“Yeah,” JP said. He shook the foam from his can onto the ground. “It’s never a good day to have High Gravity. Tyson, if you don’t drop out this year you’ll be able to watch Smoke Signals twice in US History.” JP burped and went on. “Excuse me. You get to watch it the first time after you briefly cover the Trail of Tears and then again when you finish talking about our Settlement Act.”

“We did watch that twice, didn’t we?” I asked.

“Nothing says Native better than ‘Hey, Victor!’”

“And fry bread,” I said.

The beer hit as quick as I’d drunk it. The fire was warm. Fry bread was on my mind—they’d be selling it at Community Days. Maybe I had enough change in my room to get some. Maybe Paige had some extra change somewhere, under her bed or in a drawer. Frick might have some too, in his truck. Although last time I checked he had nothing but pennies and a two-dollar bill that was too cool to spend. Mom had no money, and I knew better than to look. What money she ever came into she blew. Money—it was everywhere but nowhere.

The pile of logs and thin branches ran out, and so too ran out our buzzes. We all pissed on the fire and then headed for the canoes. Each of us was settled in the quiet downer of drink, and so we said nothing as we got into the rocking canoes and stabbed our paddles into the earth to push off, and down the river we didn’t have to exert any force, we simply let the river take us home, and during part of the float the river had spaced us out so Tyson was far to my left, and JP far to Tyson’s left, and when we came to the bend of the river its meandering pull brought us together and it was then that we paddled four strokes to the shore and the canoes slid up on the soft dirt bank, a wall of vines dangling down like wet hair. We tied the canoes with rope to some trees, and with aching, lowered heads we walked the darkening woods to the street.

. . .

Mom’s car was gone when I got back home, and Frick’s truck was parked in the same spot along the driveway in the grass. Tyson said he was going home to eat, and JP said the same except not to his house but to Tyson’s, and all the way down the road JP kept telling Tyson he was full of shit, that he knew for a fact there was enough dinner to go around because he had helped Tyson’s mother bring in the groceries the other day.