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To make it in the world, you have to be tough. Every grownup said that, and Gabi saw plenty of evidence to prove it. Small and fragile things died from love as often as from hate. Delicate flowers were ripped from between the pavers, their velvety petals torn off one by one by clumsy little fingers. Any butterfly that had the misfortune to flitter into the playground would have its wings crushed or its body squashed in the excitement to catch it. Any precious thing had to be kept on a high shelf, far away from the sticky hands of children eager to poke and prod.
When they couldn’t find flowers or insects or heirlooms to destroy, the children turned on eachother. The growups said children were cruel, but the grownups didn’t understand, just as they didn’t understand the brutalized flowers or the pitiful half-dead insects. It was, in a way, exploration; this search for little vulnerabilities that would allow prying fingers to rip a thing wide open and see what made it tick.
“Crybaby!” the other children taunted, when Gabi had skinned her knee. “Crybaby!”
She looked at the blood and gravel and abraded skin peeking out from the hem of her pinafore. She tried to stop the hot tears from pouring down her cheeks.
“Crybaby!”
Her face hot, she limped off of the playground. Her lip quivered and she swiped at her nose, now unsure what hurt more, the shame or the wound. She hoped and dreaded that her mother was waiting for her at the gate. Hoped her mother would fuss and tell her that even the bravest Warrior would cry from such a gory wound. Dreaded her mother would scoff at so much blubbering from a scratch.
Her parents were still at work. Her aunt stood waiting for her and frowned at the blotchy, snotty face.
“Well,” her aunt sighed, scooping Gabi up. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
At home Gabi sat obediently on the stepstool beside the sink as Aunt Karina cleaned the wound and applied the bandage.
“It’s a bad scrape,” Aunt Karina said, “But you’re a big girl now, and big girls are brave and strong.”
Gabi nodded, shame burning deeper.
“You’ll be starting school soon,” her aunt continued. “And if you cry at school, the other children will pick on you. You have to be tough, dear, tougher than anyone else if you want to make something of yourself. You must never, ever, let anyone see you cry.”
Gabi nodded. Aunt Karina was tough, all the other grownups said so. Her only child was off serving the Motherland, fighting the enemy on the Devil’s Island and guaranteeing the safety of everyone at home. Aunt Karina didn’t mope or wring her hands as the weeks stretched into months with no word about her son’s unit.
And so Gabi did everything she could to toughen up. When the grownups weren’t around, she’d pinch herself or bite the inside of her cheek as hard as she could and will herself not to cry. Late at night, she’d sneak out of bed and stare at herself in the little sliver of mirror above the sink. Whispering, she’d make fun of every flaw she spotted, call herself every horrid name she could think of, willing herself not to cry.
No matter what she did, she remained too soft. She cried when she burnt her fingers on the stove while helping her mother in the kitchen. She cried when she slipped on the ice and fell hard, hurting her wrist. She cried when one of the mean boys at school yanked her ponytail. She cried hardest of all when Gertrude K and Gertrude S told her that Reiner was probably dead and the Evil King Fritz had gobbled him up whole.
“Gabi,” Mom asked one night, after Dad had settled down with the paper. “Would you like to be a Warrior?”
Gabi considered this. Warriors were tough, the toughest people in the world. Could she really become one?
“Aren’t I too old?” Gabi asked.
“No,” Mom said, looking down at her hands. “You’re just under the age limit. And your father and I think it would be better if you tried for the program instead of returning to school.”
Gabi nodded. Her classmates had grown crueler now that more grownups were wondering just what was taking so long on Paradis. Not going back to school sounded fine with her.
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She forced herself not to cry at intake. It was embarrassing, being one of the oldest applicants. The youngest kids still needed their mothers to wipe their noses.
“Hi.”
She turned to see a boy her own age, looking a little sheepish.
“Guess I’m not the only big kid here,” he said. “I’m Falco Grice.”
“Gabi Braun.”
“Related to Reiner Braun?” Falco asked.
“My cousin,” Gabi said, with a hint of pride.
Falco gave her a kind smile. “My brother’s a candidate, but that’s still not enough to clear the family name.”
“What do you mean,” Gabi asked, frowning. “What’s wrong with my family name?”
Falco looked at her a moment, as if wondering how much to say. “They’ve been gone for years. Your cousin might…”
“He’s not dead,” Gabi snapped.
“Yeah,” Falco said, glancing at his feet. “It might be worse than that.”
Gabi decided Falco was stupid. What could possibly be worse than death?
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The first time Gabi saw Aunt Karina cry was when Reiner returned. There were losses, the grownups whispered, so many losses. A terrible blow to the nation. Some of the other grownups would cut their eyes at Aunt Karina and whisper to themselves. Never married, that woman. And where was the boy’s father? Lack of moral fiber right there. And you know what they say about boys raised by single mothers, no wonder he turned out lily-livered. Things shifted in the neighborhood. Her family went from being patriots making the ultimate sacrifice to potentially suspicious persons.
She tried to ignore the smirks and the cold eyes of the other trainees as she walked toward the classroom.
She felt pressure on her back and she whirled around. Falco stood behind her, a piece of paper crumpled up in his hand. He quickly shoved it into his pocket.
“What are you hiding?” she snapped.
“Nothing,” Falco said, turning red.
“So you’re just being pervy and touching random girls? Come on, show me.”
Falco handed over the paper. She smoothed it, and read kick me.
“Someone stuck it on your back,” Falco said. “Again.”
Gabi grit her teeth and forced herself not to cry. Once she got her red armband, whoever did that would be sorry.
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Reiner was sent off again and, over the course of a year, things went back to normal. The neighbors grew warmer with each victory reported from the front. Then, after a particularly stunning annihilation of a crack enemy division, her family resumed their rightful place as patriots. While Gabi knew she ought to wish for a speedy victory for the sake of the nation, she hoped the war would go on just long enough that she could participate. She’d win so many victories that no one would ever doubt her family’s loyalty again.
Reiner came home for a week on leave. She waited impatiently for her parents to get ready and it was all they could do to keep her from sprinting to Aunt Karina’s house. Falco was always going on about Colt this, Colt that. She couldn’t wait to have a big brother too, even if it was only for a little while.
Reiner greeted them at the door, looking tired. He remarked on how much she’d grown in the past year. He spoke little at dinner, ate little. She kept trying to catch his attention, but he seemed disinterested in everything around him. Aunt Karina shooed everyone out early, saying her son had to rest after the long journey home.
She got Reiner to herself for a little bit the next da y. The neighbors greeted him as a hero , forgetting that they’d ever doubted his loyalty and love for the nation. She showed him off to her friends, and then took him to the secret base—really a jumble of shipping crates and pallets behind Old Man Harris’ store—where she, Falco, Zofia, and Udo plotted the downfall of the nation’s enemies.
“You don’t get enough of war in training?” he asked.
Gabi shook her head. “Commander says that if we want red armbands, we need to live, sleep, and breathe war.”
“Yeah,” he replied, frowning.
“What’s it like,” she asked, “On the front?”
“It’s…” he studied her for a moment, the way grownups do when deciding if something was age-appropriate. “It’s hard. So much of the war is being fought at sea, and titans are almost useless in the water.”
“Except for the Warchief,” Gabi said, excited. “The radio said that he blew up three battleships by throwing bombs at them.”
Reiner nodded, absentmindedly. “Zeke is something else. Gabi, do you really want to be a Warrior?”
“Of course,” Gabi said. “Every good Eldian wants to atone for our ancestors’ sins.”
“Then it was your decision, not your parents’?”
“Yes?” She frowned. What was he getting at? Why did he seem so worried? “I’m going to get a red armband,” she insisted, “Just like you. Everyone says I’m really tough. You must have been really tough too, when you were my age.”
“No,” he said. “Everyone told me I was too sensitive.”
“Falco gets told that a lot,” Gabi said.
“They pick on him?” Reiner sounded worried. Why was Reiner worried about stupid Falco? Falco already had a big brother. Why was he taking hers?
“Not really,” Gabi said. “His brother’s a candidate, so they can’t be too mean to him.”
“Good,” Reiner said. “He’s a nice kid. Sounds like he was a good friend to you this past year.”
“I guess,” Gabi said, ears burning. She didn’t like thinking about the past year. In fact, she’d vowed to never think of it again once she got her yellow armband.
“You can be too tough, you know,” Reiner said, in that same sad tone. “It can cut you off from the world, make you mean. You’ve got a really good friend, Gabi. You shouldn’t take that sort of thing for granted.”
Why was he acting like her father? Wasn’t Reiner the same age as Mister Galliard, who was always taking Colt to parties where people drank and smoked? Was Reiner worn out from having the titan for so long? No, Pieck had her titan for just as long and she was still young and pretty. This weariness had to be from something else, some awful thing that had happened only to him.
“Reiner,” she asked, “What happened, on the island?”
He looked like he was about to say something, then thought better of it. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
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Gabi cried over every little thing now. Then again, so did everyone except Mister Levi.
“Mister Levi,” she asked, swiping at her eyes. “How come you never cry?”
“It was beaten out of me,” Levi said, “When I was a brat. Thought it was a good thing at the time, but…tch, took at me, getting sentimental.”
“Do you regret it,” Gabi asked, “Getting so tough?”
“Regret is pointless,” Levi said. “You can’t change what happened. Going forward though?” He shifted in his wheelchair. “Kind of nice, not having to be Humanity’s Strongest any more.”
Gabi took Levi’s empty teacup to the kitchen. She saw Falco standing at the sink, arms deep in soapy water. Eyes wet, she hugged him.
“What was that for?” Falco asked.
“Because,” Gabi said. “I still can. And I didn’t do it near enough in the past.”