wanted another little girl."
"You would have lost your job," said Petra.
"Not right away," said Father.
"Armenian officials have always been a little slow about enforcing those laws," said Mother.
"But eventually, you could have lost everything."
"No," said Mother. "When you left, we lost half of everything. Children are everything. The rest is ... nothing."
Stefan laughed. "Except when I'm hungry. Food is something!"
"You're always hungry," said Father.
"Food is always something," said Stefan.
They laughed, but Petra could see that Stefan had had no illusions about what the birth of this child would have meant. "It's a good thing we won the war."
"Better than losing it," said Stefan.
"It's nice to have the baby and obey the law, too," said Mother.
"But you didn't get your little girl."
"No," said Father. "We got our David."
"We didn't need a little girl after all," said Mother. "We got you back."
Not really, thought Petra. And not for long. Four years, maybe fewer, and I'll be off to university. And you won't miss me by then, because you'll know that I'm not the little girl you love, just this bloody-handed veteran of a nasty military school that turned out to have real battles to fight.
After the first hour, neighbors and cousins and friends from Father's work began dropping by, and it was not until after midnight that Father had to announce that tomorrow was not a national holiday and he needed to have some sleep before work. It took yet another hour to shoo everyone out of the house, and by then all Petra wanted was to curl up in bed and hide from the world for at least a week.
But by the end of the next day, she knew she had to get out of the house. She didn't fit into the routines. Mother loved her, yes, but her life centered around the baby and the neighborhood, and while she kept trying to engage Petra in conversation, Petra could see that she was a distraction, that it would be a relief for Mother when Petra went to school during the day as Stefan did, returning only at the scheduled time. Petra understood, and that night announced that she wanted to register for school and begin class the next day.
"Actually," said Father, "the people from the IF said that you could probably go right on to university."
"I'm fourteen," said Petra. "And there are serious gaps in my education."
"She never even heard of Dog," said Stefan.
"What?" said Father. "What dog?"
"Dog," said Stefan. "The zip orchestra. You know."
"Very famous group," said Mother. "If you heard them, you'd take the car in for major repairs."
"Oh, that Dog," said Father. "I hardly think that's the education Petra was talking about."
"Actually, it is," said Petra.
"It's like she's from another planet," said Stefan. "Last night I realized she never heard of anybody."
"I am from another planet. Or, properly speaking, asteroid."
"Of course," said Mother. "You need to join your generation."
Petra smiled, but inwardly she winced. Her generation? She had no generation, except the few thousand kids who had once been in Battle School, and now were scattered over the surface of the Earth, trying to find out where they belonged in a world at peace.
School would not be easy, Petra soon discovered. There were no courses in military history and military strategy. The mathematics was pathetic compared to what she had mastered in Battle School, but with literature and grammar she was downright backward -- her knowledge of Armenian was indeed childish, and while she was fluent in the version of English used in Battle School -- including the slang that the kids used there -- she had little knowledge of the rules of grammar and no understanding at all of the mixed Armenian and English slang that the kids used with each other at school.
Everyone was very nice to her, of course -- the most popular girls immediately took possession of her, and the teachers treated her like a celebrity. Petra allowed herself to be led around and shown everything, and
"You would have lost your job," said Petra.
"Not right away," said Father.
"Armenian officials have always been a little slow about enforcing those laws," said Mother.
"But eventually, you could have lost everything."
"No," said Mother. "When you left, we lost half of everything. Children are everything. The rest is ... nothing."
Stefan laughed. "Except when I'm hungry. Food is something!"
"You're always hungry," said Father.
"Food is always something," said Stefan.
They laughed, but Petra could see that Stefan had had no illusions about what the birth of this child would have meant. "It's a good thing we won the war."
"Better than losing it," said Stefan.
"It's nice to have the baby and obey the law, too," said Mother.
"But you didn't get your little girl."
"No," said Father. "We got our David."
"We didn't need a little girl after all," said Mother. "We got you back."
Not really, thought Petra. And not for long. Four years, maybe fewer, and I'll be off to university. And you won't miss me by then, because you'll know that I'm not the little girl you love, just this bloody-handed veteran of a nasty military school that turned out to have real battles to fight.
After the first hour, neighbors and cousins and friends from Father's work began dropping by, and it was not until after midnight that Father had to announce that tomorrow was not a national holiday and he needed to have some sleep before work. It took yet another hour to shoo everyone out of the house, and by then all Petra wanted was to curl up in bed and hide from the world for at least a week.
But by the end of the next day, she knew she had to get out of the house. She didn't fit into the routines. Mother loved her, yes, but her life centered around the baby and the neighborhood, and while she kept trying to engage Petra in conversation, Petra could see that she was a distraction, that it would be a relief for Mother when Petra went to school during the day as Stefan did, returning only at the scheduled time. Petra understood, and that night announced that she wanted to register for school and begin class the next day.
"Actually," said Father, "the people from the IF said that you could probably go right on to university."
"I'm fourteen," said Petra. "And there are serious gaps in my education."
"She never even heard of Dog," said Stefan.
"What?" said Father. "What dog?"
"Dog," said Stefan. "The zip orchestra. You know."
"Very famous group," said Mother. "If you heard them, you'd take the car in for major repairs."
"Oh, that Dog," said Father. "I hardly think that's the education Petra was talking about."
"Actually, it is," said Petra.
"It's like she's from another planet," said Stefan. "Last night I realized she never heard of anybody."
"I am from another planet. Or, properly speaking, asteroid."
"Of course," said Mother. "You need to join your generation."
Petra smiled, but inwardly she winced. Her generation? She had no generation, except the few thousand kids who had once been in Battle School, and now were scattered over the surface of the Earth, trying to find out where they belonged in a world at peace.
School would not be easy, Petra soon discovered. There were no courses in military history and military strategy. The mathematics was pathetic compared to what she had mastered in Battle School, but with literature and grammar she was downright backward -- her knowledge of Armenian was indeed childish, and while she was fluent in the version of English used in Battle School -- including the slang that the kids used there -- she had little knowledge of the rules of grammar and no understanding at all of the mixed Armenian and English slang that the kids used with each other at school.
Everyone was very nice to her, of course -- the most popular girls immediately took possession of her, and the teachers treated her like a celebrity. Petra allowed herself to be led around and shown everything, and
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