He didn’t usually sleep in, but it was eleven when Nate got up Wednesday morning. He woke to the house phone ringing. He checked his cell and saw there was a missed message. Paul.

“I’m up,” he called down to his mother when he heard her answering the phone. She appeared at the bottom of the stairs with the cordless in her hand.

“Paul,” she said, her hand over the receiver. She was frowning.

“What’s up?”

“He doesn’t sound so hot.”

Nate took the phone, gulping down his foreboding. He went back to his room, closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” he said.

“I called you at, like, nine.”

“Yeah, well I was dead to the world. Bad night.”

“Tell me about it.”

“This doesn’t sound good.”

There was a pause at the end of the line as big as the northern tundra. “I can’t go,” said Paul.

Nate couldn’t think of what to say.

“I’m sorry, man. Really.”

More silence.

“Talk to me, Nate.”

“What the —”

“I’m grounded,” said Paul. Nate looked out at the snow, squinting at the brightness, trying to tamp down his anger. “And don’t remind me you said not to go to the fricking party.”

“You went to the fricking party?”

“I said don’t remind me.”

“Paul —”

“I know, I know.”

Nate lowered his voice. “Paul, I can’t go without —”

“I said I know Nate. You can’t go to camp unless I go, too. Got it, for Christ’s sake! Don’t rub it in.”

“Jeezus!”

There was a long pause. “Sorry,” Paul mumbled.

Nate took a deep breath. He checked to see that he’d shut the door. The plan was dissolving before his eyes, swirling into nothing just like the snow squalls outside his window.

“We’ve been talking about this trip for months — all year!”

“I said I’m sorry.”

Nate sighed. “I heard you.”

“My folks are, like, through the roof.”

“What happened?”

“Beer pong is what happened.”

Nate was thinking hard. “Could I talk to them?” he asked.

“My parents?”

“No, the Jedi Knights.”

“Well, you’d have about as much chance of talking to the Jedi Knights as to my parents. Man, I got so loaded.” He groaned. “I know — I’m a douche bag. A total fricking douche bag. And if it makes you feel better, I feel like death warmed over.”

Nate sat down on the edge of his bed. It did make him feel better, but only marginally.

“Like I said, I owe you, big time.”

Nate closed his eyes, counted to five, slowly in three languages. “Okay.”

“So . . . you accept my apology?”

“No way. I’m writing down what you said about owing me big time.”

At the other end, someone was speaking to Paul, his mother, by the sound of it. “That was my jail guard,” he said mournfully. “I’ve got to get off the phone. See you, okay? Once I get out.”

“Like in five years?”

“Maybe I’ll get early parole if I load the dishwasher.”

Nate smiled, despite everything. “Maybe I could bust you out,” he said.

“Yeah, get the Mission Impossible team back together.”

Nate managed a halfhearted laugh. Actually, he’d been thinking of a helicopter and a rope with knots in it. “See you,” he said.

“Yeah.”

Click.

Nate pushed the off button and chucked the cordless onto the bed beside him. He stood up, crossed the room to the window, and leaned on the sill. The temperature had dipped to minus twenty-five Centigrade.

“That would be minus thirteen, to you, Mr. H.,” he muttered to himself.

The sun was dazzling. Ah, March in Northern Ontario. It was snow-globe stuff outside, not a real snowfall.

There was a knock on his door.

“Yeah?”

Mom poked her head in. “Is he okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Nate, wiping the gloomy look off his face. “He just has a headache.”

His mother stared at him. “So everything’s still on?”

The pause before Nate spoke was little more than a nanosecond. “Yeah,” he said, sticking both thumbs in the air.

“Good,” said Astrid. “This is going to be so exciting, right?”

“Right,” said Nate. “I can hardly wait.”

There were only two ways into Ghost Lake: a plane or the Budd car. The Budd was a diesel train, usually two cars long, that traveled from Sudbury northwest to White River. It went up one day and down the next, with no service on Monday. It made a handful of scheduled stops along the way, but you could get the engineer to stop anywhere you liked. The trail into the camp at Ghost Lake was at Mile 39 out of Pharaoh, about three hours north of Sudbury. The camp was a two-kilometer hike from the track, or a mile and a half in Hoebeek. But however you measured it, the hike in was a long one, carrying everything you needed on your back. Which is what it came down to in winter when the Kawasaki Mule was shut up tight in its shed. There was emergency grub at the camp, dry goods and cans. But basically, you carried everything in or did without. If you were staying for any length of time, you could come back to the track with the snowmobile, but that was for wusses.

Nate shook his head. He should have gone to the damn party. He could have kept Paul on the up and up. Reminded him about Thursday. Dragged him home —

“So have you made up your mind?”

Nate looked up. Astrid was smiling at him from behind a loaded grocery cart. He was standing in the canned food aisle with two different brands of beef stew in his hands. “Yeah, pretty much,” he said. He was going to put one can back on the shelf and then remembered he was shopping for two. He put them both in the cart. There was food there for four days, for two teenage boys.

His mother frowned. “When you get back I’m putting you on a strict diet of fresh vegetables and fruit,” she said, shaking her head at the contents of the cart. Nate summoned up a smile that wouldn’t have registered above 2.5 on any kind of smile-o-meter.

His mother’s frown deepened.

“What?” he said.

“Is something wrong, Nate?” she said.

“No. Why?”

“Are you getting cold feet?” He shook his head. “Because you can always change your mind.”

“What is this? First Dad and now you.”

She held up her hands in surrender. “Just checking.”

For one moment he thought he’d break down and confess. But then there was Dodge in his head whispering to him.

You’ve got to come, Numbster. You owe me.

“I guess I’m just a little nervous,” he said.

“It’s a big deal,” said Astrid, “without your father along and all.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Nate, you don’t have anything to prove.”

“Right,” he said. “Of course.” But that was also a lie.

He glared at the pile of groceries he’d be carrying in himself. Could he do it in one trip? All those hills. All that snow. Alone.

“I’m good,” he said.

Astrid reached out, cupped his chin like he was a child, made him look into her eyes. Another shopper walked by, staring at him surreptitiously, as if he were about to get scolded. He concentrated his gaze on his mother; it took every muscle in his body. She wasn’t exactly a mind reader, but there was no fooling her. He must have passed the test. She smiled. “Well, let’s get this stuff home. Early night, right?”

“Right,” he said. He even managed a smile. He was a better liar than he’d have ever guessed. The idea didn’t give him much comfort.