by Wab Kinew
“Chief Summer Holiday,” Bugz whispered to herself. Good choice. Her mom lived up to the cool name.
The last check beats of the song rang out across the arbor as all twenty-five young women waved their fans in the air. The drum finished and the dancers ended in synchrony, like gymnasts sticking their landings—an army of Anishinaabe women healing the nation.
CHAPTER 7
Later that night, after Bugz finished handing out gifts and prizes from her pow-wow special, she bumped into a group of young women in fancy shawl regalia—shiny dresses in bright colors adorned with brighter, shinier beadwork. Each had hair pulled back tightly into unique braided patterns. Bugz scanned their makeup.
“Omigod, what a crazy special, Bugz.” Stormy, the crew’s leader, barely looked up from her phone as she spoke. “I’ve never seen anyone give away a car for a prize in a special.”
“Well, they did once in New Town.” This correction came courtesy of Stormy’s best friend, Chalice, also speaking from behind a phone.
“But that’s different. That was a raffle. Bugz gave a car for a dance contest! I wish I danced jingle!”
“Thanks.” Bugz squirmed. “I guess…that’s the cool thing about the stuff I do online. I can do cool stuff in the real world too.”
Bugz tried to figure out what they wanted. They never spoke to her at school, since they were a few years older. Bugz glanced at her phone and immediately back to the young women standing around her. How are they all skinny? Do skinny girls hang out with each other exclusively? Bugz’s gaze lingered on their slender forms. The thought registered with her that they were the way Anishinaabe women should look. At least that’s what we look like in Pocahontas and the movies. Bugz studied the earth in front of her, lost in thought. You never see a chubby Cherokee princess in cartoons.
“Wow, Bugz, you’re so pretty in the ’Verse!” Stormy smiled.
Bugz looked up from her feet and saw a mirror image of her own ’Versona looking back at her from the clear seven-inch glass panel clutched in Stormy’s hand. Stormy’s eyes were softer now that she saw Bugz through the filter of her Floraverse skin. Bugz said a tiny prayer of thanks for the mediation of Stormy’s phone. This window into the augmented reality they all inhabited through their ’Versonas served as a lifeline, connecting Bugz to a state in which she felt a little more relaxed.
Bugz raised her phone in kind, a similar-sized glass pane powered by the CPU hidden in the watch on her wrist. The looking glass sprung to life, displaying the filter of Stormy’s ’Versona in front of the young woman and letting everything else behind it pass through uninterrupted to Bugz’s eye. She’s as beautiful in the real world as she is in the ’Verse, Bugz thought. As Stormy pulled out a vape pen, looked to Chalice and then back to her feet, Bugz’s phone showed her the augmented Stormy doing the same with perfect synchronization. Even when Bugz dropped her phone clumsily, wishing she could die in the process, the device accurately displayed Stormy’s ’Versona to Bugz during the split second it fell, like a tumbling portal into a hidden world.
Bugz grabbed her phone and scanned the other girls quickly. They all wore ’Versonas purchased from a famous influencer and customized superficially. Through her phone, Bugz saw an Arianna with longer eyelashes, an Arianna with poutier lips, and an Arianna with a face tattoo. Noobs. No real gamer would be caught dead in an off-the-rack skin like these. A real gamer would have designed their own skin, like Bugz did.
Again, Stormy gave an approving, if absentminded, nod to Bugz’s ’Versona. After spending years cursing her belly fat and studying her profile in the mirror, Bugz had poured a ridiculous number of resources into perfecting her ’Versona with a lean, trim waist. Stormy angled her phone down slightly to study Bugz’s digital form before lowering her phone completely, revealing Bugz as she appeared in the real world. Bugz felt vulnerable. She wished she could return to the Spirit World, the higher plane of virtual reality in the Floraverse where she would be untethered from the real-life location to which she was currently bound in augmented reality.
“You can look at me through your phone if you want,” Bugz said.
Stormy raised her phone again, a smile returning to her face, and pulled a long drag from the pen. She blew the vape smoke down toward her moccasins as she glanced knowingly at her friends and back to Bugz.
“So, how’s your brother?” Stormy asked.
Oh, that’s why she’s talking to me, Bugz thought. God, how perfect are her eyelashes? They look like the eyelashes of a camel in the desert, long enough to keep a sandstorm out.
“Waawaate? He’s alright,” Bugz managed to spit out. She looked at the young women around her and made mental notes about how she might improve her skin. “Probably getting ready for his special. I think it’s later tonight.”
“We’re definitely going to check that out. Your brother is such a good dancer.” Stormy continued scrutinizing Bugz’s appearance through her phone.
“Good looking, too,” Chalice piped up.
“Gross.” Bugz tried to stop the girls from going on any further.
One of the girls imitated the wolf-whistles heard in movies.
“Cut it out,” Stormy cut in a little too loudly. “You know you’re not supposed to whistle at night.”
“Don’t tell me you believe those stories.” Chalice rolled her eyes for effect before rolling them back to her phone. She swiped her thumb, sending dozens of pictures, videos, and text messages flying by on her transparent screen.
“Well, they say if you whistle at the northern lights, they’ll come and take you away,” Bugz responded.
“Well, your brother’s name means ‘northern lights’…so maybe he’ll come take me away.” Chalice grinned and pretended to whistle again.
“Shush!” Stormy started fanning herself. “Don’t mess around with that. Even if you don’t believe, then at least don’t whistle around the pow-wow at night. My kookom will come and yell at us!”
“Your grandma’s scary,” Bugz said.
“Junior Women’s Fancy Shawl, you’re up next.” The pow-wow emcee’s voice bellowed into the darkness of the outer ring of the pow-wow circle, where the young women stood.
“Well, I guess we got to go.” Stormy blew another cloud of vape smoke into the air above where they stood. She flipped the view on her phone, turning it into a mirror. She checked her eyebrows and contour, hit the AR button in the corner, and watched her face become filtered through the Floraverse. “Perfection!”
“Tell Waawaate we said hi!” Chalice said through a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Omigod, Chalice! Don’t be so basic!” Stormy shook her head at her friend. “Obviously she’s going to mention this conversation to him.”
The fancy shawl dancers laughed to one another as they made their way to the pow-wow arbor.
CHAPTER 8
“You’ve got some new friends?” Waawaate walked toward Bugz in his grass dance regalia, long fringes flowing like prairie grass from his shoulders, arms, and legs. Beads hanging from a headband ringed his eyes. A long porcupine-hair roach sat atop his braided hair. Bugz craned her neck to look up at her brother as he stood beside her. He’d inherited their dad’s height and their mother’s looks. Bugz wondered for a moment what she’d inherited, but quickly reminded herself she’d made out alright.
“You know those girls ain’t trying to be my friend.” Bugz laughed. “God, they are so in looove with you.” She accentuated the long vowel by batting her eyelashes and mimicking a cartoonish look of adoration.
“Get outta here,” Waawaate shot back with a smile.
“Omigod, you just love it, don’t you?”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re just using you to get to me and my money. That’s why not.” They both laughed. Bugz wished she could relax like this around other people. She raised her p
hone and studied the world around her. She called up her ’Versona and tweaked her eyelashes and hair to look more like Stormy’s.
Waawaate interrupted her. “Let’s go watch this drum group.”
Bugz kept her phone in front of her as she followed her brother to the crowd of people who’d gathered to watch a group of singers. Waawaate stood next to a woman, a stranger to them. Bugz glanced at her briefly, noting her complexion, doe-eyes, and expensive but understated clothing. Bugz turned to the drum and whispered from the corner of her mouth to her brother.
“Who’s that?”
“I think she’s the new doctor. Just moved here,” Waawaate said as he livestreamed the singers on his phone.
Their dad walked up to the crowd around the drum group just as the song finished. He nodded to Bugz and Waawaate.
“You guys want a ride home soon?”
“Sure,” Bugz replied.
“I think I’m going to hang out for a bit after my special.” Waawaate retied his head roach in preparation for his time to shine.
“Yeah, I think you better. Wouldn’t want to disappoint your fans.” Bugz grinned.
“Fans? You internet famous now too?” their father asked.
“Fans, dad.” Bugz quickly gestured with her lips in the direction of the fancy shawl dancers clearing the arena. The young women failed to conceal their repeated glances at Waawaate.
“Oh.” Her dad laughed. “Well, they do say we’re supposed to dance for the people…and they are people, so…”
Bugz shot a look of embarrassment at her father. She noticed Waawaate rubbing his thigh.
“What’s the matter?”
“My leg hurts. I hope I can get through the song.”
“Probably tired from running through their heads all day.” Bugz’s father laughed at his own joke. Bugz rolled her eyes from behind her phone’s screen.
“No, never mind. Should be fine,” Waawaate grunted.
“Junior Men’s Grass special, you’re up next. Get ready.” The emcee’s voice rang out into the night.
“That’s me.” Waawaate walked out into the arbor.
The new doctor stepped in front of Bugz and her father.
“Hi, you must be Dr. Turukun.” Bugz’s dad extended a fist bump.
“Hi. I’m Liumei. How are you?”
“Pretty well, thanks for asking. I’m Frank Holiday, and this here is my daughter, Bugz. Pleased to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too. Bugz, you dance beautifully.” Liumei’s eyes scanned Bugz’s jingle dress. “What do the designs on your costume represent?”
“Regalia, actually.” Bugz corrected her as her dad winced almost imperceptibly. “Costumes are for clowns. We wear regalia.”
“Right,” Liumei said. “I’m used to people getting it wrong about my culture too. I’m super sorry. I shouldn’t have said costume.”
“It’s fine.”
Bugz’s father jumped in. “So, how are you liking life on the Rez?”
“Well, your community’s very beautiful. Everyone’s super nice. The family I stayed with for the first few weeks took me fishing.” Liumei glanced around. “And to be quite honest, it’s not what I was expecting. It’s not like any Rez I’ve seen on the news.”
“My wife is doing an amazing job of creating work in our community. And our people have always been proud of our culture. So we’re doing good.”
A group of flies swarmed the lights above them, seeming to accent the awkward pause in the conversation.
“This your first time at a pow-wow?” Bugz’s dad asked.
“No, I went to some at university,” Liumei answered, a little too quickly.
Bugz could tell Liumei was lying. Why do adults tell lies like this so often? A smart, independent woman—someone who would be treated no differently even if she admitted she hadn’t seen a pow-wow before—still felt compelled to tell a little white lie. Bizarre.
“Cool. Do you like grass?”
“What?” Liumei paused, looking confused.
“Grass…men’s grass. My son’s going to dance right away.”
“He’s really good,” Bugz jumped in with a smile. She decided she liked Liumei because of her attempts to fit in and not in spite of them.
“Make sure you pay attention to his moves. He’ll mirror everything he does on the left side on the right side a few beats later.” Bugz’s father stared into the centre of the dance arbor as he spoke. “It represents keeping everything in balance in the universe.”
CHAPTER 9
“So, at this time, the pride of our Rez, Waawaate Holiday, is going to put on a demonstration for all of you, and then we’ll get into his special. And, ladies and gentlemen, he has requested a trick song, so let’s see who wins this showdown—the dancer or the drummers. Okay, we’ve got the high sign.”
With that announcement from the emcee, the next drum group picked up a new song, this one faster than the one Bugz had danced to, and Waawaate kicked his legs out from underneath himself, spinning to his left and causing the long fringes on his regalia to whirl around. The drummers hit a loud honor beat and Waawaate stopped on a dime, paused for the fringes to complete their swing and immediately spun in the opposite direction. The crowd roared its approval. Bugz glanced over at the fancy shawl dancers and saw they all had their phones out. They were livestreaming her brother. I wonder how many followers they have?
As the honor beats struck, Waawaate worked himself lower to the ground, almost doing the splits as he rolled his shoulders in time with the rhythm. Halfway through the downbeats he popped up, spun around, and, this time facing the opposite direction, worked himself low again.
Bugz looked to her father and noticed a twinkle in his eyes.
“Hey, Dad, you crying?”
Frank paused for a second.
“Guess I am…”
Bugz loved her dad’s honesty. She knew her father had played an alpha male role in his youth: all-star athlete, valedictorian, and, according to some rumors Bugz heard, maybe a little rough around the edges at times. But now she saw a middle-aged man playing a supporting role to his wife’s leadership ambitions, and apparently in touch with his emotions too.
“I guess it’s just nice to see someone you raised up from a baby learn this way of life. And do it so well.”
Waawaate strode in place, running-man style. Spectators sprinted from the bleachers and laid twenty- and fifty-dollar bills at his feet. In response, he kicked the money away with his moccasins and the crowd roared even louder. Even more people ran out to lay money down.
“Watching you kids dance makes me feel like our culture is going to survive another generation.” Frank paused to soak up the sight of his son killing it on the dance floor. “Those are still my moves, though.”
Bugz admired her dad’s efforts to bring the conversation back to a lighthearted note. Still, she couldn’t resist.
“Dad,” she said with a huge grin on her face, “you could never dance that good.”
Bugz felt her dad pulling her closer to him. As the drum group cut off its beat unexpectedly, Waawaate ended his dance in perfect time to the trick stop of the music. To call attention to his mastery of the song, he struck a pose, both arms pointing to the left, like a professional wrestler vamping for the crowd.
“Hiii chaaa!!!” Waawaate yelled to the sky.
The crowd roared louder than they had all evening.
CHAPTER 10
Feng fell hard on the mat of the virtual dojo, brought down by a hulking behemoth with twin Ø tattoos on his biceps. The Behemoth followed Feng to the mat after his double-leg takedown, trapping Feng’s legs in the process. Feng rolled to his side and pushed, furiously attempting to escape by sliding his hips away from his opponent. A wasted effort. The Behemoth, still gripping Feng’s legs, sl
ipped forward like a base runner sliding into home plate. A quick spin later and he straddled Feng, sinking in a choke. From here, it seemed like a formality. Feng tapped out a few seconds later to avoid the complete strangulation of his ’Versona.
They fought in the Clan:LESS training center, a mixed martial arts gym housed in an airplane hangar on the clan’s Floraverse compound. They trained alongside countless clanmates for the rematch with Bugz they planned to launch soon.
Feng and the Behemoth reset their starting positions on the mat and fist-bumped each other. This time, Feng anticipated his opponent’s charge and sprawled out over top of him. He pushed the Behemoth’s head down into the mat as the giant lunged forward. Feng spun and took the Behemoth’s back and locked in a choke of his own. The giant struggled against Feng’s grip.
“C’mon, just tap,” Feng whispered. “Tap or nap.”
The giant rolled once, twice, and three times, struggling to escape, but succeeded only in locking himself in the choke further. Finally, he tapped, and Feng quickly released his neck.
“Alright, good job, boys. Come circle up for a minute.” Alpha’s voice thundered across the training space. He sat down on the mat as the other Clan:LESS soldiers formed concentric circles around him, their ’Versonas sweaty from virtual training. “Let’s review this battle plan again. Last time, we made the mistake of launching all our forces at her at one time. We saw she can throw countless resources at us if we crowd in one spot. This time, we’ll space out our attack and make her fight on two fronts at once. She won’t manage to keep up with both.” Alpha spelled out the details of his new plan of attack, littering his speech with profanities and sexist language. That sort of talk always made Feng cringe but he never said anything about it in the hopes it would help him fit in.
After the strategy session ended, Feng sat at the edge of the mat relaxing with a couple of fellow clanmates.
“You guys ever move far from home?” Feng asked.