War Games by Audrey Couloumbis

ran and reached the house as they did, his chest heaving, but by then Zola had told them about the Georges.
    Before Petros could protest, Stavros made an excellent point. “How many such men are there? Perhaps the whole Greek army is hiding in villages all over the countryside.”
    “Many of them,” Papa said, and led them inside.
    Petros wanted to ask Papa about the deal he’d tried tostrike with the Lemos family, whether Elia had the story straight. But he thought better of it with Stavros sitting there.
    “The teachers have moved to the countryside, to houses standing empty,” Papa said. “So schools won’t open again soon.”
    “Why would the teachers go?” Sophie asked. “Most are Greek.”
    “Teachers know the community,” Papa said, meaning they knew of anyone who wasn’t Greek. Petros understood this much. “They don’t want to be questioned.”
    “Shopkeepers know people,” Sophie argued, but her voice was weak with shock.
    “Teachers and priests know them best,” Zola said, to remind her of things they’d heard on the radio before it was hidden away.
    Petros suddenly understood the changes his family had made might not be temporary. If the Germans won the war, this might be the way they were to live the rest of their lives.
    “It was my story to tell,” Petros complained to Zola when they were alone in their room that night. “I’m the one they grabbed, and I’m the one who brought them into the house—”
    “Isn’t it enough that it happened to you?”
    “It did,” Petros agreed. “So I should be the one to tell.”
    “You think this news should wait until you pull a few more weeds?”
    “You saw me come running when Papa came in,” Petros said.
    “What if I did?” Zola said, waving him away with his hand. “I’ve lost everything. My books, my puzzles. My maps, my colored pencils. Everything.”
    “You’re just looking for a fight,” Petros said.
    “I’m looking for my flag.” Petros thought his brother had forgotten about the flag in the excitement of writing notes. “Don’t give me that fish-eyed look,” Zola said. “You threw away my messages. Why not my flag?”
    Petros said, “Did you see any flag in the scraps bucket?” He didn’t even want to get indignant. This day had used him up.
    “It was mine,” Petros added. “From the school assembly.”
    “I kept it for both of us,” Zola said.
    Now Petros felt a little anger stir in his heart. “If you kept it for both of us, how come I didn’t know about it?”
    Zola narrowed his eyes, saying, “But you did know about it, didn’t you? I hid it from Papa, not from you.”
    “Why don’t you ask Mama?” Petros said, knowing he never would. “Maybe
she
found it.”
    Zola went to Sophie, who was drying the dishes, and whispered an accusation in her ear. She snapped her dish towel at his legs and gave him such a fight that Mama came in, asking them what it was about.
    Zola complained, “Sophie’s worse to deal with than her cat.”
    Petros smiled.
    His brother came to stand beside the bed in a bullying way. He hadn’t used this manner with Petros in a long time, not since they were both much younger, and Petros found it didn’t worry him like it used to. He didn’t feel in the least afraid.
    Zola even looked a little silly as he stood there another few seconds and then wandered back to his own bed. He looked tired, which they all were, and lost.
    Petros was too angry to care. He wanted to tear little bits off the flag and let Zola find them in his bedsheets or in the garden. As bits of blue paper or white, only Zola would know them for something of any importance.
    Zola couldn’t complain to Papa or Mama without telling them he was guilty of hiding the paper flag. It was a perfect revenge. Zola began to snore.
    Petros smothered a laugh. He fell asleep and dreamed he was flying high on the back of a huge blue and white bird.

chapter 25
    In the morning, Sophie gave both Petros and Zola several