I finally had the nerve to look up, and when I did, I felt a thousand times worse than I had at any point in Catherine's office.

Mom was crying silently, tears running down her pale-furred cheeks like small rivers.

"Mom..." instantly I was at her side, throwing my arms around her and hugging tightly. "I....I didn't mean to upset you so much..."

It was a stupid, inane thing to say, and I knew it. Mom obviously was upset, and nothing that I said would change that.

Taking a handkerchief from the folds of her dress, Mom dabbed at her eyes.

"It's not you, love," Mom said haltingly, as she tried to regain her composure. "Though I am very disappointed in you. What on earth possessed you to hit that boy? You know that's wrong, your father and I raised you better than that!"

I looked at Mom' tear-stained face, and had to look away again. What could I say to that? Somehow, I didn't think, "Because he really, really made me angry" was going to fly.

"He...." I began in a small voice, dangerously close to tears myself.

"Go on." Mom's voice was steadier now. "Tell me what happened."

"We were studying," I started again. "In the classroom, and I really was just minding my own business at first. I was sitting there, and I heard Ethan and his friends talking to each other in front of me. Catherine had gone out for a minute, and...I heard..."

"What?"

"He was saying horrible things about Dad!" I burst out. "That he was a coward, that he's scared to move to Thorn Valley, that he's weak, that he's....that he's a traitor."

I tried to swallow my tears, but nearly choked on them instead. "And then I got so mad...I stood up and faced him, told him to say that again. And he did. So...I hit him. I probably would have kept at it, if Catherine hadn't come back in and pulled me off him."

Mom's eyes shut tightly, as though trying to block out the mental image. She sat down on the ground in the alcove, gesturing at me to do the same. Silently, I obeyed.

"I know it's been hard for you, Jenny," Mom began, putting her arm around my shoulders. "With your father and I so busy--him especially--with the Council, and all these tensions about the Plan...it's been hard on all of us. And it doesn't seem to be getting any better."

"Yeah, I know," I replied, relaxing into Mom's embrace.

"I hate fighting," Mom continued, drawing me closer still, "But there's no way to avoid it sometimes. We don't have a choice in that."

"Mom, what...?" I was puzzled. What could she possibly mean? My mother, the pacifist, was telling me to fight?

"Jenny, my point is this: we cannot always choose why we fight, but we can choose how. For example, you made a very poor choice today. You chose an easy way to show your anger. You're stronger than Ethan, and you had an unfair advantage. I need hardly add that you have no right whatsoever to resort to violence when someone expresses an opinion you don't like!"

Hearing it put like this made me want to curl up under my bed and die of shame. I couldn't even form a reply. There was simply too much truth to Mom's words to argue.

"I know how much you love your father. I love him, too, though Heaven knows we're both very different." A ghost of a smile crossed my mother's face. "And it's very difficult to hear the things people say about him without getting upset and wanting to react."

I looked at Mom, startled. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to her that her mother would have been enduring similar remarks.

"What do you do?" I asked.

Mom sighed. "I tell them that they are entitled to their opinions, but I would rather they didn't express them in front of me, especially when they clearly don't know what they are talking about if they call your father a coward."

I grinned. "And you don't hit them?"

"No," Mom replied, smiling a little. "Never. It's frowned upon in general, but especially during Council meetings. Do you understand me, Jenny?"

"I...think so, Mom."

Mom sighed. "What you have to remember is this: we know your father's heart, the others don't. You must remember that during the days ahead. He might well be...determined in his attempt to dissuade the others from the Plan. He'll make enemies, of that I'm certain. Whether we stay here or move to Thorn Valley, he's still your father. He loves you and your brother."

"I just wish this would be over, one way or the other," I said, snuggling closer to Mom. "I just want the fighting to stop."

"Then may I offer a suggestion, Jenevieve?" Mom asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

"What?"

Her eyes were alight with wry humor. "Don't create more. Am I understood?"

I smiled. "Yes, Mom."

She stood up, and I followed suit. I looked up at her.

"Uh, Mom?"

"What, Jenevieve?" she asked.

"Are you going to tell Dad what happened?" I inquired tentatively.

Mom gave me another wry look. "What do you think?"

I sighed. "That I'm toast."

**********************************************

Dad was not pleased when he came home from his office and heard about my little adventure. Listening at my bedroom door (where I had been temporarily confined as I ate the dinner Mom had gotten for me from the cafeteria), I heard everything.

"I've already lectured her on the importance of not attacking those who disagree with her," Mom said. I could picture her, poised gracefully on the sofa while Dad paced around the living room. "And incidentally, dear..."

The pacing stopped. "What, Serena?" Dad's voice, so rich and deep, carried a note of suspicion.

"This is a small community, Jenner. You know that as well as I do. Stories spread like wildfire, and they're bound to reach Paul and Jenny's ears at one point or another."

I frowned, leaning closer. What was Mom getting at?

Apparently Dad didn't know, either. "What do you mean?"

Mom heaved a deep sigh. "I mean that while I support you speaking your mind before the Council, I think you'd do well to remember that your children will hear everything about your...behavior."

"Precisely what do you mean by that?" Dad asked, and he was beginning to sound angry.

"Calm down, please. Jenevieve is in the next room, after all, and Paul could come home from Jesse's at any moment. What I mean is that both of them--especially Jenevieve--look up to you, and the example you show is bound to influence them."

"You're saying this is my fault?" Dad asked coldly. I winced, and I had a feeling that Mom was probably doing the same thing.

"I've already said what I mean," Mom replied flatly. "I see no reason to repeat it."

Dad laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was an awful sound. "Well played, my dear! Once again, you've managed to blame me without saying so aloud! How inspired!"

Mom sighed again. From the sound of it, the fight was draining out of her. When she spoke, her voice was full of sadness.

"Are you so determined to see attacks everywhere, even from me?" she asked quietly, so that I had to lean still closer to the door to hear properly. "I want to protect the children, and..."

"And what?" Dad asked.

"Never mind," Mom replied wearily. "I'm going to lie down for a bit. Good night, Jenner."

I heard the rustle of her dress as she shut the bedroom door with a snap. Finally, I summoned the courage to open the door.

Dad was standing alone in the living room, staring after Mom. He looked puzzled and annoyed. I stood, frozen. Was he angry with me? This whole thing was my fault...

"Dad?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He turned sharply. "Jenevieve!"

I covered the distance between us swiftly, and flung myself in his arms. "Dad...I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to make you and Mom fight...I didn't mean to cause this trouble. I'm sorry!"

He chuckled, and embraced me. I felt warm and safe, and for a brief moment, I was able to forget the events of the evening.

"My little firecracker," Dad said, still chuckling. "You aren't one bit sorry about Ethan, though, are you?"

I looked up into his green eyes, and considered lying for a moment. Then I shook my head.

Dad laughed outright--his normal laugh, full of mirth and warmth. "I thought as much. Don't worry about your mother and I--we've had worse arguments than that before, and probably will again."

I remembered what Mom had said in the alcove. "We're very different..." Once again, I wondered what had brought them together in the first place. Maybe I'd never know.

He took a seat on the couch, and I sat next to him. The dim glow from the electric lightbulb cast odd shadows across the living room. I watched them, glad of the temporary distraction.

What was going to happen now? I hated the uncertainty, the doubt that plagued all of us. More than anything, I wanted Dad to tell me that everything would be all right--but even I knew that it would be a lie. Dad didn't know, any more than I did.

I rested my head on Dad's shoulder, and he draped an arm around me. The two of us sat together in silence. What could either of us possibly say?

Mom was right to say that we don't always have a choice in why we fight. We can choose how--but personally, I'd like it better if I never felt like I had to fight to begin with. As far as I can tell, the thing about choices is that they don't always have to be good ones. That's the part that no one ever mentions. Sometimes, you really are choosing between a rock and a hard place. (To quote my father, who uses this expression all the time.)

But we all had to choose, one way or another.

Not for the first time, I wondered...

What will you choose, Dad?