Bugz knew the ceremony wouldn’t finish for a long time. Four rounds in total, yet the first had only just begun. Bugz thought of the feast to come after the sweat. All the participants brought food. She knew her parents assumed she would prepare it. Leave the food outside with Bugz and she will get the feast ready. They always expected women to take care of the preparations. Perhaps that’s why some women always sat outside. Free labor. She thought for a second about cutting up the fruit and fry bread. Instead, she pulled out her phone and slouched even lower into her chair.

As Bugz peered through the glowing rectangle into the Floraverse, a growing realization of the silence inside the lodge crept up on her. She could hear no one praying. No one sang either. Something odd was unfolding inside the sweat. She put her phone down for a second and tried to eavesdrop. Nothing. She held her breath and focused harder. Finally, Bugz heard a whimper. It sounded like an animal, the sound of a young man trying to stifle his tears.

Feng. His turn to pray must’ve come, and now he couldn’t respond. She’d seen this type of thing before. Somebody with emotions bottled up deep inside froze as they all came rushing forward inside the ceremony. This is why she was so upset at her exclusion from the Sweat Lodge—it had an undeniable power to it. She yearned so badly to be inside. Bugz resolved that when she grew older and took charge of running the ceremony, she would separate the superstition from the tradition, parsing the purity of the practice from the mistakes of the practitioners. If she ever grew to take charge of the ceremony, that is. Maybe her period would never end and she’d never get to sweat again.

The crying in the lodge grew louder. Bugz tried to imagine what might be making Feng cry: leaving his home behind; the racism at school; his parents. She wondered if he was thinking about her. She heard him cry harder still.

CHAPTER 32

“I don’t want to talk,” Feng said through a trembling voice. He felt suffocated by the heat and humidity of the sweat. His heart ached. His mind raced. He could see nothing around him in the darkness of the Sweat Lodge but still felt as though everyone inside was staring at him. Worse yet they were probably judging him for crying.

“That’s okay, that’s okay.” Even with his limited English Feng could tell Bugz’s dad was trying his best to sound reassuring. “Let it all out.” They paused again before Frank recited an Anishinaabe prayer. “Aho! Baakinan!” he shouted in conclusion.