Scott heard his name being called at first recess on Monday and didn’t have to look around to see who it was.
“Hi Michelle,” he said.
She grabbed at his arm, and he turned to look at her. She must have run all the way across the playground, because she was out of breath, her cheeks were flushed, and her funny-colored hair was messy.
“What’s the matter, Michelle?” Scott asked. “Somebody chasing you?” He’d taken to teasing her a little; she seemed to like it, and it gave him something to say.
“You’re so silly,” Michelle said, her pink cheeks growing darker. “I want to show you something.” She rattled a newspaper in her hand.
“Now let me guess. You want to show me a newspaper, right?”
“Will you be serious?” Michelle asked. Her little sister, Barbie, ran up now.
“Did you tell him yet?” Barbie asked. Then, without waiting for anyone to answer, she said, “We saw you Saturday, up at Havre, at the races. Dad took us because he had to go there to get two new tires for the tractor, so he said we could go with him. Then Michelle wouldn’t leave, so Dad got mad. Mainly though because the tires cost so durn much.”
“Wait a sec,” Scott interrupted. “You came to the workouts?” Oh, no, what if Brad found out? What if Brad heard a girl came to see him run his dogs?
“Yes, we saw you,” Michelle said. “Oh, Scott, you were absolutely terrific. I mean, it was just great. And look, your name was in Sunday’s newspaper. It says you came in third place in juniors. See?” She held the paper so close to him he couldn’t focus.
A sudden gust of wind nearly blew the paper away, and they both grabbed for it at the same time. Scott’s arm tangled with hers; they tried to break free, but it only got worse. Now his arm was around her shoulder, and now his hand was touching hers. Michelle was so close, he could feel her bubble-gum breath on his cheek. How could this have happened?
Scott backed up quickly and looked around to see if anyone had seen them. But no one had. What a relief! Some guys from his class were gathered way over in a corner of the playground, tossing a ball back and forth. A few girls were standing near a teacher, listening to his instructions. Other kids milled around, kicking at tumbling leaves skittering across the hardtop.
“I have to go,” Scott grumbled into his jacket collar. “See you later.”
“But don’t you want the paper?” Michelle began to run along beside him. “It’s got your name in it.”
“I know how to spell my name.” She was like a tick—he couldn’t shake her.
He kept walking, and finally he realized she wasn’t running beside him any more. He turned around to see her looking after him with the newspaper still in her hand. Why did she have to look like that anyway?
Slowly he walked back. “I guess I’ll take the paper home to show Mom,” he said. “Thanks.” He folded it up and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
“Scott, can I come over and watch you train your dogs?” Michelle asked, walking along beside him again.
“There’s not much to see,” he answered. “I only have Kaylah and we’re just going to jog together until there’s snow.”
“Kaylah.” Michelle tried out the name. “What does it mean?”
“It means … it means king of the wolf pack,” Scott said, feeling proud that he’d named Kaylah himself.
“It does?” Michelle asked. “What language is it?”
“Don’t know for sure,” Scott was forced to admit. “But I know that’s what his name stands for.”
“What are you going to do first?” Michelle asked. She was full of questions.
“Fix up my sled.”
“Don’t you have one of those cart things you used on Saturday?” Barbie bounced along on the other side of him now, and he felt as if he were drowning in girls.
“No, that belongs to Amos, the referee.”
“You can borrow my wagon if you want to,” Barbie said.
“Wagon?” Scott didn’t want to borrow a kid’s wagon for Kaylah to pull. What a crummy idea.
“We’re just trying to help,” Michelle said. “Why can’t you use a wagon?”
“First of all, because there’s no brake on it. I don’t want my dog being run over by a wagon when he stops.”
“Oh,” Michelle said. “I guess that would be a problem. Can’t you make one? A cart, I mean?”
Suddenly Scott was remembering. “I’ll see you later, Michelle,” he said, heading back to the school building. “I’ve got to get a pencil and a piece of paper.”
Scott’s mind was tumbling so fast he didn’t even notice as Brad came up alongside him. “Hey, Scott, you lost something. Your groupies stopped following you.”
“Beat it, Brad,” he said, thinking hard, trying to picture something in his mind.
He finished his design during social-studies class. While everyone else was reading about the rainfall of the midwestern states, he was designing a plywood drag. He had seen them before, used by people who couldn’t afford carts. He would build his own drag for Kaylah to pull.
Scott felt fairly confident with tools. He knew how to use a saw, and there wasn’t much to building one of those things, just a piece of plywood, cut in a triangle, about two feet on each side, and then some two by fours …
Oh, wait a minute, where was he going to get that stuff? He didn’t have much money; how could he buy the lumber if he didn’t have money? Maybe someone would give him a job so he could earn some. But who? And what would he do? He was a twelve-year-old kid. Maybe Mr. Hartfield … But he hated the idea of asking him for anything. Money. Job. Anything. Unless Mom would do it for him.
After school Scott was the first one on the bus, as if his being there would make it start sooner. Come on, he said in his mind to the driver and the rest of the kids. Come on, let’s split. I’ve got work to do.
Finally the bus started on its route, tortoise speed. Would they never get to their stop? Ten miles suddenly seemed like ten thousand.
“How do you like school?” Caroline spoke beside him. How long had she been sitting with him? Had she spoken to him before?
“It’s okay, I guess. How about you?”
“I’ve got a nice teacher,” Caroline said, kicking her feet against the seat in front of them. “She asked me to tell about where I used to live, but I didn’t want to.”
Scott looked at her, surprised. Caroline never missed a chance to talk. “Why not?” He pulled at her red hair spilling over her jacket collar.
“Well, it’s just because … because …” Suddenly she buried her face in Scott’s jacket sleeve. “I get so lonesome for home when I talk about it.”
Scott put his arm around her, thinking this was the second time he’d put his arm around a girl today. But this was different. Caroline was his sister. Putting an arm around her was like putting an arm around himself.
“Caroline,” he whispered. “Know what I’m going to do?”
“What?” She pulled her face from its hiding place in his jacket. “What are you going to do?”
“Don’t tell anybody yet. Especially not Brad.”
“I wouldn’t tell Brad anything,” Caroline said, wiping her nose on her jacket sleeve. “I wouldn’t tell him if his pants were on fire.”
“Why?”
“Today, on the playground, he told me to get lost, permanently. What does permanently mean?”
“Forget him. Forget what he said.”
“But Mom says we’re a family now and we’re supposed to be nice. And my teacher says we’re a bi-nuclear family. Does that mean we’re gonna blow up?”
Scott laughed. “You’re crazy, Caroline. Crazy, but nice. I don’t know what your teacher meant—you’ll have to ask Mom when we get to the farm.”
“I hope it means that Brad will blow up.” Caroline glanced to the back of the bus where Brad and Howdy were sitting. Then she was quiet the rest of the way to their stop, her interest in Scott’s plans forgotten.
Mom was snapping a picture of Rusty sitting on the back steps as they walked into the barnyard.
“Look who’s up and following me around,” Mom called, pointing at Rusty with her light meter. “He’s been outside with me most of the afternoon, so I thought I’d take another picture to send to the newspaper. The first one I took inside the barn was pretty dark. Maybe his owners didn’t recognize him.”
“He looks better than he did last week, anyway,” Howdy said. “Probably his owners didn’t know that old bag of bones was theirs.”
“True,” Mom said, smiling. “I baked some cookies this morning.”
Howdy and Caroline raced up the steps and into the house.
“Was there any mail for me today?” Brad asked, making lines in the gravel with the toe of his boot. “From Billings?”
“No, Brad,” Mom said. “Did you send away for something?”
“Not exactly. I was expecting to hear from someone, that’s all.” He shrugged in her general direction, then went inside.
“Where’s Kaylah?” Scott asked.
“I saw him a few minutes ago.” Mom pushed her dark, wavy hair away from her face and shaded her eyes as she looked around. “There he is. Kaylah has been with David most of the afternoon.”
“What’s Mr. Hartfield doing?” Scott looked to the north forty where he saw the tractor and flatbed wagon hitched to it.
“He’s mending fences, checking the winter crop. There’s so much to do here, even in winter.”
Now would be a good time to talk to Mom about the plan to build a drag, Scott thought. Now, while Mr. Hartfield was busy somewhere else and Scott wouldn’t have to talk to him.
“Mom, got a minute?”
“Sure, what’s the matter? Did you have a problem with Brad today?”
“No, he’s just his usual obnoxious self.”
“Scott,” Mom said. “Try to get along, okay? I was just wondering. He always seems so sad, so bothered about something.”
Scott shrugged. “He’ll get over it, whatever it is.”
“What did you want to talk about, Scott?” Mom stood beside him, and he suddenly realized he didn’t have to look up at her as much as he used to. That meant he’d been growing. At least something good was happening lately.
Quickly he told her about building a plywood drag, showed her his plans, how much lumber he’d need, and what he thought it would cost.
“I don’t have any money, but I can pay you back a little at a time, out of my allowance.”
“Why don’t we talk to David about it?” Mom asked.
“I don’t want to,” Scott interrupted.
“But he might have the wood you need. He might be happy to give it to you.”
“Mom …” Why didn’t she understand?
“He seems so interested in you, Scott, and wants to help.”
“Mom …” Scott tried again.
“I’m not going to argue about this, Scott. You talk to David tonight, when he comes in for supper.”
The six of them sat down to Mom’s fried chicken when Mr. Hartfield came in at five-thirty.
“How about this?” Mr. Hartfield said, looking around the table. He couldn’t seem to stop grinning. “We got ourselves a family, Margaret.”
“Please pass the chicken,” Howdy said, in his get-on-with-it voice. Platters and bowls of chicken, potatoes, gravy, vegetables, and buttermilk biscuits were handed around. Howdy attacked his plate like a razorback in a beanfield.
Mom kept staring at Scott, trying out one of her meaningful looks on him. But he couldn’t make words come out of his mouth. He just sat there, piling his potatoes into a mountain, putting in a gravy river around it.
“David,” Mom said. “Scott has something he wants to talk to you about.” She had that hurt look in her eyes, like Michelle had today. Crumb, he didn’t know how to handle women at all.
“What’s it about, Scott?” Mr. Hartfield was waiting. “About racing? I sure hope so.”
Scott took a deep breath and began. By the time he finished, he knew Mr. Hartfield had already built the plywood drag in his head. It was already out of Scott’s control, his say-so.
“Got plenty of spare lumber, Scott, and you’re welcome to it.” Mr. Hartfield spoke in his deep, booming voice. “We’ve got spare parts for everything on this ranch. You name it, we’ve got it.”
“Thanks,” Scott said.
“And when you need some help, let me know.”
“That’s okay.”
“Brad’s pretty good with a saw, too.”
Scott looked at Brad, and their glances slid away from one another as if they’d been greased. Stop pushing, Scott thought. Stop pushing us at each other.
“What’s a bi-nuclear family?” Caroline’s voice interrupted the sudden silence.
“I guess it’s sort of like ours,” Mom said. “Parts of two families coming together to make one. Why do you ask?”
“My teacher said that’s what Mr. Hartfield’s family is now.”
Mom smiled at Mr. Hartfield before she looked at Howdy. “How do you like the chicken, Howdy?”
“It’s good,” he answered, his mouth smeared with grease and crumbs. “The best I ever ate.”
“Our mom makes good chicken, too,” Brad said. “Don’t forget.”
“She always burned it.” Howdy carefully selected another drumstick.
“She did not!” Brad glared at him. “Our mom did chicken just like this. Better.”
“Burned it,” Howdy said before taking another mammoth bite.
“You wart …”
“Brad,” Mr. Hartfield’s voice sounded a warning. “Everybody’s entitled to his own idea.”
“He shouldn’t talk about Mom that way,” Brad said. “You did it. You told him bad things about her.”
“He did not.” Howdy put down his fork. “Mom was always sitting around, painting squiggly lines to make pictures, and she let the chicken burn.”
“No, she didn’t. She was a good mom.” Suddenly Brad was standing up.
“Sit down, Bradley,” Mr. Hartfield said.
“I don’t want any more. I’m through.”
“It’s all right.” Mom’s voice was so quiet. “You may be excused, Brad.”
Brad bolted from the room just as Scott remembered. He was waiting to hear from his mom so he could move to Billings to be with her. But how long had it been since Brad had heard from her, anyway?