“So, what do you recommend?” Liumei said, leading Bugz to a closet bursting with clothes, most of it sportswear or professional-looking office attire.

“Grab a towel, and some kind of long dress. Maybe cotton?”

“I’m not really much of a dress-wearer,” Liumei said, appearing self-conscious. She pulled out a cotton dress. It wasn’t quite the right length, but it would do. “This okay?”

“Sure,” Bugz said. She didn’t know why, but she felt jealous of Liumei now that her dad had shown enough interest to invite her to the sweat. Bugz surprised herself at how annoyed she was. She suppressed this feeling and simply said, “Um, Liumei?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Have you got a tampon?”

CHAPTER 30

Bugz peered over the top of the star blanket she had wrapped herself in up to her eyes and studied the group of Anishinaabe people outside the low-slung canvas dome. They greeted each other with smiles and stood around restlessly, eagerly anticipating the moment they could enter the Sweat Lodge. The bent willow saplings framing the dome were said to hold up a mirror image of the night sky on the inside of the tarps. Bugz sighed as her father crawled into the sweat, that tiny recreation of the universe. She heard his muffled voice call the others to enter the lodge.

Bugz glanced at Feng. He stood in line behind the women, who crouched one at a time and crawled into the lodge. She’d never seen him without a shirt on before. He bowed his head and held both ends of the towel draped around his neck. He looked skinny, but not scrawny. She shook her head and looked away. Feng and the rest of the men entered the sweat. Ladies first. Bugz’s thoughts dripped with sarcasm. Waawaate walked past Bugz, who didn’t move to join the queue. She remained standing some ten paces from the lodge door, still hugging the blanket against the cool night air. Waawaate crouched near the doorway, listening to his father.

“Alright, son, bring ’em in,” Frank grunted toward Waawaate. “Seven rocks.” Waawaate nodded as he stood up slowly. Bugz noticed him groan as he straightened his legs. He shook one foot, paused, and limped like a dog with a porcupine quill in his paw for a few steps. By the time he picked up the pitchfork he’d corrected his stride. He tore apart the logs in the fire raging only feet from the Sweat Lodge door. He plunged the pitchfork into the glowing embers at the base of the blaze and pulled out a large rock, orange-red with heat. A blue-white flame slithered across its surface. Bugz watched the flame disappear as Waawaate carried the stone with the pitchfork, marched it toward the doorway, and slide it into the pit inside the lodge. “Aho, Nimishomis!” Bugz heard her father and some of the other men acknowledge the stone grandfather joining them in the sweat.