12 You Are Breima

It was one thing to think yourself a fairly together fourteen-year-old with a twelve-year-old sister at your side who was even sharper. It was another thing entirely to be facing two sets of very impenetrable Old World eyes that threatened to reduce you to a groveling worm. They were seated across from one another: grandparents and grandchildren. Nick's throat felt tight, and he cleared his throat for the third time.

"Yes, Nicholas?" his grandmother asked.

For some reason, hearing his formal name made him feel much younger. He fought against it. "Grandfather and Grandmother, Lottica and I want you to know that we are grateful for you taking us in. We also appreciate your driving us to visit our friends the other day." He smiled and waited for some acknowledgment of his expressed gratitude.

None came. Ony their unflappable gazes.

"We are adjusting to our new schools. I've made some new friends and Lottica has too." Nick continued, appreciative that Lottica nodded her head in agreement. At least, he felt, he wasn't talking to an empty room. "What I mean to say is that we are happy here in your home, and we hope it's not too much of a burden on you."

"Burden?" Grandmother Breima's eyes widened just the slightest bit, but her prim mouth pinched shut on the next syllable. "No."

"I'm glad of that, Grandmother," Nick said and tried to ratchet up his nerve for what he intended to say next. "I guess I just have to be honest and ask you. Are you planning to take us to Lebreima? I mean, to live with you in Lebreima?"

When Nick finished his question, he dropped his eyes, but Lottica watched her grandparents as their eyes flicked to make contact and then instantly reestablished their fixed stares.

Stony silence.

Their grandparents did not stir. The air thickened like gelatin. Nick could not lift his eyes, and Lottica felt straightjacketed.

Surprisingly, their grandfather broke the icy stalemate. He rose. He wasn't much taller than Nick, but his dark shirt and vest gave him a formidable appearance, like a Dickenesian schoolmaster. He looked down his straight, aristocratic nose at Nick and Lottica. "You are Breima. You belong to Lebreima. You must learn. You must know."

He turned from them. With a slight nod to their grandmother, he left the room.

Their grandmother sat up straighter, if that were possible, and untwined her fingers. "Your grandfather is correct. You are Breima . You must learn Lebreiman. We leave November one. We notify your schools this week. We help you pack."

She, too, rose and turned as if to go. But then faced Nick and Lottica to say one last thing. Her tone uncharacteristically softened, and her English flowed more naturally. "You are not a burden. You are Breima." She tapped gently on her breastbone. "You will learn what is the heart of a Breima. Only in Lebreima can that be done."

"What about our—" Lottica tried to protest, but Grandmother Breima left the room. Lottica looked at Nick whose jaw was clenched tight.

"What are we going to do now?" she asked.

After a few moments, Nick's grimace softened into a resolute smile. "We'll have to start packing," he replied.

"What? You're just going to give in like that? I can't believe it."

Nick leaned toward her and whispered conspiratorially, "I didn't say we were packing to go to Lebreima."