“A blood vessel in his brain broke.”
“Is it bad?”
Luke shakes his head. “They don’t know. It’s going to be a while before… My mom’s in there with him now.”
Luke pulls out another Kleenex and again blows his nose.
We sit for a minute and I glance around the waiting room. It’s small, filled with chairs and couches with vinyl-covered foam cushions. A coffee machine sits on a corner table next to a stack of magazines. The alcohol hospital smell stings my nostrils.
I debate whether to ask Luke any more questions, but he speaks up first.
“The last few years have been real hard on my dad,” he starts to explain.
“Has he been sick?”
Luke shakes his head and thinks for a moment. “Have you ever heard of the Ponderosa Creek Gold Mine?”
I search my memory. Grandpa did mention something about a gold mine, but that name doesn’t sound familiar. “Not really,” I tell Luke.
“That’s because there isn’t one. Four years ago, a big mining company came in and wanted to build a cyanide-leach pit mine in Ponderosa Canyon.”
“Cyanide-leach pit mine? What’s that?” I ask. In my history classes in California I’d read about the gold rush and gold panning and all that, but I never heard about pit mines.
“It’s a kind of mining where they dig out the ore, crush it, and extract the gold using cyanide.”
“Geez… That doesn’t sound…good.”
Luke shakes his head. “The cyanide gets into the water, kills the fish and wildlife, and poisons wells. It causes all kinds of birth defects in humans, too. The mine company said they’d protect the environment and everything, but no other gold mining company has ever kept its word about that. They go into a place, take the gold, and leave behind a disaster. It happens over and over again.”
“That sucks. So why do people let them do it?” I ask.
“The economy’s so bad in Montana, people are willing to believe almost anything. If a mine company comes in and says they’ll give everyone high-paying jobs and protect the environment, nobody wants to look too hard at whether they’re lying or not.”
Luke stops talking and I turn this over in my head.“So what’s this got to do with your dad?” I finally ask.
“When the mine company came in,” Luke continues, “they held a town meeting. The man from the mine company made a big speech about their plans and everyone clapped. But then my dad stood up and started asking questions. He’d been doing research on this company and found out they’d poisoned rivers and streams all over North America. He caught them in their lies. After the meeting, he wrote letters to the newspapers and contacted the Montana Rivers Coalition and other environmental groups about the project.”
“Well, weren’t people glad to find out the truth?” I ask.
Luke shakes his head again. “No. When the mine got canceled, everyone blamed my dad. He had his own veterinary practice before, but people quit bringing their animals and it just dribbled away to nothing. My mom had a good job at the credit union, and they made up an excuse to fire her.”
“That’s terrible.”
“My dad got death threats, too. Someone blew up our mailbox. Then…”
I see Luke’s eyes well up again and I tell him, “You don’t have to say any more.”
“Aw…I wanted to tell you anyway.” He stares blankly down the corridor for a moment, then goes on with his story.
“One morning I went outside to get the paper and I found both of our dogs dead on the front lawn. Someone had picked them up, shot them, and dumped them.”
My heart falls through my stomach.
“You’re kidding…” I mutter, and think to myself, What kind of person could do something like that? I don’t have to think long to come up with the answer—an older version of Brad Mullen.
“Anyway,” Luke says, his nose still dripping, “my dad never really got over it. He thought he was doing something good for the town and the community. But instead of thanking him, they turned on him. My mom finally found work over at the Hi-Lo grocery store, but it’s been hard to make ends meet and my dad’s been depressed a lot, always blaming himself for what happened. I guess it finally got to be too much.”
I nod. A lot of missing pieces suddenly fit into place—why Luke is a loner at school and gets picked on by Brad. Why Luke never invites me over to his house. Why he knows so much about animals. Why he doesn’t have any pets and why he’s so crazy about Streak. I put my hand on his shoulder and he looks at me and manages a smile. Then it vanishes.
“Aw…Guy. What about the Frisbee contest?”
I shrug. “Forget it. I didn’t care about it anyway.” It’s a lie, but I’m glad I came to the hospital. Monday…well, maybe I’ll feel different.
Chapter Fourteen
That night I wake up every hour, my mind racing. I finally give up trying to sleep at about 6:30 Sunday morning and get up to take Streak for a walk.
After yesterday, I understand a lot more about what’s going on in this town. Now, the Frisbee contest and my bet with Brad don’t seem so important. Now, I’m ready for a fight. As I walk, I swing my fists, landing blows into Brad’s imaginary moronic face, hopping from side to side as I dodge his feeble counterpunches. Streak looks at me curiously and jumps up, thinking it’s a new kind of game, but I ignore him. I’m serious with a capital S.
When we get back to Grandpa’s house, I’m pretty sure no one else is up, but I open the door quietly just in case. I swing my fist into one last uppercut as I walk into the kitchen. Too late, I spot Grandpa sitting at the That ’70s Show table, reading the morning paper.
I halt, flat-footed.
“Look who’s up,” Grandpa says in his raspy morning voice.
“Uh, I couldn’t sleep,” I explain, wondering if he noticed me swinging my fist.
“What?” he says, turning up his hearing aid.
“I didn’t sleep well,” I say a little louder.
I pour Streak his cup of dry dog food. My stomach is rumbling and I’d like a bowl of cereal, but I don’t feel like getting into a long conversation with Grandpa so I start toward my room. My move doesn’t work.
“Hold on, son!” Grandpa says. “Don’t be in such a rush. Sit down and tell me about your plans for the day.”
I turn halfway around. “Not much to tell.”
“You going to go visit Luke’s dad at the hospital?”
“I’m not sure he can have visitors yet,” I say, still hoping I can slip away without a conversation.
“Yeah, that wouldn’t surprise me after a stroke. Any news on how he’s doing?”
I shake my head and again start for my room. Grandpa again stops me.
“Well,” he croaks, “tell me what you are going to do, then. Just so’s I have something to think about.”
While Streak crunches away on his food, I reluctantly pull up a chair across from Grandpa.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe do some homework. Listen to some music.”
“Where’d you go on your walk?” Grandpa asks.
I shrug. “Just around.”
“For just walking around, you sure picked up a lot of baggage. I haven’t seen a boy so tied-down-looking since I was in the Service.”
I don’t say anything.
“What’s eatin’ you, son?” Grandpa asks. “Sometimes it helps to spill it—especially to a senile old fart who won’t remember it long enough to blab to anyone.”
I smile despite myself. “It’s nothing. This town just sucks. That’s all.”
Grandpa grins and nods. “I suppose you’re right. It probably does. Then again, every place sucks sometimes. If you’d stuck around California long enough, you’d a found that out.”
“I didn’t get much of a chance,” I say, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“No. No, you didn’t. We all get lassoed into things we don’t count on.”
I look Grandpa in the eye. “Grand
pa, did you know what happened to Luke’s family with that gold mine?”
Grandpa folds up the newspaper and leans back in his chair. “I suppose I had a good idea.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Grandpa pauses. “Well, I figured Luke’s got a right to his own business.”
“How could people here have done that to him and his family?”
“It wasn’t everyone, son. Some people were behind Luke’s dad. They just didn’t speak up as loudly as the others. Those others, they got pretty mean-spirited—especially when they thought they were going to get rich and didn’t.”
“Whose side were you on?”
Grandpa pauses a moment. “I admired what Luke’s dad was doing, but I kept quiet like a lot of other folks. ’Course now, I wish I’d done more, but 20/20 hindsight is about as useful as a legless horse. It won’t get you anywhere.”
“It’s not right.”
“No, it’s not. But it’s not the last time you’ll come across something ugly in your life. All you can do is try to make the right decisions yourself and hope that people will come around. That’s what Luke’s dad did.”
“And he paid for it.”
Grandpa slowly nods. “Yep. I suppose he did.”
I get up and again start out of the kitchen.
“Guy?” my grandfather says.
I turn and look at him.
“Son, I’m not exactly sure what you got planned. But if those imaginary punches are any indication, don’t wait till he comes to you. Take it to him. And make sure it’s a surprise.”
I just stand and stare at Grandpa. Though I don’t want to admit it, I can see in his eyes that he’s two steps ahead of me.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
As I move off, Grandpa holds up the newspaper and says, “By the way, did you see that Brad and his dog finished first in the competition yesterday? Looks like he’ll be going to Regionals in Missoula next weekend.”
The next morning I leave for school a few minutes early. Instead of going to the front of the school as usual, I head for a small park across the street and half a block away. A single cottonwood grows in the middle of the park. The kids call it the Smoking Tree because that’s where all the smokers hang out. It’s also where Brad and the Parasites spend their time when they’re not in detention, and sure enough, I spot them now, standing near a big trash can that looks like someone’s been whaling on it with a sledgehammer. My heart starts beating faster, but as I walk toward Brad and his crew, I remind myself of all the crap I’ve had to take from them.
When I’m twenty yards away, Clyde Crookshank notices me, takes a puff on a cigarette, and says something to Brad. Brad turns and my hands clench tight. I’ve decided I’m not going to talk or trade insults or anything. I’m just going to take Grandpa’s advice and let him have it.
“Well,” Brad sneers, “if it isn’t the California cop-out.”
I walk closer, breathing heavily. My ears ring from the blood pounding through them. I’m almost within striking distance and I can see Brad isn’t expecting a thing. One more step and—
“Guy, wait!”
I stop in my tracks. Brad and the Parasites look beyond my shoulder and I turn to see Luke galloping toward me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Yeah, what are you both doing here?” Brad spits.
“This place is off-limits to losers.” He’s holding a packet of Red Man chewing tobacco, and he pulls out a fresh wad and shoves it into his cheek. “You think you can talk your way out of chickening out Saturday?”
Harold Dicks makes a clucking sound.
“It’s…it’s my fault Guy wasn’t there,” Luke says, panting after his sprint across the park. “My dad got sick and Guy came to the hospital.”
“That figures,” says Harold. “Your dad’s a wimp, just like you.”
I step toward him. “You better watch it, Dicks.”
Brad grabs me by the front of my shirt and jerks me back. “You’d better watch it, Calf Crap. Or have you forgotten your place around here?”
My hands clench again, but Luke cuts in. “Aw...wait, you guys. I’ve got good news.”
Brad and I glare at each other and he lets go of my shirt.
“Mr. Harrington—the man in charge of the city competition—used to bring his dogs to my dad’s clinic,” Luke continues. “Yesterday I called him up to explain what happened on Saturday—you know, about you and Streak missing the contest and all. I told him you wouldn’t have missed it if it hadn’t been for me.”
“So?” Brad says. “A bet’s a bet and you lost. It’s payback time.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Luke goes on, barely pausing for a breath. “Mr. Harrington talked to the officials from Gulp Pet Foods, and they said Streak can still compete in the regional Frisbee championship this weekend in Missoula. This year, they added a qualifying round the day of the regional competition. It’s mostly for people in rural areas who can’t get to other matches, but they said Streak can do it, too. All Streak has to do is get 10 points in the qualifying round and they’ll let him enter the main event.
“So,” Luke finishes, looking completely winded, “you guys can still do your bet.”
“Who says I want to do that?” Brad says. “As far as I’m concerned, California and his lame-ass dog lost.”
The Parasites snicker.
“What’s the matter?” I ask Brad. “Are you afraid Streak and I are going to win next weekend?”
Brad puffs up his chest and jabs his finger into my collarbone. “I’m not afraid of anything—especially not you, Calf Crap!” As he talks, flecks of tobacco juice hit my face. I’m on the verge of smashing my fist into his ugly mug, but I hold back. I can see I’m getting to him.
“Okay, then. Will you do it if we sweeten the bet?” I ask.
Brad stops chewing and his eyes narrow. “How?”
I wish I have more time to come up with something, but I blurt out, “If I lose, I’ll buy your chewing tobacco for a month. If you lose, you’ve got to quit bullying everyone in the school. And you’ve got to shave Shep’s fur…and your own head.”
Tapeworm and Maggot seem to get a big kick out of this idea and laugh, but Brad shoots them a laser stare and they clam up.
“That’s a great idea,” Luke whispers to me.
Brad takes a couple more chews on his Red Man and spits. I can hear those gears grinding in his head. Finally he says, “You’re on.”
Luke and I both breathe sighs of relief and start to turn away.
“But…” Brad growls.
I turn back toward him and see a sly smirk spread across his face. “But,” he says, “I’ve already got enough tobacco. If I agree to quit giving you wimps a hard time and shave my head, I get something better on my end.”
“What?” I ask, knowing I’m not going to like it.
Brad takes a couple of chews. Then he says slowly, “If I win, I get your damn dog.”
“Streak?” Luke says.
I don’t say anything. This is the last thing I expect Brad to come up with.
“What’s the matter?” Clyde Crookshank jeers. “You scared?” Harold Dicks starts making clucking sounds again.
“I’m not scared,” I say and, at least for the moment, I mean it. But he’s got to be crazy if he thinks I’m going to bet my dog.
“No way,” I tell him.
“I figured you’d wimp out.” Then Brad says something that hits me like a sucker punch. “I hear that your dad thought you were such a coward, he couldn’t even stand to be around you.”
At the mention of my dad my head suddenly fills with the sounds of grinding ice. For a moment I can’t even talk. Then I croak, “Leave my family out of it.”
But Brad smells blood. “You know it’s true, Calf Crap. Your dad was so sick of you, he took off and left you and your mom alone.”
“Watch it,” I warn him. I try desperately to retreat behind my internal castle walls, but B
rad has me trapped.
“Careful now,” he hisses. “You don’t have a girl to stand up for you this time.”
My vision is swirling with red and purple and all I can think of is getting Brad to stop saying the things he’s saying.
“Shut up!” I shout at him.
“Ooh, look who’s upset!” Harold snickers.
“Just shut up!” I yell again, louder. Everyone around the Smoking Tree is staring at us.
Brad steps closer to me and I can feel his hot breath on my face. “I’ll shut up if you make the bet.”
I want to respond, but I can’t. I have no words. I don’t have anything.
“Come on,” Brad taunts. “Make the bet. Or if you’d like, I can tell everyone all about what a—”
“Fine!” The word leaps out of my mouth.
Luke gasps. “Guy!”
Brad spits. Then he steps back and grins. “Good. I always wanted a Border collie. Now I’m going to get one.”
Chapter Fifteen
As Luke and I walk toward the school, my vision is still swirling and my body trembles.
Luke gapes at me, also in shock. “Aw…Guy, are you sure about this?”
I shake my head, unable to talk. And slowly the realization of what I’ve done sinks in.
“Guy,” Luke says. “You just bet Streak.”
I swallow, trying to get some saliva back into my mouth. “I know.”
“You wouldn’t let Brad have him. Would you?”
As we climb the front stairs of the school, I struggle to get control of myself. “I…I don’t…know. Don’t you think we’ll win?” I ask Luke.
“Sure you’ll win,” says Luke. “At least I’m pretty sure you will.”
It’s not the gushing enthusiasm I’m looking for.
Luke’s face almost drags across the floor. “This is my fault,” he says.
“No…” I say, but I feel so bad myself, I can’t offer him anything more.
We shuffle into English class and I take my seat. Catherine turns and says hello. She looks like she wants to ask me a question, but I avoid her eyes. I want to crawl under a rock. Or better yet, under a manure pile. That’s where I belong. How could I have bet my dog with a guy whose closest relative is a Neanderthal?
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