Chapter Text
Public school was harsh. No one knew this better than Grace Josephine Crane. Oh she did her best to make it sound like the greatest place on Earth to her little brothers and sister—it has its very own library and lunch served up like a buffet, she had told them. It had been wondrous watching the way their little eyes would light up and they had acquired less trepidation about the idea of spending a bulk of their daytime hours with someone other than Daddy.
Although she was often viewed as the more dainty one of the four Crane children, she was very concerned about the well-being of her brothers and sister. And their starting school was no exception.
Irving had adjusted to the reality quite quickly. Then again, Irving was mutable and adjusted to situations easily. Like Mommy, he was good at reading people and like Daddy he had a magnetism that let him make friends a little too easily at times. He had quickly found himself a space with the peewee football team and smart kids.
Grace had no doubts that, when the time came, Sophie would easily blend in with the weirdos and geeks when it came time for school. The one she truly worried over was John. John was... sensitive. He cried over everything. He had turned being a compulsive tattle-tale into an art form. He also liked to colour inside the lines and tried to make everything moderately realistic in shade—the only purple tree you would find in his colouring book would be a Chinese wisteria, if they ever had one. Maybe he would find a place as the teacher's pet, which would open him up to a lot of teasing. Or perhaps the artsy kids would welcome him—he did have quite the eye for that sort.
What she hadn't expected was her youngest brother eyeing her dance costume and begging to go to dance classes. Nothing had ever made Grace more elated than to welcome her brother into the loving embrace of the dance trope. No matter the age, the dancers all looked out for each other.
Sure Mommy had been a little hesitant, Daddy had been quite pleased.
“My beloved,” Daddy had said. “You must admit John does have quite the taste for theatrics. This could very well be a gateway to work upon the stage on Broadway or perhaps even the West End...”
Mommy eyed Daddy for a minute, her eyebrow arched speculatively. “You do realize little boys in dance get teased mercilessly, right? It's all fine and dandy before he starts school... but...”
“I'll watch out for him,” Grace offered.
It had only been Grace's offer to watch out for him that had put their mother's mind at ease. And so far, no one had ever dared to tease him. The other moms at dance thought he was adorable. There was even another little boy in class that they helped each other out on form. The girls adored John as well and he was all of their honorary little brother—but Grace always reminded them that he was her actual little brother.
It wasn't until they were at actual school that trouble arose.
The girls at dance had been all too happy to share their sparkly pink nail polish with him the day before. John had refused Mommy's pleas to remove it before going to school. Which had led to one of the boys in Grace's class to start being incredibly rude and laughing at him while they waited for breakfast to be served.
“So is your little brother a—” the word that followed had made Grace's blood boil.
“What did you just call him?” Grace asked levelly, eyeing the boy coolly.
“I called him a little—”
There it was. That feeling of her blood boiling again. “He has shown no discernible attraction to any particular gender, but he's only five so it's understandable. But I would thank you to not use such a vulgar word.”
Her other little brother Irving turned in his seat at the next table over. The boy that was being rude was taller than any of the three Crane children and from sturdy stock that gave him a very wall-like presence. He was one of the bad-apple bullies that would sometimes pop up at Sleepy Hollow Elementary. One of the ones that all the teachers knew picked on everyone but never did anything because 'his home life was bad.'
“My momma said there's a special place in hell for people that let their kids be—”
Grace pursed her lips. John tugged on her sleeve. “Gracie... what's a—” he asked softly.
Oh, now he had done it. He had made John use a naughty word. “It is an incredibly rude term that tiny people with tiny minds use to describe those who experience attraction to people that are the same gender as yours in order to make their tiny, insignificant existence feel like it has meaning,” she said, looking her class mate dead in the eye.
John furrowed his brow in thought. “Oh, so like cousin Joey?” Grace nodded curtly. After a moment John shook his head. “Nope. I'm not one. Or... can I be one and still get married to Miss Tabitha when I'm a grown up?”
Miss Tabitha was one of the older girls that helped the little ones during dance.
“I don't have a tiny mind,” her classmate scoffed. “I just don't like the fact your little brother is wearing pink nail polish like a girl. My dad said the only boys that wear pink anything are—”
Grace sighed softly as she carefully picked up her breakfast tray, dumped its contents on the table as she stood, then smacked the boy across the face with it so hard he was knocked off of his seat. Every eye in the cafeteria turned toward her and the room fell silent. “No, you insufferable twit. The special place in hell is reserved for people like you and your parents that teach their snivelling, snotty nose children that it is okay to use such a word over something so trivial as wearing pink.
“My little brother is five years old and wearing sparkling pink polish because the girls at dance were painting their nails, he thought it was pretty and wanted his painted as well. No other reason. If you can't wrap your tiny little brain around the concept of doing something because you like it, the problem therein lies in you. Not in my little brother, nor does the issue lie in any thing that may or may not end up being a construct of who he is as an individual in the future. The problem is you. And if you use that word again and I hear of it, you can rest assured you shall learn the full extent of precisely how formidable of an opponent a girly dancer can be.”
Within the space of five minutes, Grace found herself sitting in the office waiting for Daddy to show up. She had left John in Irving's care. The little snit that had been making fun of John had been sent to the nurse's station because the plastic tray had busted his lip and his mouth had been bleeding. There was a good chance he would not have any sort of ramifications for what he had been saying, but Grace felt justified in standing up to him anyway.
Grace knew when Daddy arrived, dressed in his full re-enactment uniform, things were about to go pear shaped one way or another. More so when she realized Sophie was in her own little Continental Army uniform—although, instead of a sword like Daddy would have had if they were not in a school zone, Sophie had a dinner fork in her scabbard and she had all the indicators of a ranking officer. She felt like crawling into a hole and dying of embarrassment when she remembered today had been 'Historical Play Day' at the Historical Society—children of the society members were re-enacting a battle from the revolution. That meant, no matter what she said, odds were favourable that Daddy would not even attempt to hear her side of the tale.
Or—as was her good fortune—he would be in full defensive mode and demand proper punishment for her classmate. Grace had done her best to keep from grinning like an idiot when she heard Daddy's raised voice on the other side of the principal's door.
He stayed in the office with the principal for ten whole minutes before the door was flung open. Daddy walked out, hands clasped behind his back, Sophie walking behind him, doing her best to emulate him. Daddy knelt down in front of her and took her hand in both of his. “Grace Josephine Crane...” he said gently. “After watching the footage and reading what he other children said about what happened, I feel you showed far too much restraint. Never show patience with those who are undeserving of it.”
Grace looked around with uncertainty. “I'm not in trouble?”
Daddy smiled affectionately. “Let's just say... the principal owes your mother and I a debt which is not easily repaid. Your foe is being collected and will be dealt with accordingly within the hour.”
“Daddy said they better punish the other boy or there would be legal ra-ra-ram-ramifications that would not end favourably for the school board,” Sophie said.
“We shall talk more of this subject once your mother is home from work,” Daddy added. He gave her hand a kiss and smiled.
Grace felt her heart fall into the pit of her stomach. Uh-oh. Her mom was very much opposed to fighting at school for any reason other than some weird monster had popped up (which then they were supposed to call Mommy and Daddy and they would show up to save everyone). Although, did it count as a fight if all she had done was smack the other boy in the face with a cafeteria tray?
“Although between you, myself, and your sister... you acted admirably,” Daddy added. “And I am certain your mother will feel the same.”
“You. Acted. Admirably,” Sophie echoed, with a bit more pomp to it. She pursed her lips. “What's 'ad'mably'?”
“It means she acted in a manner which should be admired,” Daddy replied, standing up to his full height. “If there is no objection, your sister and I would like to escort you to your classroom and return to our day at the Historical Society.”
Sophie pulled her fork from her scabbard and held it up like a sword. “I was about to lead the Continental Army into battle,” she boasted proudly.
Grace arched her eyebrows. “As Washington or Lee?”
“Washington!” Sophie beamed. “We were about to u-til-ize stolen cannons.”
Daddy and Sophie escorted her down the semi-empty corridors—they passed the school nurse bringing her foe from earlier the way she had come from. The boy looked like he was going to say something but then took a glance at the tall and imposing form of Daddy and seemed to think better of it. Then his eyes dropped to tiny Sophie in her uniform. He snorted to repress a laugh as they passed.
Once they reached her classroom door, Daddy gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Sophie gave her a salute. When Grace entered the room, the other kids looked at her in awe. She held her head with pride and strode purposely to her seat, taking it with every ounce of elegance and grace her name implied. To say her status amongst her peers was forever elevated would have been an understatement.
The only thing that kept her from getting completely wrapped up in her newfound popularity was the looming knowledge that she still had no idea what her mom would have to say about what happened.
#
“So how was school today?” Mommy asked as she unwrapped the foil package sitting on her plate.
In celebration of a successful “Historical Play Day” Daddy and Sophie had cooked dinner in the firepit in the back yard. Dinner was a nice pork chop, cooked with asparagus, potatoes, carrots, pearl onions, and an array of spices, prepared in a foil pouch.
Grace felt her face warm. Irving pretended to take a long drink of soda. Sophie was stabbing her foil packet repeatedly with her fork trying to tear it open. John beamed happily and announced, “Gracie hit a boy in the face with her breakfast tray because he called me the 'f' word that the mean kids call Cousin Joey.”
Mommy's eyebrows arched and she slowly lowered her fork. “Grace Josephine Crane... You got in a fight and hit another child in the face with your food tray?” Mommy asked carefully, with a hint of sternness in her voice.
Grace had been rolling this over in her head all day. She was ready. “I attempted enlightening the other child as to the rudeness of his comment toward my little brother. When that did not work I engaged in the rules of combat... I accessed the likelihood of my victory, pinpointed precisely how I could defeat my opponent, and executed my attack with complete certainty that said attack would prevent their ability to retaliate.”
Mommy was quiet as she chewed what was in her mouth in contemplation. She swallowed. “With a food tray? One of those hard plastic ones?” Grace nodded. A small half smile appeared on Mommy's lips. “Way to utilize your resources. I'm proud of you, Baby.”
“You're not mad?” Grace asked.
“Why would I be? That boy was calling your little brother a very rude thing, so he deserved it,” Mommy replied. “And in other news, water is wet. And this is an absolutely delicious dinner, Sophie.”
Sophie, her pork chop in its entirety on the end of her fork as she attempted capture a particularly dangly part of the chop in her mouth, put down her food and huffed in annoyance. “I wanted to not use spices because I wanted it to taste au-then-tic to how Daddy had to eat it during the war. But he in-sisted, since it's today and not back then, we should add flavour.”
“And I told you Sophie, whilst fighting in Valley For—” Everyone at the table groaned and Daddy looked affronted.
“Not Valley Forge, Babe,” Mommy said with a pained tone. “I mean, we don't mind the war stories but... something other than Valley Forge, once in a while, would be nice.”
Grace grinned when her parents started trading tiny, playful jabs at each other. The subject of her fight at school was now tucked away in Grace's mental catalogue of personal victories. Luckily there were precious few instances in her future that she had to have a repeat such a fight to defend her little brother... but each one of her opponents quickly learned that one did not mess with Grace Josephine Crane's little brother.