Ms. Delorme went through the materials the class had covered to date. Much to Mike’s relief it was largely the same stuff he’d been working on in St. Albert. Ms. Delorme was helpful and did her best to make Mike feel at ease, but he started to squirm, imagining the eyes of the other students on the back of his head. It was with welcome relief that he lurched to his feet when the bell rang to end the first period.
Scrambling back to his desk, he gathered his books and almost sprinted to the door, lowering his head and trying not to meet the scrutiny of the other students. Without looking up, he dodged out the door, quickly turned right, and barrelled down the hall. It was too late when he spotted a huge pair of feet planted firmly in front of him. Unable to stop, he ran headlong into what felt like a brick wall. The force of contact popped the books out of his hands, scattering them in every direction as he stumbled backward and landed on his back.
Laughter echoed down the hall. It took a few seconds before Mike was able to push himself onto his elbows. Standing over him was the biggest kid he’d ever seen. Rolling forward onto his hands and knees, Mike got into a crouch and staggered upright into a standing position. The boy towering over him glowered and slowly clenched and unclenched his fists.
“Jeez, I’m sorry,” Mike mumbled. Glancing around, he realized the hall was almost deserted. Everyone seemed to have run for cover with the exception of a couple of students who appeared ready to flee at any moment. Turning back to the boy, Mike had no idea what to do. The kid was close to two metres tall, with broad shoulders and an athletic build. His jet-black hair and dark brown skin accentuated the total blackness of his eyes. He had the hint of a scar on his left cheek that made the tightness of his mouth all the more threatening.
There was no backing down. There were no teachers in the hall, and something told Mike no one else was going to step in. He tensed his body and slowly raised his hands boxing-style, level with his chin.
Mike wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw something change in the boy’s expression — something small and almost imperceptible, but something nevertheless. The boy shook his head, then without warning ploughed Mike out of the way and moved past. Realizing he’d been holding his breath, Mike exhaled and sagged as the big kid sailed by. Almost afraid to look, he turned, anyway, and watched the big bruiser saunter down the hall. When the kid reached the far end, he stopped. Pausing, he fired a long, hard look at Mike, who shivered as those dark eyes that seemed so full of hate pierced him. Quickly spinning on his heel, the boy drew back and punched the last locker with all his might. The resounding crash made Mike jump as it echoed through the almost empty hall. Then, turning the corner, the huge kid was gone.
The few students who had witnessed the whole affair were still gazing at Mike as if anticipating some sort of mental breakdown or freak-out. Certain he was shaking, Mike squatted and began to gather the books and papers scattered across the tiles. “Jeez, why do they have grade twelves in the same school as us?” he muttered to himself. “I hate ’em!”
“He just turned fourteen and he’s in grade nine,” a harsh female voice said directly above him.
Snapping his head up, Mike peered directly into a pair of dark eyes not much different from the ones belonging to the guy who had seemed on the verge ripping his head off. These ones, however, belonged to one of the prettiest, angriest girls he’d ever seen. She had shoulder-length brown hair, full lips, honey-brown skin, and almond-shaped eyes that appeared to spit fire. Mike opened his mouth to say something, but all he could do was move his lips up and down like a fish trying to breathe in shallow water.
The girl shook her head. “You southern kids are so pathetic. You picked the wrong guy to tick off on your first day in Inuvik. Good luck, because he’s going to be in some of your classes, and sooner or later he’s going to make your life miserable.” She didn’t speak the words; she hurled them. Then, with a flip of her hair and without making any attempt to avoid Mike’s books, she stomped on the scattered papers and stalked off.
Mike slumped to the floor. Leaning against the closest locker, he tipped the back of his head against the cold metal, closed his eyes, and sighed profoundly. What a nightmare! He didn’t know how long he stayed in that position, but part of him wanted to believe that if he shut his eyes long enough, he’d be back in St. Albert when he opened them.
“You’re not going to cry, are you?”
Mike heard the voice but didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want the next chapter of his nightmare to begin.
“The last guy Gwen Thrasher talked to cried. Of course, she broke his nose right before she talked to him, but he cried. He bawled, actually. No, it was more like sobbing and snuffling. Really pathetic. He was from the South, too. For some reason she really hates guys from the South. You’re from the South, aren’t you? You look kind of brown to be from the South, but you seem like you’re from the South. You’re too … I don’t know … helpless to be from up north. You’re not Dene or Inuvialuit, anyway. What are you? East Indian? Mexican? Some kind of Caribbean, Rastafarian rap guy? Oh, I know! You’re some type of Mongolian, Sherpa, South American dude! Maybe Bolivian or Colombian. Your dad’s some big drug warlord who had to move to the other end of the world to escape a big drug cartel war and threats on your life.”
Mike couldn’t take it anymore. The voice just wouldn’t stop. This was a different type of nightmare altogether. He opened his eyes to see who was verbally attacking him. A pair of large brown eyes stared down at him from thick black-rimmed glasses perched on two chubby brown cheeks. The boy likely stood the same height as Mike, but he was twice as big around. He had a bristly shock of closely cropped black hair that accentuated the roundness of his face. When he spoke, his eyes got larger with each word.
“You could be from Fiji. There are dark dudes in Fiji. No, that’s not it. You’re the descendant of some Aboriginal king from the outback of Australia. ‘Good day, mate! Want to see my ’roo?’ I think Australia’s pretty much the coolest place in the world. Well, cool not in a temperature way, because Inuvik is one of the coolest places that way. I mean, cool in every other way. Aren’t marsupials the coolest animals on the planet? Pouches! How many animals have pouches? They say a baby kangaroo is no bigger than a worm when it’s born and it has to crawl to its mother’s pouch without falling off with all that hopping and crap. Jeez, that’s unreal!”
“Okay!” Mike cried. “Stop! I mean, please stop!” He immediately felt bad when the big boy’s face clouded. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that I’ve had a terrible morning, and, well, I can’t really even catch my breath to say anything because you’re talking so much and so fast.”
The big boy’s eyes widened behind his glasses, and a huge grin returned to his face. “I’m Donnie Debastien.” He extended his hand.
Mike smiled back. Hesitating, he sighed and gripped the boy’s hand, pulling and hoisting himself to his feet.
“This just hasn’t been my day,” he said, sighing.
“And the morning isn’t even over.”
Mike grimaced. “Thanks, Donnie. That makes me feel a whole lot better. By the way, my name’s Mike Watson.”
Donnie blinked. “Well, look at it this way, Mike. You’ve already done battle with Monster Kiktorak and Gwen Thrasher. It doesn’t get any worse or scarier than that. From here on it’s pretty easy.”
“Monster Kiktorak?”
Donnie nodded solemnly. “Joseph Kiktorak. He’s one mean dude. Hates everybody just as much as you, so you don’t need to feel special or anything.”
Mike started gathering the papers still scattered on the floor. “You know what, Donnie? As strange as this might seem, that actually does make me feel better. I guess that just shows how bad my day’s gone so far.
What’s that guy’s problem, anyway?”
Donnie tried to bend at the waist and help, but his ample belly wouldn’t let him double over. With a sigh he lowered himself to his knees and began assisting Mike. “Well, I g
uess Joseph’s had it pretty rough. His mom and dad split up a couple of years ago. His dad moved back to Tuktoyaktuk. That’s where he’s from. Then his mom took a job in Cambridge Bay in Nunavut. That meant Joseph had to start living with his granny. She’s really nice and all, but it just isn’t the same as having a mom or dad around. He seems to be angry at everyone and everything now. It’s kind of hard on his granny because he seems to get in some new trouble every second week.” Donnie paused for a moment, then shook his head. “You think he’d learn. I mean, he’s almost two metres tall, for Pete’s sake. How do you do bad crap and expect not to be noticed when you’re our age and that tall? Duh!”
Mike nodded and fought the urge to laugh. Not because he found what had happened to Joseph funny. That was all pretty serious, and considering the guy wanted to kill him, it was dead serious. It was just that Donnie’s eyes got so big and he moved his arms around in such an animated fashion that he resembled a funny cartoon character. A lovable and big cartoon character. Mike figured that Donnie was likely considered a bit of a nerd by everyone else in Inuvik, but he liked the guy already.
“That’s pretty crappy about Joseph,” Mike said. “If my parents broke up, I don’t know what I’d do. It’s hard to even think about.”
Donnie was about to say something when the bell rang harshly, making both boys jump.
Grabbing the rest of his books, Mike said, “Hey, Donnie, it was great to meet you.”
Donnie nodded, his eyes reaching a new record for big and wide. “Maybe we could do something after school?”
Mike was already hurrying down the hall. “Yeah, that sounds good,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll find you later.” Reaching the end of the hall, he quickly darted around the corner.
CHAPTER 7
The rest of the school day was pretty ordinary. No more Joseph Kiktorak or Gwen Thrasher. No more embarrassing moments. Mike managed to sit through classes quietly after brief introductions, then slipped out before anyone had a chance to confront him. He also succeeded in keeping his head up and didn’t run into any new problems along the way.
When the final buzzer rang, Mike considered searching for Donnie but quickly changed his mind. He was standing by the front doors, trying to decide what to do when someone slammed into his shoulder. His first reaction was to say he was sorry to whoever it was, even though the collision hadn’t been his fault. Then he saw Gwen angrily glancing over her shoulder as she bulled through the doors. How could someone so pretty be so bitter about everything? Mike wondered.
He took that as a sign and decided not to push his luck by waiting to see if Donnie wandered by. Mike had survived his first day … barely. As he walked home, the big moon boots on his feet crunched loudly on the snow, and his breath floated in front of him before trailing around the sides of his head.
One day. Two enemies. One kind of friend. Nice teacher. No homework. Pretty sizable accomplishments for a first day. A lifetime in St. Albert hadn’t resulted in a single enemy, so two in one day had to be some kind of world record. And Donnie, well, he seemed pretty nice, but Mike remembered someone saying that the first person you met in a new place was usually a misfit or a nerd supreme. He was fairly certain Donnie met both of those descriptions. But he still liked the guy. Every time those huge eyes almost burst out of their sockets behind those thick glasses, Mike couldn’t help but smile with real fondness for the kid.
When Mike reached his new home, he spied his father getting into an RCMP pickup. Then he caught sight of the two snowmobiles sitting on the driveway.
“Hey!” Mike greeted his father.
“Hey, yourself.” When Ben noticed Mike grinning at the snowmobiles, he added, “Maybe we can take them out for a spin in a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks! That long?”
“Look, Mike, they have to be insured and licensed before we can run them in town. That takes time, and being new here means I have heaps of work to do. Speaking of which, I have to get going.” He started to pull out of the driveway. “I’ll see you at supper.”
Mike sat down heavily on the snowmobile closest to him. It was a Yamaha, while the other one was a bright blue Polaris. The Yamaha had a long body and looked like a working machine. The sleeker Polaris had white racing stripes on its sides.
“The Polaris will be fast for sure.”
Mike glanced up and spotted Victor Allen standing in the nearby police yard. “Hi, Mr. Allen. It does look pretty fast.”
“They’re both nice machines. The Yamaha has a long track and will be excellent for pulling a sled. The Polaris, though, will be fast and fun to drive.”
Mike tried to smile, but he was still unhappy about having to wait so long to try out the snowmobiles.
“You know, I have a Polaris pretty much the same as that one. Maybe if I asked your father, I could take you out for a spin sometime soon.”
Mike sat up straight. “Really?”
Victor laughed. “Really. I’ll talk to your dad tomorrow. Now your mom needs help with some unpacking, so you better head in to see what you can do.” He turned and walked toward the police station.
Mike entered the house through the back door. Kicking off his boots, he shrugged out of his parka and let it fall to the floor.
“Mike, is that you?” his mother called from somewhere deep inside the house.
“Yeah, Mom!”
“Put your boots on the mat and pick up your parka. Then come upstairs. I need help deciding where to hang the last of these pictures.”
“Jeez!” He stooped to pick up the heavy coat. Between Victor and his mother, he was beginning to think he was surrounded by psychics.
Supper that night was quiet. Ben had to work late, so it was just Mike and his mother. Jeannie tried her best to lighten the mood and get Mike to talk. She described her first trip to the Northern Store and how expensive everything seemed to be. Maybe, she told her son, the first thing Mike and Ben would have to do once they had the snowmobiles going was shoot a caribou or moose so they could afford to eat. Mike responded with nothing more than grunts and a faint smile.
After supper Mike headed to his room. The guy from the local cable company hadn’t come to hook up their television and Internet service yet. He didn’t know if cellphones and texting worked in Inuvik. Even if they did, he didn’t know anyone here to call or text, and that sucked! No friends, no TV, no Internet, no text messaging. They were at the end of the Earth!
Mike threw himself onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. The walls were so short due to the steepness of the roof that he was actually looking at the posters and pictures he’d tacked up yesterday. There was a classic image of goaltender Patrick Roy in a Montreal Canadiens uniform, a poster Mike’s dad had given him. LeBron James in full flight, mouth open, seemed about to fly over a basketball hoop. Gary Gait, one of the greatest lacrosse players of all time, followed through on a shot while playing with the Colorado Mammoth of the National Lacrosse League. The last picture was perfect. It was so clear that it was almost surreal. It had been taken over Gait’s shoulder after he took the shot. You could follow the path the ball took after it left Gait’s stick, then see it as it bulged the mesh of the net just over the goalie’s shoulder.
Next, his eyes settled on all the athletic accolades he’d accumulated through the years — participation medals, trophies from tournaments, gold medals, most valuable player awards. There was a picture of Mike that had been taken at the Jack Crosby Tournament in Burnaby, British Columbia, when he was a novice. It showed him following through on a shot he’d just taken at the net. They had won that tournament. It was the first time a team from St. Albert had won a major competition outside Alberta, and the banner with Mike’s name and the rest of the gang still hung from the rafters of the Kinnex Arena in St. Albert. Mike had played lacrosse with the same bunch of guys for years, and now all of that was over.
He rolled onto his side and took a deep breath. His eyes settled on an object sitting on the bedside table. It was
getting dark in the room, so he reached over and clicked on the small bedside lamp.
The object he’d noticed was a shortwave radio. His father had given it to him before they left St. Albert. His mother must have unpacked it today and put it in his room. Mike had been so upset with his father and about the move that he hadn’t even thanked him for it. He had simply stuck it in the bottom of a box and piled books and other items on top.
Mike’s father had told him he’d had a similar shortwave radio when he was a kid on the farm and that on cold winter nights he could pick up radio stations and signals from around the world. Ben had said it would be fun to play around with the shortwave in Inuvik. A radio! Fun to play with! To Mike it represented everything that had gone wrong with this life. No friends, no lacrosse, no TV, no computer, no texting. Nothing but a radio and cold winter nights. Nothing at all. Nothing.
With a surge of pent-up rage, Mike smashed a clenched fist into the radio. The shortwave spun into the air, stopped abruptly as it reached the end of its cord, clattered off the wall, and fell to the floor with a resounding thud. One of its knobs broke free from the impact, popped off the chair, and disappeared under the dresser.
“Hey!” he heard his dad holler from downstairs. Mike hadn’t heard him come home.
“You okay up there, Mike?” Ben asked from the bottom of the stairs.
“Yeah.”
“How was school today?”
“Okay.”
“Just okay?”
“It was okay.”
“Make any friends? Find a girlfriend?”
“Dad!”
“Okay, Mike, I won’t bug you. First day is always hard. I’ll pop in to say good-night when I come up.”
Mike didn’t respond, and after a moment or two, he heard his father move away from the bottom of the stairs and head back into the kitchen. There was silence for a moment and then the murmur of voices as his parents began to talk.
Mike lay quietly on the bed and thought about his day. Donnie was sort of a friend. A weird one, but at least he didn’t hate Mike. And Gwen was a girl, but she sure wasn’t a friend. Man, she had an attitude. Then there was Monster Kiktorak. How could someone fourteen years old be so big and have such a chip on his shoulder? The guy could kill Mike if he really wanted to. Mike shifted his eyes around the room, and once more they fixed on the shortwave radio that now lay on the floor.
Arctic Thunder Page 5
