The Fight for Kidsboro (42 page)

The crowd cheered, ignoring the fact that we weren't a country.

“Our army has been working hard, not because we have to, but because we love our freedom. Nelson knows what he's talking about. If we give the Maxites this victory, we'll never be free from Max's rule. We might as well crown him king. Are you people ready to make Max king of Kidsboro?” Jill asked loudly.

“No!” the crowd unanimously declared.

“Then we have to fight.”

“Yes!”

Everyone looked up at me. I was glad that it had been taken out of my hands. It had become their decision. “Okay. On Monday, we go to war.”

The troops cried out in agreement, many standing to applaud. There Was no more tension, no more fear. Kidsboro would not be Bettertown's doormat any more. We would fight.

The crowd filed out of the building and headed for the creek, half wanting to tell the Maxites about our decision and half wanting to attack right away. There were eight Maxites on the other side of the creek, downstream of the wall, and several Kidsborians mirroring them on our side. The Kidsborians taunted them. The Maxites bent down and made snowballs just in case. Our people did the same. Names were thrown over from both sides—hatred at its worst.

Then I saw Scott. He Was behind the line of eight, and he made a snowball and joined in the name-calling. The yelling became so fierce that no one could even decipher any of the words. There was just a lot of pointing and clenched fists. Scott looked at me, his teeth clenched. We stared at each other for a few moments, and my only thought was that I couldn't wait to deck him with a snowball. I imagine he was thinking the very same thing.

I thought It was curious that Max made his threat on a Friday, and then gave us the weekend to think about it. But I figured it had less to do with him respecting the Sabbath and more to do with people on his side leaving town for the weekend. Whatever the reason, we had the next two days to think about things.

One thing I did during the weekend was go to the Kidsboro Community Church. It was made up of a group of wooden benches along the creek, upstream from the wall. Very few people ever attended, but I had gotten some good things out of it before, especially when I had decisions to make.

Joey, the preacher, was one of the two African-American citizens in Kidsboro. He Was also the son of a real minister, and, though he didn't have quite the speaking gifts of his father, he poured out his heart and soul every week. I admired that.

Joey smiled at me as I approached. Once again, I was the only one present. In the front, next to the music stand he used for a pulpit, was a nativity scene. It had all the characters—Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wise men, angels, donkeys, and the baby Jesus lying in a manger.

I had seen nativity scenes before—we had one ourselves—but for some reason, this one looked different. More beautiful somehow. I couldn't quite put my finger on it at first, but then I realized that This was the first time during this Christmas season that I had even thought about the birth of Jesus. I glanced down at my watch. Today was December 22. Christmas had come and was almost gone, and I hadn't even paid attention.

None of the characters were talking—the shepherds, the wise men, none of them. Nobody was saying, “Boy, that was some trip,” or “I hope you like this myrrh,” or “Move your head! I can't see the baby!” This was the first time I had ever noticed that the only thing they were doing was staring at the baby Jesus. All those people, yet there was such peace on that night.

I sat down on the hard wooden bench, and Joey took out a hymnal. We sang three verses of “Silent Night.” Neither one of us had much in the way of a singing voice, so we could barely be heard above the rush of the creek.

After the hymn, Joey made a couple of announcements. There Was going to be a church-wide prayer vigil early Monday morning to pray about the war, and then a potluck dinner after the war was over. He put me down on the list to bring a vegetable dish and napkins.

He prayed, calling the war “an atrocity” and “needless,” and asking God to intervene and make sure that no one got hurt. I repeated his “Amen.”

Joey handed me the offering plate, and I saw him look up at something behind me. I turned around to look.

It was Scott.

He came up quietly, sneering my way a little, and sat down on the farthest possible seat from me. I stood up and carried the offering plate to him. He took it without making eye contact, and I returned to my seat. Joey seemed a little disappointed that neither of us gave anything, and when he was ready to speak, he looked at both of us with disdain, as if he had the perfect sermon with which to nail us.

He was right.

He read from Matthew 9 about how Jesus, the Savior of the world and King of Kings, didn't hang out with other kings and princes and military heroes. “His friends were fishermen,” Joey began. “And he spent time with tax collectors and sinners—people that were hated back then. The religious leaders asked his disciples, ‘Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?' Jesus loved these people and wanted to be their friends and help them change their lives.

“You see, Jesus didn't think of any group of people as his enemies. He didn't say, ‘That guy hangs out with this group or that group, so I hate him.' He treated people as individuals.” Joey cleared his throat and raised his voice, “How many times at school do we put people in groups? Oh, those are the jocks, or the bullies, or the stuck-up princesses, or the geeks … and so I don't like them. They're not jocks, or bullies, or princesses, or geeks. They're people. People who have feelings.”

He glanced at both of us. “And now friends have turned into enemies, simply because they live in different places? What's up with that?

“Jesus told us to love our enemies because they're people, just like us. And if we give them a chance, they might even be our friends. You guys are making a mockery of the Christmas season. Jesus came as the Prince of Peace. The least you can do is give it a try yourselves.”

Joey put down his Bible and waited for us to respond. I imagine he wanted us to kiss and make up, but we didn't. I don't know why. That was my best friend sitting over there, as far away as he could get from me. I'd slept over at his house dozens of times. We'd had dreams of one day being college roommates. I'd seen him in his Spider Man pajamas. He Was my best friend, and I had placed him in a group because of where he lived, just like Joey said, and now I was supposed to hate him.

But I didn't.

Perhaps Kirk was a better man than I was, dropping the snow that was meant to go down my shirt. At least he knew that the value of friendship was more important than victory over an enemy.

Joey gave up and prayed a benediction. We stood up. Scott and I looked at each other, this time without hatred, and then he turned and walked away.

I got up Monday morning, and the first thing I heard outside the house was the sound of dripping. I stepped outside. The icicles were melting, and the temperature was getting warmer. I smiled, thinking this might mean a postponement of the war. We couldn't throw snowballs if there was no snow.

But my mother told me it was supposed to get colder in the afternoon and snow some more. I chose to believe the icicles.

Kidsboro was in full motion when I got there. Alice was in the meeting hall (now army headquarters), giving a briefing on the military strategy for the day. She'd put up an easel with a well-drawn map of Kidsboro and Bettertown on it. There were arrows and X's and little silhouettes of bombs on it. I certainly hoped she didn't really have any bombs for this battle.

I should have stayed to hear the strategy since I was in the army, but at the moment, I was clamoring and praying for another way out of this. I went to the creek side where I saw six people lined up on either side of the creek, just staring at each other. Every now and then, an insult was hurled, but for now, no snowballs. I went to the wall and tried to get past. The guard stopped me.

“What do you want?”

“I wanna talk to Max.”

“About what?”

“Ending this war.”

“You're giving him his wood?”

“No, I just want to—”

“I was told not to let you through unless you are offering to give him his wood.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“Sorry.”

I took a sharp move to his right, trying to shove past him, but he stopped me and turned me around. I walked back to Kidsboro.

As it turned out, my mother was right. By one o'clock, it was starting to get colder, and it was snowing again. Ominous clouds gathered overhead.

I sat in on another of Alice's strategy sessions. She had a plan to storm Bettertown's arsenal and destroy their pile of snowballs. I still didn't like the idea of being the attacker, but this wasn't exactly attacking
them
, so I didn't object.

Afterward, I went outside and saw several people taking last minute target practice. Nelson was up in a tree, spying on the Maxites with his binoculars.

“What are they doing?” I called up.

“They' removing the catapult closer to the creek, and they're transporting some of their snowballs with it. Plus, the troops are getting fitted with their gear—special backpacks that they're filling with snowballs.”

Nelson came down and started putting his mesh up over the clubhouses. I helped him. He had stopped shooting the salt, seeing that it hadn't had much of an impact. It would be impossible to control the shots anyway, with the wind swirling around as fiercely as it was right now.

All this busy work was being done, but at this point, it was really just a waiting game.