Dad takes the white marten from the trap.
"Look at that, Will," he says.
It is limp in his hands. It hasn't been dead that long.
We tramp through the snow to the end of our trapline. Dad whistles. The goner marten is over his shoulder. From here, it looks like Dad is wearing it. There is nothing else in the other traps. We head back to the truck. The snow crunches. This is the best time for trapping, Dad told me a while ago. This is when the animals are hungry.
Our truck rests by the roadside at an angle. Dad rolls the white marten in a gray canvas cover separate from the others. The marten is flawless, which is rare in these parts. I put my animals beside his and cover them. We get in the truck. Dad turns the radio on and country twang fills the cab. We smell like sweat and oil and pine. Dad hums. I stare out the window. Mrs. Smythe would say the trees here are like the
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ones on Christmas postcards, tall and heavy with snow. They crowd close to the road. When the wind blows strong enough, the older trees snap and fell on the power lines.
"Well, there's our Christmas money," Dad says, snatching a peek at the rearview mirror.
I look back. The wind ruffles the canvases that cover the martens. Dad is smiling. He sits back, steering with one hand. He doesn't even mind when we are passed by three cars. The lines in his face are loose now. He sings along with a woman who left her husband—even that doesn't make him mad. We have our Christmas money. At least for now, there'll be no shouting in the house. It will take Mom and Dad a few days to find something else to fight about.
The drive home is a long one. Dad changes the radio station twice. I search my brain for something to say but my headache is spreading and I don't feel like talking. He watches the road, though he keeps stealing looks at the back of the truck. I watch the trees and the cars passing us.
One of the cars has two women in it. The woman that isn't driving waves her hands around as she talks. She reminds me of Mrs. Smythe. They are beside us, then ahead of us, then gone.
Tucca is still as we drive into it. The snow drugs it, makes it lazy. Houses puff cedar smoke and the sweet, sharp smell gets in everyone's clothes. At school in town, I can close my eyes and tell who's from the village and who isn't just by smelling them.
When we get home, we go straight to the basement. Dad gives me the ratty martens and keeps the good ones. He made me start on squirrels when I was in grade five. He put
Traplines
the knife in my hand,, saying, "For Christ's sake, it's just a squirrel. It's dead, you stupid knucklehead. It can't feel anything."
He made the first cut for me. I swallowed, closed my eyes, and lifted the knife.
"Jesus," Dad muttered. "Are you a sissy? I got a sissy for a son. Look. It's just like cutting up a chicken. See? Pretend you're skinning a chicken."
Dad showed me, then put another squirrel in front of me, and we didn't leave the basement until I got it right.
Now Dad is skinning the flawless white marten, using his best knife. His tongue is sticking out the corner of his mouth. He straightens up and shakes his skinning hand. I quickly start on the next marten. It's perfect except for a scar across its back. It was probably in a fight. We won't get much for the skin. Dad goes back to work. I stop, clench, unclench my hands. They are stiff.
"Goddamn," Dad says quietly. I look up, tensing, but Dad starts to smile. He's finished the marten. It's ready to be dried and sold. I've finished mine too. I look at my hands. They know what to do now without my having to tell them. Dad sings as we go up the creaking stairs. When we get into the hallway I breathe in, smelling fresh baked bread.
Mom is sprawled in front of the TV. Her apron is smudged with flour and she is licking her fingers. When she sees us, she stops and puts her hands in her apron pockets. "Well?" she says.
Dad grabs her at the waist and whirls her around the living room.
"Greg! Stop it!" she says, laughing.
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Flour gets on Dad and cedar chips get on Mom. They talk and I leave, sneaking into the kitchen. I swallow three aspirins for my headache, snatch two buns, and go to my room. I stop in the doorway. Eric is there, plugged into his electric guitar. He looks at the buns and pulls out an earphone.
"Give me one," he says.
I throw him the smaller bun, and he finishes it in three bites.
"The other one," he says.
I give him the finger and sit on my bed. I see him thinking about tackling me, but he shrugs and plugs himself back in. I chew on the bun, roll bits of it around in my mouth. It's still warm, and I wish I had some honey for it or some blueberry jam.
Eric leaves and comes back with six buns. He wolfs them down, cramming them into his mouth. I stick my fingers in my ears and glare at him. He can't hear himself eat. He notices me and grins. Opens his mouth so I can see. I pull out a mag and turn the pages.
Dad comes in. Eric's jaw clenches. I go into the kitchen, grabbing another bun. Mom smacks my hand. We hear Eric and Dad starting to yell. Mom rolls her eyes and puts three more loaves in the oven.
"Back later," I say.
She nods, frowning at her hands.
I walk. Think about going to Billy's house. He is seeing Elaine, though, and is getting weird. He wrote her a poem yesterday. He couldn't find anything nice to rhyme with "Elaine" so he didn't finish it.
"Pain," Craig said. "Elaine, you pain." "Plain Elaine," Tony said.
Billy smacked Tony and they went at it in the snow. Billy gave him a face wash. That ended it, and we let Billy sit on the steps and write in peace.
"Elaine in the rain," I say. "Elaine, a flame. Cranes. Danes. Trains. My main Elaine." I kick at the slush on the ground. Billy is on his own.
I let my feet take me down the street. It starts to snow, tiny ladybug flakes. It is only four but already getting dark. Streedights flicker on. No one but me is out walking. Snot in my nose freezes. The air is starting to burn my throat. I turn and head home. Eric and Dad should be tired by now.
Another postcard picture. The houses lining the street look snug. I hunch into my jacket. In a few weeks, Christmas lights will go up all over the village. Dad will put ours up two weeks before Christmas. We use the same set every year. We'll get a tree a week later. Mom'll decorate it. On Christmas Eve, she'll put our presents under it. Some of the presents will be wrapped in aluminum because she never buys enough wrapping paper. We'll eat turkey. Mom and Dad will go to a lot of parties and get really drunk. Eric will go to a lot of parties and get really stoned. Maybe this year I will too. Anything would be better than sitting around with Tony and Craig, listening to them gripe.
I stamp the snow off my sneakers and jeans. I open the door quietly. The TV is on loud. I can tell that it's a hockey game by the announcer's voice. I take off my shoes and jacket.-The house feels really hot to me after being outside. My face
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Traplines
starts to tingle as the skin thaws. I go into the kitchen and take another aspirin.
The kitchen could use some plants. It gets good light in the winter. Mrs. Smythe has filled her kitchen with plants, hanging the ferns by the window where the cats can't eat them: The Smythes have pictures all over their walls of places they have been—Europe, Africa, Australia. They've been everywhere. They can afford it, she says, because they don't have kids. They had one, a while ago. On the TV there's a wallet-sized picture of a dark-haired boy with his front teeth missing. He was their kid but he disappeared. Mrs. Smythe fiddles with the picture a lot.
Eric tries to sneak up behind me. His socks make a slithering sound on the floor. I duck just in time and hit him in the stomach.
He doubles over. He has a towel stretched between his hands. His choking game. He punches at me, but I hop out of the way. His fist hits the hot stove. Yelling, he jerks his hand back. I race out of the kitchen and down to the basement. Eric follows me, screaming my name. "Come out, you chicken," he says. "Come on out and fight."
I keep still behind a stack of plywood. Eric has the towel ready. After a while, he goes back upstairs and locks the door behind him.
I stand. I can't hear Mom and Dad. They must have gone out to celebrate the big catch. They'll probably find a party and go on a bender until Monday, when Dad has to go back to work. I'm alone with Eric, but he'll leave the house around ten. I can stay out of his way until then.
The basement door bursts open. I scramble under Dad's tool table. Eric must be stoned. He's probably been toking up since Mom and Dad left. Pot always makes him mean.
He laughs. "You baby. You fucking baby." He doesn't look for me that hard. He thumps loudly up the stairs, slams the door shut, then tiptoes back down and waits. He must think I'm really stupid.
We stay like this for a long time. Eric lights up. In a few minutes, the whole basement smells like pot. Dad will be pissed off if the smoke ruins the white marten. I smile, hoping it does. Eric will really get it then.
"Fuck," he says and disappears upstairs, not locking the door. I crawl out. My legs are stiff. The pot is making me dizzy.
The woodstove is cooling. I don't open it because the hinges squeal. It'll be freezing down here soon. Breathing fast, I climb the stairs. I crack the door open. There are no lights on except in our bedroom. I pull on my jacket and sneakers. I grab some bread and stuff it in my jacket, then run for the door but Eric is blocking it, leering.
"Thought you were sneaky, hey," he says.
I back into the kitchen. He follows. I wait until he is near before I bend over and ram him. He's slow because of the pot and slips to the floor. He grabs my ankle, but I kick him in the head and am out the door before he can catch me. I take the steps two at a time. Eric stands on the porch and laughs. I can't wait until I'm bigger. I'd like to smear him against a wall. Let him see what it feels like. I'd like to smear him so bad.
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Traplines
I munch on.some bread as I head for the exit to the highway. Now the snowis coming down in thick, large flakes that melt when theý.ťóuch my skin. I stand at the exit and wait.
I hear OňéiEýe's beat-up Ford long before I see it. It clunks down the road and stalls when One Eye stops for me. . "Youagain. What you doing out here?" he yells at me.
"Waiting for Princess fucking Di," I say.
"Smart mouth. You keep it up and you can stay out there."
The back door opens anyway. Snooker and Jim are there. One Eye and Don Wilson are in the front. They all have silver lunch buckets at their feet.
We get into town and I say, "Could you drop me off here?"
One Eye looks back, surprised. He has forgotten about me. He frowns. "Where you going this time of night?" "Disneyland," I say.
"Smart mouth," he says. "Don't be like your brother. You stay out of trouble."
I laugh. One Eye slows the car and pulls over. It chokes and sputters. I get out and thank him for the ride. One Eye grunts. He pulls away and I walk to Mrs. Smythe's.
The first time I saw her house was last spring, when she invited the English class there for a barbecue. The lawn was neat and green and I only saw one dandelion. There were rose bushes in the front and raspberry bushes in the back. I went with Tony and Craig, who got high on the way there. Mrs. Smythe noticed right away. She took them aside and talked to them. They stayed in the poolroom downstairs until the high wore off.
i o
j There weren't any other kids from the village there. Only
townies. Kids that Dad says will never dirty their pink hands. They were split into little groups. They talked and ate and laughed and I wandered around alone, feeling like a dork. I was going to go downstairs to Tony and Craig when Mrs. \ Smythe came up to me, carrying a hot dog. I never noticed
j her smile until then. Her blue sundress swayed as she walked.
"You weren't in class yesterday," she said. "Stomachache."
"I was going to tell you how much I liked your essay. You must have done a lot of work on it."
"Yeah." I tried to remember what I had written.
"Which part was the hardest?" she said.
I cleared my throat. "Starting it."
"I walked right into that one," she said, laughing. I smiled.
A tall man came up and hugged her. She kissed him. "Sam," she said. "This is the student I was telling you about."
"Well, hello," Mr. Smythe said. "Great paper."
"Thanks," I said.
"Is it William or Will?" Mr. Smythe said. "Will," I said. He held out his hand and shook mine. .   "That big, huh?" he said. ^ Oh no, I thought, remembering what I'd written. Dad,
Eric, Grandpa, and I had gone out halibut fishing once and 1 caught a huge one. It took forever to get it in the boat and
1 we all took turns clubbing it. But it wouldn't die, so Dad shot
j ,       it. In the essay I said it was seven hundred pounds, but Mrs.
Smythe had pointed out to the whole class that halibut didn't ! get much bigger than five hundred. Tony and Craig bugged
| me about that.
I
I i i
T r a p I I n e s
"Karen tells me you've written a lot about fishing," Mr. Smythe said, sounding really cheerful.
"Excuse me," Mrs. Smythe said. "That's my cue to leave. If you're smart, you'll do the same. Once you get Sam going with his stupid fish stories you can't get a word—"
"Mr. Smythe goosed her. She poked him with her hot dog and left quickly. Mr. Smythe put his arm around my shoulder, shaking his head. We sat out on the patio and he told me about the time he caught a marlin and about scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef. He went down in a shark cage once to try to film a great white eating. I told him about Uncle Bernie's gillnetter. He wanted to know if Uncle Bernie would take him out, and what gear he was going to need. We ended up in the kitchen, me using a flounder to show him how to clean a halibut.
I finally looked at the clock around eleven. Dad had said he would pick me and Tony and Craig up around eight.. I didn't even know where Tony and Craig were anymore. I couldn't believe it had gotten so late without my noticing. Mrs. Smythe had gone to bed. Mr. Smythe said he would drive me home. I said that was okay, I'd hitch.
He snorted. "Karen would kill me. No, I'll drive you. Let's phone your parents and tell them you're coming home."
No one answered the phone. I said they were probably asleep. He dialed again. Still no answer.
"Looks like you've got the spare bedroom tonight," he said.
"Let me try," I said, picking up the phone. There was no answer, but after six rings I pretended Dad was on the other
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end. I didn't want to spend the night at my English teacher's \        house. Tony and Craig would never shut up about it. I "Hi, Dad," I said. "How come? I see. Car trouble. No
\ problem. Mr. Smythe is going to drive me home. What? |        Sure, I—"
| "Let me talk to him," Mr. Smythe said, snatching the
I phone. "Hello! Mr. Tate! How are you? My, my, my. Your j        son is a lousy liar, isn't he?" He hung up. "It's amazing how
much your father sounds like a dial tone." j I picked up the phone again. "They're sleeping, that's all."
j Mr. Smythe watched me as I dialed. There wasn't any answer. I "Why'd you lie?" he said quietly.
| We were alone in the kitchen. I swallowed. He was a lot
bigger than me. When he reached over, I put my hands up
and covered my face. He stopped, then took the phone out
of my hands.
"It's okay," he said. "I won't hurt you. It's okay."
I put my hands down. He looked sad. That annoyed me.
I shrugged, backing away. "I'll hitch," I said.
Mr. Smythe shook his head. "No, really, Karen would kill
me, then she'd go after you. Come on. We'll be safer if you
sleep in the spare room."
In the morning Mr. Smythe was up before I could sneak
out. He was making bacon and pancakes. He asked if I'd ever
done any freshwater fishing. I said no. He started talking
about fishing in the Black Sea and I listened to him. He's a
good cook.
Mrs. Smythe came into the kitchen dressed in some sweats and a T-shirt. She ate without saying anything and didn't
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Traplines
look awake until she finished her coffee. Mr. Smythe phoned my house but no one answered. He asked if I wanted to go up to Old Timer's Lake with them. He had a new Sona reel he wanted to try out. I didn't have anything better to do.
The Smythes have a twenty-foot speedboat. They let me drive it around the lake a few times while Mrs. Smythe baked in the sun and Mr. Smythe put the rod together. We lazed around the beach in the afternoon, watching the people go by. Sipping their beers, the Smythes argued about who was going to drive back. We rode around the lake some more and roasted hot dogs for dinner.
Their porch light is on. I go up the walk and ring the bell. Mrs. Smythe said just come in, don't bother knocking, but J can't do that. It doesn't feel right. She opens the door, smiling when she sees me. She is wearing a fluffy pink sweater. "Hi, Will. Sam was hoping you'd drop by. He says he's looking forward to beating you." "Dream on," I say.
She laughs. "Go right in." She heads down the hall to the washroom.
I go into the living room. Mr. Smythe isn't there. The TV is on, some documentary about whales.
He's in the kitchen, scrunched over a game of solitaire. His new glasses are sliding off his nose and he looks more like a teacher than Mrs. Smythe. He scratches the beard he's trying to grow.
"Come on in," he says, patting the chair beside him. I take a seat and watch him finish the game. He pushes his glasses up. "What's your pleasure?" he says.
I 4
"Pool," I say.
"Feeling lucky, huh?" We go down to the poolroom. "How about a little extra this week?" he says, not looking at me. I shrug. "Sure. Dishes?" He shakes his head. "Bigger." "I'm not shoveling the walk," I say. He shakes his head again. "Bigger." "Money?" "Bigger." "What?"
He racks up the balls. Sets the cue ball. Wipes his hands on his jeans.
"What?" I say again.
Mr. Smythe takes out a quarter. "Heads or tails?" he says, tossing it.
"Heads," I say.
He slaps the quarter on the back of his hand. "I break."
"Where? Let me see that," I say, laughing. He holds it up. The quarter is tails.
He breaks. "How'd you like to stay with us?" he says, very quietly.
"Sure," I say. "But I got to go back on Tuesday. We got to check the traplines again."
He is quiet. The balls make thunking sounds as they bounce around the table. "Do you like it here?"
"Sure," I say.
"Enough to live here?"
I'm not sure I heard him right. Maybe he's asking a different question from the one I think he's asking. I open my mouth. I don't know what to say. I say nothing.
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"Those are the stakes, then," he says. "I win, you stay. You win, you stay."
He's joking. I laugh. He doesn't laugh. "You serious?" I ask.
He stands up straight. "I don't think I've ever been more serious."
The room is suddenly very small.
"Your turn," he says. "Stripes."
I scratch, missing the ball by a mile. He takes his turn.
"We don't want to push you," he says. He leans over the table, squints at a ball. "We just think that you'd be safer here. Hell, you practically live with us already." I watch my sneakers. He keeps playing. "We aren't rich. We aren't perfect. We ..." He looks at me. "We thought maybe you'd like to try it for a couple of weeks first."
"I can't."
"You don't have to decide right now," he says. "Think about it. Take a few days."
It's my turn again but I don't feel like playing anymore. Mr. Smythe is waiting, though. I pick a ball. Aim, shoot, miss.
The game goes on in silence. Mr. Smythe wins easily. He smiles. "Well, I win. You stay."
If I wanted to get out of the room, there is only one door and Mr. Smythe is blocking it. He watches me. "Let's go upstairs," he says.
Mrs. Smythe has shut off the TV. She stands up when we come into the living room. "Will—"
"I asked him already," Mr. Smythe says.
Her head snaps around. "You what?"
"I asked him."
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Her hands clench at her sides. "We were supposed to do it together, Sam." Her voice is flat. She turns to me. "You said no."
I can't look at her. I look at the walls, at the floor, at her slippers. I shouldn't have come tonight. I should have waited for Eric to leave. She stands in front of me, trying to smile. Her hands are warm on my face. "Look at me," she says. "Will? Look at me." She is trying to smile. "Hungry?" she says.
I nod. She makes a motion with her head for Mr. Smythe to follow her into the kitchen. When they're gone I sit down. It should be easy. It should be easy. I watch TV without seeing it. I wonder what they're saying about me in the kitchen.
It's now almost seven and my ribs hurt. Mostly, I can ignore it, but Eric hit me pretty hard and they're bruised. Eric got hit pretty hard by Dad, so we're even, I guess. I'm counting the days until Eric moves out. The rate he's going, he'll be busted soon anyway. Tony says the police are starting to ask questions.
It's a strange night. We all pretend that nothing has happened and Mrs. Smythe fixes some nachos. Mr. Smythe gets out a pack of Uno cards and we play a few rounds and watch the Discovery Channel. We go to bed.
I lie awake. My room. This could be my room. I already have most of my books here. It's hard to study with Eric around. I still have a headache. I couldn't get away from them long enough to sneak into the kitchen for an aspirin. I pull my T-shirt up and take a look. There's a long bruise under my ribs and five smaller ones above it. I think Eric was trying to hit my stomach but he was so wasted he kept miss-
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ing. It isn't too bad. Tony's dad broke three of his ribs once. Billy got a concussion a couple of weeks ago. My dad is pretty easy. It's only Eric who really bothers me.
The Smythes keep the aspirin by the spices. I grab six, three for now and three for the morning. I'm swallowing the last one when Mr. Smythe grabs my hand. I didn't even hear him come in. I must be sleepy.
"Where'd they hit you this time?" he says.
"I got a headache," I say. "A bad one."
He pries open the hand with the aspirins in it. "How many do you plan on taking?"
"These are for later."
He sighs. I get ready for a lecture. "Go back to bed" is all he says. "It'll be okay." He sounds very tired. "Sure," I say.
I get up around five. I leave a note saying I have things to do at home. I catch a ride with some guys coming off the graveyard shift.
No one is home. Eric had a party last night. I'm glad I wasn't around. They've wrecked the coffee table and the rug smells like stale beer and cigarettes. Our bedroom is even worse. Someone puked all over Eric's bed and there are two used condoms on mine. At least none of the windows were broken this time. I start to clean my side of the room, then stop. I sit on my bed.
Mr. Smythe will be getting up soon. It's Sunday, so there'll be waffles or french toast. He'll fix a plate of bacon and eat it before Mrs. Smythe comes downstairs. He thinks she doesn't know that he does this. She'll get up around ten or
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T r a p l.i n e s
eleven and won't talk to anyone until she's had about three coffees. She starts to wake up around one or two. They'll argue about something. Whose turn to take out the garbage or do the laundry. They'll read the paper.
I crawl into bed. The aspirin isn't working. I try to sleep but it really reeks in here. I have a biology test tomorrow. I forgot to bring the book back from their place. I lie there awake until our truck pulls into the driveway. Mom and Dad are fighting. They sound plastered. Mom is bitching about something. Dad is not saying anything. Doors slam.
Mom comes in first and goes straight to bed. She doesn't seem to notice the house is a mess. Dad comes in a lot slower.
"What the—Eric!" he yells. "Eric!"
I pretend to sleep. The door bangs open.
"Eric, you litde bastard," Dad says, looking around. He shakes me. "Where the fuck is Eric?"
His breath is lethal. You can tell he likes his rye straight.
"How should I know?"
He rips Eric's amplifiers off the walls. He throws them down and gives them a good kick. He tips Eric's bed over. Eric is smart. He won't come home for a while. Dad will have cooled off by then and Eric can give him some money without Dad's getting pissed off. I don't move. I wait until he's out of the room before I put on a sweater. I can hear him down in the basement chopping wood. It should be around eight by now. The RinkyDink will be open in an hour.
When I go into the kitchen, Mom is there. She sees me and makes a shushing motion with her hands. She pulls out a bottle from behind the stove and sits down at the kitchen table.
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T r a p I I n e s
"You're a good boy," she says, giggling. "You're a good boy. Help your old mother back to bed, hey."
"Sure," I say, putting an arm around her. She stands, holding onto the bottle with one hand and me with the other. "This way, my lady."
"You making fun of me?" she says, her eyes going small. "You laughing at me?" Then she laughs and we go to their room. She flops onto the bed. She takes a long drink. "You're fucking laughing at me, aren't you? "
"Mom, you're paranoid. I was making a joke."
"Yeah, you're really funny. A laugh a minute," she says, giggling again. "Real comedian."
"Yeah, that's me."
She throws the bottle at me. I duck. She rolls over and starts to cry. I cover her with the blanket and leave. The floor is sticky. Dad's still chopping wood. They Wouldn't notice if I wasn't here. Maybe people would talk for a week or two, but after a while they wouldn't notice. The only people who would miss me are Tony and Craig and Billy and maybe Eric, when he got toked up and didn't have anything for target practice.
Billy is playing Mortal Kombat at the RinkyDink. He's chain-smoking. As I walk up to him, he turns around quickly.
"Oh, it's you," he says, going back to the game.
"Hi to you too," I say.
"You seen Elaine?" he says.
"Nope."
He crushes out his cigarette in the ashtray beside him. He plays for a while, loses a life, then shakes another cigarette out one-handed. He sticks it in his mouth, loses another man,
Trap lines
then lights up. He sucks deep. "Relax," I say. "Her majesty's limo is probably stuck in traffic. She'll come." He glares at me. "Shut up."
I go play pool with Craig, who's decided that he's James Dean. He's wearing a white T-shirt, jeans, and a black leather jacket that looks like his brother's. His hair is blow-dried and a cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth.
"What a loser," he says.
"Who you calling a loser?"
"Billy. What a loser." He struts to the other side of the pool table. "He's okay."
"That babe," he says. "What's-her-face. Ellen? Irma?" "Elaine."
"Yeah, her. She's going out with him 'cause she's got a bet." "What?"
"She's got to go out with him a month, and her friend will give her some coke."
"Billy's already giving her coke." "Yeah. He's a loser."
I look over at Billy. He's lighting another cigarette.
"Can you imagine a townie wanting anything to do with him?" Craig says. "She's just doing it as a joke. She's going to dump him in a week. She's going to put all his stupid poems in the paper."
I'see it now. There's a space around Billy. No one is going near him. He doesn't notice. Same with me. I catch some guys I used to hang out with grinning at me. When they see me looking at them, they look away.
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Craig wins the game. I'm losing a lot this week.
Elaine gets to the RinkyDink after lunch. She's got some townie girlfriends with her who are tiptoeing around like they're going to get jumped. Elaine leads them right up to Billy. Everyone's watching. Billy gives her his latest poem. I wonder what he found to rhyme with "Elaine."
The girls leave. Billy holds the door open for Elaine. Her friends start to giggle. The guys standing around start to howl. They're laughing so hard they're crying. I feel sick. I think about telling Billy but I know he won't listen.
I leave the RinkyDink and go for a walk. I walk and walk and end up back in front of the RinkyDink. There's nowhere else to go. I hang out with Craig, who hasn't left the pool table.
1 spend the night on his floor. Craig's parents are Jehovah's Witnesses and preach at me before I go to bed. I sit and listen because I need a place to sleep. I'm not going home until tomorrow, when Mom and Dad are sober. Craig's mom gets us up two hours before the bus that takes the village kids to school comes. They pray before we eat. Craig looks at me and rolls his eyes. People are always making fun of Craig because his parents stand on the corner downtown every Friday and hold up the Watcbtower mags. When his parents start to bug him, he says he'll take up devil worship or astrology if they don't lay off. I think I'll ask him if he wants to hang out with me on Christmas. His parents don't believe in it.
Between classes I pass Mrs. Smythe in the hall. Craig nudges me. "Go on," he says, maldngsucldng noises. "Go get your A."
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"Fuck off," I say, pushing him.
She's talking to some girl and doesn't see me. I think about skipping English but know that she'll call home and ask where I,am.
At lunch no one talks to me. I can't find Craig or Tony or Billy. The village guys who hang out by the science wing snicker as I go past. I don't stop until I get to the gym doors, where the headbangers have taken over. I don't have any money and I didn't bring a lunch, so I bum a cigarette off this girl with really tight jeans. To get my mind off my stomach I try to get her to go out with me. She looks at me like I'm crazy. When she walks away, the fringe on her leather jacket swings.
I flunk my biology test. It's multiple choice. I stare at the paper and kick myself. I know I could have passed if I'd read the chapter. Mr. Kellerman reads out the scores from lowest to highest. My name is called out third.
"Mr. Tate," he says. "Three out of thirty."
"All riiight," Craig says, slapping my back.
"Mr. Davis," Mr. Kellerman says to Craig, "three and a half."
Craig stands up and bows. The guys in the back clap. The kids in the front laugh. Mr. Kellerman reads out the rest of the scores. Craig turns to me. "Looks like I beat the Brain," he says.
"Yeah," I say. "Pretty soon you're going to be getting the Nobel Prize."
The bell rings for English. I go to my locker and take out my jacket. If she calls home no one's going to answer anyway.
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I walk downtown. The snow is starting to slack off and it's even sunning a bit. My stomach growls. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast. I wish I'd gone to English. Mrs. Smythe would have given me something to eat. She always has something left over from lunch. I hunch down into my jacket.
Downtown, I go to the Paradise Arcade. All the heads hang out there. Maybe Eric'll give me some money. More like a belt, but it's worth a try. I don't see him anywhere, though. In fact, no one much is there. Just some burnouts by the pinball machines. I see Mitch and go over to him, but he's soaring, laughing at the ball going around the machine. I walk away, head for the highway, and hitch home. Mom will have passed out by now, and Dad'll be at work.
Sure enough, Mom is on the living room floor. I get her a blanket. The stove has gone out and it's freezing in here. I go into the kitchen and look through the fridge. There's one jar of pickles, some really pathetic-looking celery, and some milk that's so old it smells like cheese. There's no bread left over from Saturday. I find some Rice-A-Roni and cook it. Mom comes to and asks for some water. I bring her a glass and give her a little Rice-A-Roni. She makes a face but slowly eats it.
At six Dad comes home with Eric. They've made up. Eric has bought Dad a six-pack and they watch the hockey game together. I stay in my room. Eric has cleaned his bed by dumping his mattress outside and stealing mine. I haul my mattress back onto my bed frame. I pull out my English book. We have a grammar test this Friday. I know Mrs. Smythe will be unhappy if she has to fail me. I read the chap-
ter on nouns and get through most of the one on verbs before Eric comes in and kicks me off the bed.
He tries to take the mattress but I punch him in the side. Eric turns and grabs my hair. "This is my bed," he says. "Understand?"
"Fuck you," I say. "You had the party. Your fucked-up friends trashed the room. You sleep on the floor."
Dad comes in and sees Eric push me against the wall and smack my face. He yells at Eric, who turns around, his fist frozen in the air. Dad rolls his sleeves up.
"You always take his side!" Eric yells. "You never take mine!"
"Pick on someone your own size," Dad says. "Unless you want to deal with me."
Eric gives me a look that says he'll settle with me later. I pick up my English book and get out. I walk around the village, staying away from the RinkyDink. It's the first place Eric will look.
I'm at the village exit. The sky is clear and the stars are popping out. Mr. Smythe will be at his telescope trying to map the Pleiades. Mrs. Smythe will be marking papers while she watches TV.
"Need a ride?" this guy says. There's a blue pickup stopped in front of me. The driver is wearing a hunting cap.
I take my hand out of my mouth. I've been chewing my knuckle like a baby. I shake my head. "I'm waiting for someone," I say.
He shrugs and takes off. I stand there and watch his headlights disappear.
They didn't really mean it. They'd get bored of me quick
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when they found out what I'm like. I should have just said yes. j I could have stayed until they got fed up and then come home when Eric had cooled off.
Two cars pass me as I walk back to the village. I can hide j at Tony's until Eric goes out with his friends and forgets this afternoon. My feet are frozen by the time I get to the RinkyDink. Tony is there.
"So. I heard Craig beat you in biology," he says.
I laugh. "Didn't it just impress you?"
"A whole half a point. Way to go," he says. "For a while there we thought you were getting townie."
"Yeah, right," I say. "Listen, I pissed Eric off—"
"Surprise, surprise."
"—and I need a place to crash. Can I sleep over?"
"Sure," he says. Mitch wanders into the RinkyDink, and a crowd of kids slowly drifts over to him. He looks around, eyeing everybody. Then he starts giving something out. Me and Tony go over.
"Wow," Tony says, after Mitch gives him something too.
"What?"
We leave and go behind the RinkyDink, where other kids are gathered. "Fucking all right," I hear Craig say, even though I can't see him.
"What?" I say. Tony opens his hand. He's holding a little vial with white crystals in it.
"Crack," he says. "Man, is he stupid. He could have made a fortune and he's just giving it away."
We don't have a pipe, and Tony wants to do this right the first time. He decides to save it for tomorrow, after he buys
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the right equipment. I'm hungry again. I'm about to tell him that I'm going to Billy's when I see Eric.
"Shit," I say and hide behind him.
Tony looks up. "Someone's in trou-ble," he sings.
Eric's looking for me. I hunch down behind Tony, who tries to look innocent. Eric spots him and starts to come over: "Better run," Tony whispers.
I sneak behind some other people but Eric sees me and I have to run for it anyway. Tony starts to cheer and the kids behind the RinkyDink join in. Some of the guys follow us so they'll see what happens when Eric catches up with me. I don't want to find out so I pump as hard as I can.
Eric used to be fast. I'm glad he's a dopehead now because he can't really run anymore. I'm panting and my legs are cramping but the house is in sight. I run up the stairs. The door is locked.
I stand there, hand on the knob. Eric rounds the corner to our block There's no one behind him. I bang on the door but now I see that our truck is gone. I run around to the back but the basement door is locked too. Even the windows are locked.
Eric pops his head around the corner of the house. He grins when he sees me, then disappears. I grit my teeth and start running across our backyard. Head for Billy's. "You shithead," Eric yells. He has a friend with him, maybe Brent. I duck behind our neighbor's house. There's snow in my sneakers and all the way up my leg, but I'm sweating. I stop. I can't hear Eric. I hope I've lost him, but Eric is really pissed off and when he's pissed off he doesn't let go. I look down.
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My footprints are clear in the snow. I start to run again, but I hit a thick spot and have to wade through thigh-high snow. I look back. Eric is nowhere. I keep slogging. I make it to the road again and run down to the exit.
I've lost him. I'm shaking because it's cold. I can feel the sweat cooling on my skin. My breath goes back to normal. I wait for a car to come by. I've missed the night shift and the graveyard crew won't be by until midnight. It's too cold to wait that long.
A car, a red car. A little Toyota. Brent's car. I run off the road and head for a clump of trees. The Toyota pulls over and Eric gets out, yelling. I reach the trees and rest. They're waiting by the roadside. Eric is peering into the trees, trying to see me. Brent is smoking in the car. Eric crosses his arms over his chest and blows into his hands. My legs are frozen.
After a long time, a cop car cruises to a stop beside the Toyota. I wade out and wave at the two policemen. They look startled. One of them turns to Eric and Brent and asks them something. I see Eric shrug. It takes me a while to get over to where they're standing because my legs are slow.
The cop is watching me. I swear I'll never call them pigs again. I swear it. He leans over to Brent, who digs around in the glove compartment. The cop says something to his partner. I scramble down the embankment.
Eric has no marks on his face. Dad probably hit him on the back and stomach. Dad has been careful since the social worker came to our house. Eric suddenly smiles at me and holds out his hand. I move behind the police car.
"Is there a problem here?" the policeman says.
"No," Eric says. "No probulum. Li'l misunnerstanin'."
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Oh, shit. He's as high as a kite. The policeman looks hard at Eric. I look at the car. Brent is staring at me, glassy-eyed. He's high too.
Eric tries again to reach out to me. I put the police car between us. The policeman grabs Eric by the arm and his partner goes and gets Brent. The policeman says somediing about driving under the influence but none of us are listening. Eric's eyes are on me. I'm going to pay for this. Brent is swearing. He wants a lawyer. He stumbles out of the Toyota and slips on the road. Brent and Eric are put in the backseat of the police car. The policeman comes up to me and says, "Can you make it home?"
I nod.
"Good. Go," he says.
They drive away. When I get home, I walk around the house, trying to figure out a way to break in. I find a stick and jimmy the basement door open. Just in case Eric gets out tonight, I make a bed under the tool table and go to sleep.
No one is home when I wake up. I scramble an egg and get ready for school. I sit beside Tony on the bus.
"I was expecting to see you with black eyes," he says.
My legs are still raw from last night. I have something due today but I can't remember what. If Eric is in the drunk tank, they'll let him out later.
The village guys are talking to me again. I skip gym. I skip history. I hang out with Craig and Tony in the Paradise Arcade. I'm not sure if I want to be friends with them after they joined in the chase last night, but it's better to have them on my side than not. They get a two-for-one pizza special for lunch and I'm glad I stuck with them because I'm
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starved. They also got some five-finger specials from Safeway. Tony is proud because he swiped a couple of bags of chips and two Pepsis and no one even noticed.
Mitch comes over to me in the bathroom.
"That was a really cheap thing to do," he says.
"What?" I haven't done anything to him.
"What? What? Getting your brother thrown in jail. Pretty crummy."
"He got himself thrown in jail. He got caught when he was high."
"That's not what he says." Mitch frowns. "He says you set him up."
"Fuck." I try to sound calm. "When'd he tell you that?"
"This morning," he says. "He's waiting for you at school."
"I didn't set him up. How could I?"
Mitch nods. He hands me some crack and says, "Hey, I'm sorry," and leaves. I look at it. I'll give it to Tony and maybe he'll let me stay with him tonight.
Billy comes into the Paradise with Elaine and her friends. He's getting some glances but he doesn't notice. He holds the chair out for Elaine, who sits down without looking at him. I don't want to be around for this. I go over to Tony.
"I'm leaving,"T say.
Tony shushes me. "Watch," he says.
Elaine orders a beer. Frankie shakes his head and points to the sign that says WE DO NOT SERVE MINORS. Elaine frowns. She says something to Billy. He shrugs. She orders a Coke. Billy pays. When their Cokes come, Elaine dumps hers over Billy's head. Billy stares at her, more puzzled than anything else. Her friends start to laugh, and I get up and walk out.
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I lean against the wall of the Paradise. Billy comes out a few minutes later. His face is still and pale. Elaine and her friends follow him, reciting lines from the poems he wrote her. Tony and the rest spill out too, laughing. I go back inside and trade the crack for some quarters for the video games. I keep losing. Tony wants to go now and we hitch back to the village. We raid his fridge and have chocolate ice cream coconut sundaes. Angela comes in with Di and says that Eric is looking for me. I look at Tony and he looks at me.
"Boy, are you in for it," Tony says. "You'd better stay here tonight."
When everyone is asleep, Tony pulls out a weird-looking pipe and does the crack. His face goes very dreamy and far away. A few minutes later he says, "Christ, that's great. I wonder how much Mitch has?"
I turn over and go to sleep.
The next morning Billy is alone on the bus. No one wants to sit with him so there are empty seats all around him. He looks like he hasn't slept. Tony goes up to him and punches him in the arm.
"So how's Shakespeare this morning?" Tony says.
I hope Eric isn't at the school. I don't know where else I can hide.
Mrs. Smythe is waiting at the school bus stop. I sneak out the back door of the bus, with Tony and the guys pretending to fight to cover me.
We head back to the Paradise. I'm starting to smell bad. I haven't had a shower in days. I wish I had some clean clothes. I wish I had some money to buy a toothbrush. I hate
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the scummy feeling on my teeth. I wish I had enough for a taco or a hamburger.
Dad is at the Paradise, looking for me.
"Let's go to the Dairy Queen," he says.
He orders a coffee, a chocolate milk shake, and a cheeseburger. We take the coffee and milk shake to a back table, and I pocket the order slip. We sit there. Dad folds and unfolds a napkin.
"One of your teachers called," he says. <-
"Mrs. Smythe?"
"Yeah." He looks up. "Says she'd like you to stay there."
I try to read his face. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed. He must have a big hangover.
The cashier calls out our number. I go up and get the cheeseburger and we split it. Dad always eats slow to make it last longer.
"Did you tell her you wanted to?"
"No," I say. "They asked me, but I said I couldn't."
Dad nods. "Did you tell them anything?"
"Like what?"
"Don't get smart," he says, sounding beat. "I didn't say anything."
He stops chewing. "Then why'd they ask you?" "Don't know."
"You must have told them something." "Nope. They just asked." "Did Eric tell them?"
I snort. "Eric? No way. They would ... He wouldn't go anywhere near them. They're okay, Dad. They won't tell anybody."
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"So you did tell them."
"I didn't. I swear I didn't. Look, Eric got me on the face a couple of times and they just figured it out." "You're lying."
I finished my half of the cheeseburger. "I'm not lying. I didn't say anything and they won't either." "I never touched you."
"Yeah, Eric took care of that," I say. "You seen him?" "I kicked him out." "You what?"
"Party. Ruined the basement," Dad says grimly. "He's old enough. Had to leave sooner or later."
He chews his last mouthful of cheeseburger. Eric will really be out of his mind now.
We drive out to check the trapline. The first trap has been tripped with a stick. Dad curses, blaming the other trappers who have lines near ours. "I'll skunk them," he says. But the last three traps have got some more martens. We even get a little lynx. Dad is happy. We go home. The basement is totally ripped apart.
Next day at school, I spend most of the time ducking from Eric and Mrs. Smythe before I finally get sick of the whole lot and go down to the Paradise. Tony is there with Billy, who asks me if I want to go to Vancouver with him until Eric cools off.
"Now?"
"No better time," he says.
I think about it. "When you leaving?"
"Tonight."
"I don't know. I don't have any money."
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"Me neither," he says. j "Shit," I say. "How we going to get there? It's a zillion
miles from here."
"Hitch to town, hitch to Smithers, then down to Prince
George."
"Yeah, yeah, but what are we going to eat?"
He wiggles his hand. Five-finger special. I laugh.
"You change your mind," he says, "I'll be behind the RinkyDmk around seven. Get some thick boots."
We're about to hitch home when I see Mrs. Smythe peer into the Paradise. It's too late to hide because she sees me. Her face stiffens. She walks over to us and the guys start to laugh. Mrs. Smythe looks at them, then at me.
"Will?" she says. "Can I talk to you outside?"
She glances around like the guys are going to jump her. I try to see what she's nervous about. Tony is grabbing his crotch. Billy is cleaning his nails. The other guys are snickering. I suddenly see them the way she does. They all have long, greasy hair, combed straight back. We're all wearing jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers. We don't look nice.
She's got on her school uniform, as she calls it. Dark skirt, I white shirt, low black heels, glasses. She's watching me like she hasn't seen me before. I hope she never sees my house.
"Later?" I say. "I'm kind of busy."
She blushes, the guys laugh hard. I wish I could take the words back. "Are you sure?" she says.
Tony nudges my arm. "Why don't you introduce us to your girlfriend," he says. "Maybe she'd like—"
"Shut up," I say. Mrs. Smythe has no expression now.
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"I'll talk to you later, then," she says, and turns around and walks out without looking back. If I could, I'd follow her.
Billy claps me on the shoulder. "Stay away from them," he says. "It's not worth it."
It doesn't matter. She practically said she didn't want to see me again. I don't blame her. I wouldn't want to see me again either.
She'll get into her car now and go home. She'll honk when she pulls into the driveway so Mr. Smythe will come out and help her with the groceries. She always gets groceries today. The basics and sardines. Peanut butter. I lick my lips. Diamante frozen pizzas. Oodles of Noodles. Waffles. Blueberry Mueslix.
Mr. Smythe will come out of the house, wave, come down the driveway. They'll take the groceries into the house after they kiss. They'll kick the snow off their shoes and throw something in the microwave. Watch Cheers reruns on Channel 8. Mr. Smythe will tell her what happened in his day. Maybe she will say happened in hers.
We catch a ride home. Billy yabbers about Christmas in Vancouver, and how great it's going to be, the two of us, no one to boss us around, no one to bother us, going anywhere we want. I turn away from him. Watch the trees blur past. I guess anything'll be better than sitting around, listening to Tony and Craig gripe.