mean.â
But the moment the words exit my mouth, I know weâll go. I canât really stop Isabel from going anyway, and I might as well be there to make sure she doesnât get into too much trouble.
Wolf motions me to step back, and I watch as he slams his shovel into the earth, penetrating far better than I could have managed. He has a decent hole dug in a matter of a few minutes, and I start working on making it deeper while he moves a foot closer to the house and continues to dig there.
My chest is tight with nerves, and I realize I donât feel at all like myself when heâs around. I feel fuzzy headed, confused.
Iâm going to have to be on my guard with him. Heâs got a certain wily, elusive quality that reminds me of real wolves in the wild.
We dig until we are drenched in sweat. The earth is so hard near the surface that itâs slow going, but about a foot and a half down, the earth starts to get soft and wet, which has me exhilarated with the promise that maybe weâve found the burst pipe. Wolf digs down another foot or so while I watch, being careful at the end not to dig his shovel too deep and hit pipe. Then we both get down on our knees and dig wet soil out with our hands. We are filthy by the time my hand hits metal, and Iâm so hot I feel like Iâm going to pass out, but I am grateful to Wolf for helping me. I wouldnât have figured out what to do without him, and I see that already all the preparation, all Dadâs so-called training, didnât mean a thing when I faced an actual problem while trying to survive on my own.
I look over at Wolf, watching him as he unearths a rusted-out pipe with water spraying out, and I feel a surge of gratitude, and something else.
A buzzing, magnetic force, urging me to him.
WOLF
Iâve never been a fan of parties, but the thought of Nicole coming to the one at Sadhana makes me feel like celebrating.
Maybe not celebrating the way Annika has in mind, with hand-holding and drums around the fire all night, but just feeling good ⦠having fun.
I think I may have forgotten how to have fun.
I remember reading that Winston Churchill called depression âthe black dog,â and that is what I imagine has been following me around recently since my motherâs return. Or maybe itâs more of a storm cloud forever hovering overhead, turning all my thoughts and feelings gray. I never thought of myself as being depressed, but I realize as I ride my bike home from Nicoleâs house, my arms and legs and clothes stained with dirt, sweat soaked through my shirt, that I feel alive, really alive, for the first time in a while.
I want to know what happens next, which is not something I have been curious about for a long time.
We werenât able to fix her broken pipe problem. Itâs not like there were spare plumbing tools and pipe lying around. But she said she would call a plumber, and I was glad I could at least help a little. We ate some of the bread I brought over, and drank some water, and then I figured Iâd better go, since I hadnât really been invited in the first place.
I jump into the pond when I get back to the village, let the cool water wash me clean, and then I spend the rest of the day avoiding the adults. They will ask me to do thingsâgather firewood, chop vegetables, set up tents for the overflow of out-of-town partiers who want to camp out tonightâand I just want to revel in this feeling of being happy for a while.
The rest of the pack, as I have my entire life thought of the kid group at the village, is scattered, some helping with party preparations, some doing their best to hide out and avoid any work.
I slip away to the tree house, where I spend the afternoon nailing on the last of the roof tiles, and by the end of the day I am tired but exhilarated, my head buzzing with images of Nicole sweating, streaked with dirt, and working beside me.
She is even more of a
But the moment the words exit my mouth, I know weâll go. I canât really stop Isabel from going anyway, and I might as well be there to make sure she doesnât get into too much trouble.
Wolf motions me to step back, and I watch as he slams his shovel into the earth, penetrating far better than I could have managed. He has a decent hole dug in a matter of a few minutes, and I start working on making it deeper while he moves a foot closer to the house and continues to dig there.
My chest is tight with nerves, and I realize I donât feel at all like myself when heâs around. I feel fuzzy headed, confused.
Iâm going to have to be on my guard with him. Heâs got a certain wily, elusive quality that reminds me of real wolves in the wild.
We dig until we are drenched in sweat. The earth is so hard near the surface that itâs slow going, but about a foot and a half down, the earth starts to get soft and wet, which has me exhilarated with the promise that maybe weâve found the burst pipe. Wolf digs down another foot or so while I watch, being careful at the end not to dig his shovel too deep and hit pipe. Then we both get down on our knees and dig wet soil out with our hands. We are filthy by the time my hand hits metal, and Iâm so hot I feel like Iâm going to pass out, but I am grateful to Wolf for helping me. I wouldnât have figured out what to do without him, and I see that already all the preparation, all Dadâs so-called training, didnât mean a thing when I faced an actual problem while trying to survive on my own.
I look over at Wolf, watching him as he unearths a rusted-out pipe with water spraying out, and I feel a surge of gratitude, and something else.
A buzzing, magnetic force, urging me to him.
WOLF
Iâve never been a fan of parties, but the thought of Nicole coming to the one at Sadhana makes me feel like celebrating.
Maybe not celebrating the way Annika has in mind, with hand-holding and drums around the fire all night, but just feeling good ⦠having fun.
I think I may have forgotten how to have fun.
I remember reading that Winston Churchill called depression âthe black dog,â and that is what I imagine has been following me around recently since my motherâs return. Or maybe itâs more of a storm cloud forever hovering overhead, turning all my thoughts and feelings gray. I never thought of myself as being depressed, but I realize as I ride my bike home from Nicoleâs house, my arms and legs and clothes stained with dirt, sweat soaked through my shirt, that I feel alive, really alive, for the first time in a while.
I want to know what happens next, which is not something I have been curious about for a long time.
We werenât able to fix her broken pipe problem. Itâs not like there were spare plumbing tools and pipe lying around. But she said she would call a plumber, and I was glad I could at least help a little. We ate some of the bread I brought over, and drank some water, and then I figured Iâd better go, since I hadnât really been invited in the first place.
I jump into the pond when I get back to the village, let the cool water wash me clean, and then I spend the rest of the day avoiding the adults. They will ask me to do thingsâgather firewood, chop vegetables, set up tents for the overflow of out-of-town partiers who want to camp out tonightâand I just want to revel in this feeling of being happy for a while.
The rest of the pack, as I have my entire life thought of the kid group at the village, is scattered, some helping with party preparations, some doing their best to hide out and avoid any work.
I slip away to the tree house, where I spend the afternoon nailing on the last of the roof tiles, and by the end of the day I am tired but exhilarated, my head buzzing with images of Nicole sweating, streaked with dirt, and working beside me.
She is even more of a
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