I hide George’s bike behind a bush. Finding this place wasn’t easy. I had to pedal down the highway for three and a half hours. The only way I knew I’d get there eventually was keeping Lake Superior at my side.
Usually, security keeps a close eye on a kid wearing a backpack, but at a trading post like this, I haven’t even gotten a second glance. I feel like a wolf strolling through acres of farmland, looking at all the beautiful, delicious sheep. The only question is, what do I want to steal? The truth is, I don’t need anything. I just want to prove to my dad that nothing he can do will change me.
I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.
I walk past the first set of stores, but none of them interest me. It’s all Native American jewelry, dream catchers, and woven blankets with traditional patterns. All that stuff looks expensive and is pretty cool, but kids back in Duluth wouldn’t buy it. I need to steal something I can sell. Rule number five.
I take the stairs up to the second floor and see a small store that sells hunting gear and camping stuff.
Jackpot! People in Duluth love to go camping. I can stuff my backpack with binoculars, hunting knives, camouflage hats, and walkie-talkies. I put on my most curious customer expression and approach the store—but just as my first foot crosses the threshold, an all-too-familiar voice calls out from behind me. “Not another step, Benjamin Waterfalls.”
I turn around, and it’s Niimi, sipping on a hot cocoa. She may not know there’s whipped cream around the fabric over the tip of her nose, and I’m not going to tell her.
“Are you following me?” I ask.
“Technically, I was here first. I didn’t think you’d take so long. But it did give me time to get us hot cocoas. Here.” She reveals another cup from behind her back and offers it to me.
“How did you know I’d come here?” I ask, and take the warm drink from her.
I don’t want to accept it, because I’m on a mission and this is just another attempt at distracting me, but it’s so cold outside and I don’t remember the last time I had a hot cocoa, so I do.
“You’re upset. And I know why you’re here,” she says.
“Oh, right. Because superheroes know everything. I forgot?” I say, and take a sip.
It glides down my throat, smiling and singing the entire way to my stomach.
“I know that you shouldn’t go in there and steal. I know the guy working there. His name is Sam Morrison. He and his family are super sweet. They grew up on the rez, and they’re pooling all their income to send their younger sister, Lavinia, off to college. If inventory is off, he’ll have to answer for it,” Niimi says.
I look at the guy at the register. He’s a teenager with spiky black hair and glasses, wearing a camouflage shirt that says YOU CAN’T SEE ME on it.
I was so excited to steal, but this girl completely ruined the vibe. Now I’d feel bad for getting this nerd busted for sleeping on his watch. This sucks. Why can’t people just leave me alone?
“Don’t you have someone else to rescue? I mean, you believe you’re a superhero, right? Go do superhero stuff and leave me alone,” I say.
She laughs. “If I wasn’t here to swoop in and save the day, some thief would have rolled in and robbed the place. Sam would be fired, Lavinia would have to delay her college plans, and the family-owned store would have lost money. I totally just did superhero stuff.”
I never really thought about what happens after I leave a store. Do employees really get held accountable? Does it come out of their paychecks? That’s so unfair. Everyone knows people steal. It’s part of life. I wonder how many people I got in trouble. Maybe even got fired?
“Look, you stopped me from stealing. You happy?”
“I am. For Sam, I am,” she says.
“Good, Dr. Seuss. Now you can leave. I believe, I believe, that now you can leave,” I say, mimicking her. “Unless … you’re being paid to babysit me. Are you?”
“I’m not here to babysit you, but I am working. Now, after you finish your hot cocoa, we can get down to business. There’s someone out there waiting for us, and I don’t like being late,” Niimi says.
“What? Who’s waiting for us?” I ask.
Maybe this is finally the start of the real boot camp? I wonder who is out there, the angry drill sergeant or the kindly Dr. Phil type of therapist who will make me get in touch with my inner feelings and admit that stealing is bad. I’m secretly hoping for the drill sergeant. I’m sick of feelings. I just wanna be forced to run a dozen laps, drop and give him twenty, then finally go home.
“Follow me,” she says, and walks off.
I sip the hot cocoa and follow her outside and see a man near a large black pickup truck waiting for her. He is a bald white man and has a large gut overflowing out of his shirt. This must be the drill sergeant. Hello, boot camp. No more silly games and talk of magic and superheroes. The sooner boot camp starts, the sooner it’ll be over, which means the sooner I can put all this behind me.
We approach him, and up close, I can see the heavy bags under his eyes. His camouflage pants and scuffed-up black boots fit the setting well, but he’s wearing a neon orange shirt, which completely contradicts his pants. His top half says look at me. His bottom half says you can’t see me. Seriously? You want to be seen or not?
“This is him?” the guy asks, with a tinge of disappointment in his voice.
“In the flesh,” Niimi says to him, then whispers to me, “Just go along with everything I say.
“Benny, this is Hank. Hank, this is Benny.”
“He doesn’t look like an expert to me,” Hank says. “I mean, he looks more like one of those scrawny street thugs who stole my radio out of my truck last week.”
I know I should be offended, but I’m not. One, because he’s right. I have stolen many radios out of trucks back in Duluth, and two, because drill sergeants are supposed to be mean. I just thought it would be from a tough-looking Native man, one with scars across his chest and a deep thunderous voice, not an overweight white guy who wears contradicting clothes.
Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.
“Could have been him. Buckshot Benny here hunts many things. I’m sure radios are just one of his many prey, ain’t that right?” she says, and looks at me.
Umm … “That’s right. I can’t deny hunting down a few radios from time to time,” I say.
“Well, if you think this will work, let’s go. Alex is waiting,” Hank says, and smacks his truck.
As he walks around to the driver’s side, I see a young kid, maybe seven years old, sitting in the back seat. “I’m confused,” I whisper to Niimi.
“This next blooming of mine is quite a unique one. I’m kind of working as a double bloomer. I need you to keep the boy distracted when we reach the woods. Just talk to him about stuff. Except for stealing. I need enough time alone with the dad for this to work,” she says.
“Wait. I thought we were going to finally begin my boot camp. This is just another gig of yours?”
“You help me with this, and I’ll boot you into boot camp myself. Okay?”
“Fine. I’ll distract the kid. What about George’s bike?”
“Toss it in the back,” Niimi says.
I run over to the bush and grab George’s bike. Hank takes it from me and puts it in the bed of his truck. That was nice of him. He’s definitely not a drill sergeant.
“First, we’re going to make a quick stop back at Lulu’s,” Niimi says. “When we get there, run in and tell her you need to borrow a stuffed animal. Grab the wolf and put it in your backpack. Don’t let Hank see it. When you’re alone with Alex, give it to him. He’ll do the rest.”
I can’t believe Hank trusts the word of a kid in a mask. I wonder how much he’s paying her.
Niimi hops into the truck. I follow her in and take the back seat, next to Alex. He looks anxious. He wears the same outfit as his father, but that’s their only similarity. Hank is huge, and Alex, well, he’s so thin and fragile-looking that I bet the wind could knock him over.
“Hi,” I say to him.
“So, you’re the thief, huh?” he whispers to me.
Even the kids catch the wind super quickly around here. I nod.
We drive out of the parking lot and enter the highway, heading north. On the floorboard, by my feet, I see a compass sticking out of a small black leather travel bag. The compass is gold plated, with a large moose carved into it. And just like that, my blood begins to heat up and race through my body. I want it. And if I want it, it will be mine. No one ever gave me a compass, so it’s my job to give it to myself. They won’t even know I attacked. I’m that good. I make sure no one is looking and slip my hand down toward it. With my eyes still on Alex, I pluck it out of the bag and stuff it between my legs, then make it look like I’m tying my shoe.
When the truck stops, I make a smooth movement and cup the compass into my hand and grab my backpack. As I open the door, I drop it into my backpack and step out. I could probably sell this for at least twenty bucks back home. Everyone needs direction.
At Lulu’s I get the stuffed wolf and shove it into my backpack. She doesn’t ask any questions, barely looks up from her guitar. Some rock star.
We keep driving until we can’t see the sky through the trees. The road ends at a campground. What the heck are we doing here?
We exit the truck. Hank slaps his arm around his son. “Alex. This guy here is going to tell you what I’ve been trying to get through to you this whole time. Okay?”
Alex shrugs. “If you say so, Dad.”
“You’ll see. It’s a man thing. Over time, you won’t even think about it. It will just be as natural as breathing air. Ain’t that right?” he says, and looks at me.
He thinks I’m going to side with him, but little does he know that I don’t like dads. But I also can’t blow Niimi’s cover for whatever cockamamie plan she concocted.
“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that, pops,” I say.
The father looks at me like I’m a puzzle he’ll never finish. Niimi laughs out loud. “Buckshot Benny is right. Hunting is nothing like breathing air. And if you want your son to ever become a master hunter like you, you can’t go filling his head with such wacky comparisons.”
“I just meant—”
“I’m sure you meant well, but let the expert handle this.” Niimi flicks her hand at me, which can only mean that it’s my cue to take Alex deeper into the woods and allow her to work her so-called magic.
Hunting. So that’s what this is about. I’m supposed to pretend to be a master hunter. This guy wants his kid to kill things. The only hunting I know is merchandise hunting. I steal stuff, not lives. This ought to be interesting. I can’t wait to see how Niimi pulls this off.
“See you manipu-later,” I shout to Niimi, and hope she catches my dig at her. “Let’s go, Alex,” I say, and walk off. Alex follows, kicking up dirt with each step.
“Don’t you need the rifle?” Hank shouts to us as we stroll down a hunting trail.
“Ninety percent of hunting is mental. Let them reach the first ninety before we go handing the guns out,” Niimi says.
I take Alex far away enough where we can no longer hear or see Niimi and Hank. I’m not sure what she wants me to do or what she wants me to say, so I turn to Alex.
“So, what’s the deal between you and your dad?” I ask.
“He wishes I was more like him,” Alex says.
“Well, one way to do that is to eat nonstop,” I say. “He’s pretty fat.”
Alex laughs. “He says I’ll never be a man unless I start acting like one.”
“Sometimes dads suck. Sorry, but it’s true.”
“Does your dad want you to kill animals too?” Alex asks.
“Mine sucks in other ways. Maybe you can just tell yours that you don’t want to kill animals.”
“I’ve tried. He never listens to me,” Alex says. “That’s why Niimi is here. That’s why you’re here.”
“I don’t even know why I’m here,” I say. “I’m supposed to be in some boot camp to stop stealing, instead I’m walking around the forest with a scrawny little kid—no offense,” I say.
“It’s okay. But I do know why you’re here. You’re the decoy. Right now, Niimi is not making me more like my dad, but making my dad more like me,” he says.
“How do you know that?” I ask.
“My dad asked for her help, but secretly, I paid her eight dollars to help me instead. Now give me the wolf,” he says.
Niimi took money from this kid. And she calls me a thief?
I pull the wolf out of my backpack. He removes his orange shirt, and under it is a gray shirt with a white patch near the belly. It’s long-sleeved and bunched up at his elbows. He rolls the sleeves down to his wrist and flips up the hood. Two fabric-stuffed wolf ears pop up on the hood. I bet Niimi got him that while she was getting the turkey and pig costumes. He then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of coal. “Coal?” I ask.
“It’s my nose,” he says, and rubs it against his nose, making it as black as a wolf’s nose.
“I heard it’s pretty dangerous to dress up as a wolf and play in the woods, especially with people like your dad around,” I say.
“I trust Niimi,” he says, and takes the wolf from my hands.
There’s that word again: trust. What an annoyingly common word that has been lately.
“Go back to my dad and Niimi. Tell them I found a wolf,” Alex interrupts my thoughts.
“Nah, I don’t think leaving you alone dressed up like this is a good idea. I don’t care if you trust Niimi or not, and neither do bullets,” I say.
“Niimi planned this out already. Just go,” Alex says.
“Niimi is just a kid a few years older than you. And look at me. Would you put your life in my hands? No. Plus, Niimi wears a mask and believes in superheroes. She probably believes in Santa too,” I say.
His eyes open wide. His eyebrows rise. “Are you saying Santa isn’t real?” he asks.
Crap. Forgot the kid is so young. Kids are supposed to believe in that stuff.
“No. Santa is real. Obviously. I just meant maybe we shouldn’t put all this faith in a girl who only shows half of her face. That’s all,” I say.
“The Flash only shows half of his face, and so does Captain America. I trust them. Now, go,” he says, and kneels down and gets on all fours, placing the wolf to face him.
I walk back to where the truck is parked, leaving Alex with his stuffed wolf. I feel bad for him. I know what it feels like to want your dad to be your hero, even when he proves otherwise.
When I reach Niimi and Hank, they both look at me like I’m missing an arm.
“Where’s Alex?” Hank asks.
“He found something to shoot,” I say.
Hank’s eyes light up. “Really?” he says, and grabs his rifle, which is leaning against the truck.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Niimi asks. I see her mischievous grin. Her plan is working.
Hank, Niimi, and I walk quietly back to where Alex is. We step carefully over the ground, trying not to snap twigs and crush leaves too loudly.
I have no idea what’s going to happen, but I feel uneasy about how excited this man is. “Be ready,” Niimi whispers into Hank’s ear.
He nods and softens his footsteps. “Alex?” he whispers two or three times as we tiptoe farther. “Where is he?”
“I see the ma’iingan,” Niimi says, and points left. “That means wolf.”
Hank whips the barrel toward the left. In his sights, he sees his son, dressed as a wolf, on all fours, innocently playing with the stuffed wolf. His eyes widen.
“What the…,” Hank says under his breath.
“Tell me what you see,” Niimi whispers into his ear.
“I see my boy.”
“What is he doing?” Niimi asks.
“Playing,” he says as he slowly lowers his rifle.
“What else do you see?” she asks.
“I see … a wolf. A baby wolf.”
Wait. What? He should see a stuffed animal, shouldn’t he? I do.
“With one bullet, you can take away both childhoods.”
“What?” Hank says, and looks at Niimi with confusion tugging at his forehead.
“Your father taught you to hunt, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Hank says.
“When you were your son’s age, did you want to kill animals?” Niimi asks.
Hank pauses. “What’s going on?”
“Your innocence was shot dead in a forest just like this, wasn’t it?” she says.
“I don’t … remember. I don’t know.”
“But you do remember, Hank. You do. When you were Alex’s age, did you want to kill animals?”
He looks down, near his feet, remembering his childhood … “No. I was … like my son. I didn’t want to do it.”
“Please don’t make me shoot it, Daddy. Please,” Niimi says, causing more of Hank’s memories to flood back.
Hank opens his mouth. But words don’t come out. Just a deep breath he’s been holding ever since he was a kid. “Alex says the same thing to me. My God. I’ve turned into my dad.”
“Maybe your dad was wrong, and you were right. Maybe your son is right. Maybe we’re not here to teach him; perhaps your son is here to teach you,” Niimi says.
Hank looks at Alex, who plays with the stuffed wolf, but Niimi and Hank aren’t seeing what I am seeing. I see Alex bouncing and hopping around the toy. Nothing out of the ordinary. Kids do that, right? But Hank sees something different. I can tell by the tears ganging up on his eyes, ready to unload on him.
“You’re seeing what I’m seeing, right?” I ask them both.
“It’s a pup. With my boy,” Hank says, and begins to cry—probably recalling all the wolves he shot and killed for fun.
He sees a wolf. Just like how Lulu saw real animals in her house. This is impossible. Am I missing something? All I see is a kid playing with a toy. But Niimi sees it too. I just know it. The way she’s smiling. Does Alex see it? Does he think he’s actually playing with a real baby wolf? Can someone please tell me what the flip is going on?
Hank drops to his knees, sets his gun down, and stares at his little boy.
“He doesn’t need a hunter. He needs a father,” Niimi says.
“Alex!” Hank shouts.
At the sound of his voice, the wolf turns its head, stiffens its ears, looks at us, and falls over. Okay … that was a little strange, but again, the wind could have blown it over.
“Dad!” Alex shouts back to his dad, rising to his feet and running toward his father.
They meet in the middle and embrace each other. Both squeezing tightly, and from the looks of it, it’s a hug they both have been wanting and needing from one another for a very long time. Right then, I realize I have not had a hug like this since before my dad left. I was so young then, as young as Alex. But I still remember it. How it smelled. How warm it was. How safe and protected I felt.
Hank releases his son and looks at Niimi. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but thank you, Niimi.”
“You wanted your son to be strong,” she says. “That’s what you got.”
What are they talking about? Why is everyone acting like something huge just happened? I look over at the stuffed wolf, but it’s gone. There’s no trace of it.
“Where’d the wolf go?” I ask.
“Didn’t you see it run off?” Alex asks me.
“No. Of course not,” I say, frustrated that everyone is in on this except me.
Niimi walks up to Alex. He hugs her. “Raise this big guy well,” she says.
“I will,” he replies as he stares at his father with hopeful eyes.
“Let’s go home.” Hank takes his son’s hand, and they walk back to the truck.
I turn to Niimi. “What just happened?” I ask.
“A boy just became a man, and a man just became a dad.”
“And the wolf? You’re telling me they saw a real wolf?”
“They saw what they needed to see to bring them together. You saw what you wanted to see,” Niimi says. “Plus, killing wolves is illegal in Minnesota. I knew he wouldn’t listen to the law, so I found a better way to reach him.”
“Through his son? You tricked him.”
“Telling a father to pay closer attention to his son is not a trick. It’s an act of kindness.”
“Kindness? To who?”
“Well, for one, the wolf. And his son, and to him. Everybody wins when he puts down the gun.”
“And just like that, he’s no longer a hunter? Come on,” I say.
“No, Hank has a long road ahead of him. He’s been a hunter his whole life. He’s only been a nonhunter for about a minute. But the superhero in him is awake. Now they fight,” she says. “It’s up to him who wins.”
I am getting pretty tired of this silly superhero talk. It doesn’t take superpowers to tell someone killing animals is wrong. Why is everyone falling for this girl’s tricks?
“You guys coming?” Hank shouts back to us.
“No. We still got some work to do,” Niimi says back.
“We do?” I ask. “I need to get George’s bike.”
“Don’t worry about the bike. Hank knows where to put it.”
“Put it? Why are we not going back with them?” I ask.
“You thought you were the decoy to get me alone with Hank, but maybe they were the decoy the whole time. Maybe I just wanted to get you alone in the woods.”
I look around. I have no idea where we are, or even which direction is home. All I do know is that Niimi somehow planned this. She kept me from stealing and got me into the middle of the forest. And our ride just left. But why does she want me out here?
“No more games. How do we get home?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer me with words. Instead, her feet answer me. She starts walking.