Lone Wolves by John Smelcer Read Free Book Online Page B

seen you do that stuff a hundred times,” replied Denny.
    â€œThe way I see it, there’s three ways to deal with peer pressure,” he said, with both hands in his pockets. “You can join in and screw up your life or maybe someone else’s life. Mary’s doing enough of that for anyone.”
    Denny nodded slowly, impressed that Silas saw the same thing she did.
    â€œYou can walk away,” Silas continued, “which says to the others you think you’re better than they are. Maybe this works, but you won’t have too many friends. No one likes to be reminded they act like idiots.”
    Denny recognized that this was her approach. She didn’t mean for people to think that she thought she was better than they were.
    â€œAnd then there’s my way. I’m what you might call a faker . I pretend to take a swig or a puff. Like, at a party, I pour out my glass of booze, little by little, when no one is looking. No one ever notices; they just figure I must have drunk it all. I know . . . it sounds lame. But that way, I fit in without messing up my life. The way I figure, I’m not hurting no one . . . just wasting a lot of booze, that’s all.”
    Denny grinned. She did a similar thing with brussel sprouts when she was a little girl, hiding them in her napkin when her mother wasn’t looking so that her mother would think she ate them all and praise her.
    â€œI hadn’t thought of that before,” she said.
    â€œWell, now you know,” replied Silas, with a smile that would disarm a snarling wolf. “Besides, I’ve never actually said a bad thing about you. I just nodded whenever the others did, but really I was just moving to the music in my head.”
    Denny laughed, a little uncertainly.
    Just then the fourth-period bell rang.

    When Denny walked through the cabin door after school, her grandfather was working on the sled in the living room. The sled was upside down, with the bottom of the runners facing up.
    â€œWhat you working on grandpa?” she asked, removing her school pack and parka.
    â€œSanding the runners. Gotta keep them smooth. Sleds go faster without nicks and gouges. You need every chance for the race.”
    Deneena knew that rocks hurt the runners. Rocks were not normally a problem on the snow-covered trail itself, but sometimes a musher had to drive on or across a road to get to the trail.
    â€œNowadays, racers put Teflon strips on the bottom and they replace them whenever they get bad. But I like the old way—wood on snow,” he said while leaning close and looking down the long runner, checking for rough spots.
    He sanded a spot and then ran his fingers along the place.
    â€œGood as new,” he said, smiling. “Come feel for yourself.”
    Denny ran her hand along the entire length.
    â€œNice job, Grandpa.”
    â€œI got to put a coat of lacquer on the wood to seal it. Wanna help?”
    While the two worked, one on each side of the upturned sled, Sampson taught his granddaughter the words for all the parts.
    â€œThe sled we call xał .”
    Denny repeated the word, pronouncing it the way the old man did: hoth.
    â€œWe call the runners xał tl’aaxi,” said Sampson, while thinly applying the lacquer with a brush.
    Denny repeated the name.
    â€œThe basket we call xał yii.”
    By “basket” the old man meant the part of the sled in which cargo is carried—any cargo: people, supplies, fuel, firewood, moose or caribou meat, sometimes even a sick or exhausted dog. Anything that will fit inside the frame.
    Sampson grabbed one of the short braces that gave the sled strength. “These stanchions we call xał dzaade’ .”
    Denny committed it to memory, the way she cataloged every word her grandfather ever taught her.
    â€œWhat is the word for the handle?” she asked, pointing to it.
    â€œWe call that xał daten’. There is a word for every single part