Snow continued to fall during the week. Each morning Scott woke to more of it and knew he could work with the dogs again after school that day.
Sometimes the snow had fallen as softly as baby powder. Other days it was as hard and crunchy as rock candy. There were so many shapes, so many sizes, so many kinds: wet, powdery, icy. So many kinds of snow. Which was really the best?
It’s all good, Scott thought, as he dressed for school on Thursday morning. Each snowfall combined to tamp and pack the base he and the dogs needed to run.
When was the big race in Billings? he suddenly wondered. Quickly Scott searched around in the pile of papers on his dresser. It was here, somewhere. Oh, yeah, Amos’s letter right here said December tenth. Good. That gave him a month or so, but he’d better send in his entry this weekend.
There was a soft knock on the door before it opened. “Mom says for you to hurry up,” Caroline said. Her hair was more or less combed this morning, and her clothes actually seemed to match.
Caroline was usually out to lunch before breakfast, Scott thought But once in a while she surprised him and looked and acted normal. Suddenly he started to smile at his own thought.
“What’s so funny?” Caroline demanded, following him around his room.
“Big secret,” Scott said, searching for his jacket under the pile of clothes he’d worn yesterday.
“See if I care whether you tell me or not,” Caroline said, walking around and touching things. “You sure have a messy room.”
“Keep your crummy hands off,” Scott said. “I know right where stuff is.”
“Including your love letters from Michelle?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Howdy said Michelle is your girlfriend and he bets you and her write love letters back and forth.” Caroline giggled and began to pick at a fingernail.
Scott’s face felt hot. “Tell Howdy to mind his own business.”
“Boy, you ought to see your face,” Caroline said. “Wait till I tell Howdy.”
“Don’t you tell him anything.”
“He says you and Brad have a secret, and it must be about girls.” Now Caroline began to paw through some papers scattered across his desk. “And if you don’t tell me, I’m going to tell Mom and him. You know, Mr. Hartfield … David.”
“You’re calling him David?” Scott whirled around.
“He asked me to, and it seemed a lot easier than always saying Mr ….”
“But you can’t.”
“Why not?”
Scott couldn’t think of an answer he felt she’d understand. In fact, it was still so complicated to him that he couldn’t sort it out. The word he thought of before, disloyalty, kept coming back to him. And he couldn’t be disloyal to Dad, not now, not ever.
Scott walked over to the window and looked at the barnyard below, leaning his forehead on the cold pane. Kaylah and Chinook came around the corner of the barn, trotting together, with Bruno following. Now Chinook turned around and looked at Bruno before they began to walk slowly toward one another. Rusty paused in the doorway of the barn to watch.
Inspection time again, Scott thought. Chinook and Bruno sure have been checking each other out this past week.
“Scott,”—Caroline was standing beside him—“can I ask you something?”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Well, I was thinking about trying out for the Christmas play at school.”
“Yeah?” Scott turned to look at her. She was picking at a chip of paint on the window ledge. “So what’s to keep you from doing that?”
“Oh, nothing, I guess.” Now she worked a chunk of paint loose. “Do you think I should?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Mom? Or him, why don’t you ask David?” He let his voice get kind of snotty-sounding over David’s name.
“Remember last year, when I played the smallest Christmas tree in the forest?”
Scott turned to look at Caroline, remembering. “Where did you get that candy bar?” he asked, watching as she unwrapped a Hershey.
“In my room,” she said. “Want one?”
“Not now, before breakfast. You’re gonna turn into the fattest Christmas tree in the forest if you don’t stop eating. What’s the matter with you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t feel so lonesome when I eat.”
“Aw, Caroline, you don’t have to feel lonesome. You’ve got me and Mom.”
“But you’ve got your dogs and Mom’s got him.”
Scott turned to the window again and looked below. She was right. He did have the dogs. Hey, what was going on down there? What were those dogs doing?
He nearly knocked Caroline down as he ran from the room.
Scott raced down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door. Mom’s face was a blur as he ran, and Howdy’s too. No one else seemed to be around.
Then he was outside and running toward the dogs. He heard them, snarling, snapping at one another as they rolled in the snow. First Chinook was on top, then Bruno, over and over. Bodies, tails, feet, all mixed up, all snarled and snapping.
“Chinook,” Scott yelled. “Come. Bruno, you too. Come here.” Get control, he told himself. Do something.
But what could he do? He looked frantically around for something to throw at them, but there was only snow. In desperation he balled it up and began to pummel them, but he knew it wouldn’t make a dent in Chinook’s thick ruff. Tufts of fur scattered around them and drifted lazily in the air.
“Mom,” Scott yelled. “Mom, bring me a broom.”
Kaylah began to circle the fighting dogs now, looking as if he might join in. Rusty barked as he jumped closer and closer.
“Stay, Kaylah,” Scott yelled. That’s all he needed, another dog fighting. “Stop, you dumb mutts.” He tried again, feeling helpless, totally useless.
Small drops of red appeared on the snow, but Scott couldn’t tell who was bleeding. They kept moving, biting, snarling. Blobs of saliva dripped from their mouths.
Scott had to act. Now. Take control, that’s what Mr. Wagner had said. Stay in control of the dogs. Scott couldn’t let Mr. Wagner’s dog get hurt because he’d lost control.
Suddenly Scott ran at the dogs, pounding and stamping his boots hard on the packed snow. Then he tried to grab Chinook’s harness. Instantly the dogs paused to regrip and Scott felt a near-miss on his hand. Oh, lordy, were they so juiced up that they would turn on him?
“Scott, here’s the broom.” It was Howdy, looking scared and small.
“Get your dad, your brother, anybody,” Scott yelled as he grabbed the handle.
“Brad’s coming,” Howdy said, staring at the dogfight. “He was still in bed, but he’s coming.”
Then Scott began to push the broom between the dogs, sweeping it in their faces until, gradually, the dogs began to snap at the broom instead of each other. Slowly, Scott worked the broom back and forth, back and forth, until the dogs moved away, and they stood panting, their sides heaving.
Scott watched them, waiting to see if they would begin again. Somewhere in the back of his head, he heard a door slam, then footsteps crunching in the snow.
“Bruno!” Brad yelled. “Look, he’s bleeding. His paw—there’s blood all over everything.”
“No, there isn’t,” Scott said. “It just got smeary, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” Brad turned on him, looking ready to fight too. “If it was one of your precious dogs, you’d change your tune.” He took a step toward Scott, and suddenly Scott wanted to hit him, hit him hard. His fists clenched, his breath choked him, angry tears stung his eyes.
“It’s all your fault,” Brad yelled, coming one step closer. His face was blotchy, with pillow marks zigzagged across it.
“My fault?” Scott yelled back. “It was your dog, he attacked Chinook …” Not quite true, but almost. “You got a lotta nerve.”
Now they were within hitting distance. Scott felt so tied up, so tense, he wondered if he could move his arms and fists if he had to. Then his heart started pumping faster and he knew. He knew all right. He could punch this guy’s lights out easy.
“Your fault,” Brad said so quietly that Scott knew only he could hear. Not Howdy, nor Caroline standing on the porch, watching. “Why did you have to come here?” Brad whispered. “Maybe, if you hadn’t, she might have come back.”
“Fat chance,” Scott said hotly. “Not with you around.”
Scott didn’t see Brad’s fist, just heard it connect on his chin with a sick, crunching sound. He staggered back, dazed, feeling white-hot pinpricks throb in his face. Then he really got mad, so damned mad …
He came at Brad, pummeling, pounding, not caring if he got hurt any more. He just wanted to hurt Brad, feel his fists crash into his ribs, kick him in the crotch, double him up and send him to the state of Washington with a knockout punch.
Suddenly Scott felt a chunk of iron come down hard on his shoulder and grip it like a skip loader. Then he saw that Brad was being held in the same vice. Neither of them could move.
Scott looked up, startled. Where had Mr. Hartfield come from? There was the jeep, its door open. He must have just driven up from somewhere. And there was Mom, standing back, hands to her mouth, tears running down her cheeks.
“Stop it, both of you.” Mr. Hartfield was talking in words carved from ice. “Stop this fighting right now. I’m ashamed of both of you.”
Mr. Hartfield gave each of them a shake before he released his grip on their shoulders and stepped back. “Now do something about these dogs. Take care of Bruno’s foot, look at Chinook and see if he got hurt under all that fur. Do something besides think about yourselves. Why were the dogs fighting in the first place?”
Mr. Hartfield turned, almost military style, put his arms around Mom, and guided her up to the house.
“Bruno, come,” Brad said, kneeling down to look at his paw. Reluctantly, Scott went over and bent down to look, too. It was a small gash and would heal quickly. Looked messy more than anything, just as he’d said.
Now Chinook and Kaylah trotted up as if nothing had happened. Dogs forget, Scott thought. But humans don’t forget, ever.
A little while later it was time to go to school, and Scott moved through the morning as if he weren’t there. Everything he did was automatic, nothing seemed to connect with him. The only thing he really felt was his throbbing jaw. He had to say that much for Brad, he could punch with the best of them.
Scott walked outside to the playground at noon, after skipping lunch in the cafeteria. The sun was shining, but the air had a sharp bite to it. He felt it more on his chin than anywhere else. Everywhere else he felt hot, still steaming about this morning. Brad. Man, what a jerk.
“Scott, Scott.” Michelle hurried up to him, jacket open, scarf flying in the air. “Scott, do you know what Brad said in the car? He said he’s going to finish what he started this morning. He says—” She stopped and stared at his face. “Did he do that? Oh, Scott, what are you going to do?”
“Get ready. In fact, I’m ready right now.”
Suddenly Scott felt calm. If Brad wanted to fight it out right here at school, that was okay with him.
Now Michelle was joined by her sister, Barbie, and Jeffrey and that other kid, Robert, who always sat with them at lunch. Usually he laughed all the time, but he wasn’t laughing now.
“Scott, don’t fight,” Michelle was pleading. “You’ll get hurt some more. I know. Brad’s fought a lot here at school and he’s good at it.”
Scott looked down at Michelle. If only she didn’t look at him like that. It made him feel so funny—weird, even. And then he remembered what Caroline had said, that Michelle was his girlfriend, and he had this secret with Brad about girls. That was funny. He didn’t know enough about girls to have a secret. He just had that other secret, the one about Brad’s mother.
Brad. Scott looked up, saw him walking slowly across the playground with the bunch of guys who were always hanging around him, like flies on …
He didn’t finish the printout in his head, but he knew the word he wanted to use.
Brad was taking his own sweet time coming over here. Him and his thugs. Yeah, that’s what they were. And they were trying to look so tough.
Suddenly Scott longed for Jamie at his side. He was a scrappy fighter and could quickly even these odds if it came to that.
Finally, Brad was standing about three feet away, just standing with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, the way he always stood. His eyes were hard, the way they always looked.
“You want to finish it here?” Brad asked.
“Any place you say.” Scott hoped his voice wouldn’t buckle. “Just the two of us.”
Then the one o’clock bell began to ring, but Scott didn’t want to be the first to move, as if that would show Brad he was anxious to leave, that he was chicken. He waited, waited, waited, until finally, Brad took a step backward.
“Okay, just the two of us,” Brad said. “Soon.” Then he turned his back and walked slowly toward the school entrance. A moment or two later, Scott followed. He had to admit he felt relieved.