Green Lake 1

I sense trouble, Mrs Sanderson has that smug look, "ok class, the book reports, due on the 31st." Mentally I make a note to talk with cousin Danny, 2 years older. Why not? Everyone else does. "This time, a little different, you don't choose the book. I do. No swapping, you WILL do the book I give you."
I groan inwardly, sense 30 others do the same.
There is no time for other than a glance, cover seems harmless enough, vaguely Arabic drawing. As the bell rings, I slide it into my bag. Gotta move fast, quick bathroom break, then school bus.
Nate sits next to me, "what a swine she is. But then Da says all women are swine."
"Whaddya mean?"
"Jimmy, open that bag, look at the book." Turns out I drew "The Breadwinner"; Nate "Parvana's Journey." Both by the same author. Both - yuck - double yuck - girl books.
In the bench behind I heard Tammy and Cindy also moaning. Tammy got a war story, Cindy one on football.
Bubbling with outrage, Nate growls, "Da says crap like this will make you cross-eyed. Give you pimples. Hairy palms. Yuck."
I stare out the window, don't reply.
He takes his gloves out of his parka pocket. "Now them of yours, shot, try these on."
I do, feel nice and warm, I'll never see stuff like this.
"Tell you what," wicked grin, "you do my book report, I'll copy in my own handwriting. C minus or better, gloves are yours. B, your bonus is a whole Saturday playing with my computer. A, two whole Saturdays."
I know it's wrong, still I don't hesitate, "deal."
"Shake on it pardner."
We do.
Behind us, I hear Tammy start to bribe Cindy with a scarf.

I may be lazy when it comes to school work, but hey I need those gloves. Besides, gotta tonna free time, TV on the fritz. I zip through Nate's book that evening. "Parvana's Journey" is a story of a refugee Afghan girl in wartime. I ain't gonna admit it to Nate, but I cried once, at the end where her 8 year old friend dies.
Still, don't make it look easy, wait 3 days, give him the book report.
Next evening, I do my book. "The Breadwinner" is a story of same Parvana disguising herself as a boy, writing letters in the market to support her family.
Despite myself, despite feeling all girls are total swine, I still admire Parvana's courage in both books.

Sunday morning Uncle Billy Bob comes around. This time Ma ain't going to church, bit of flu, but he'll drive me to Sunday School.
As we hop in his half-ton, the snow is starting to get heavy. "Jimmy, I never get a chance to talk man-to-man, yer Ma's always around. What you gonna be when you grow up?"
"Could take over the farm from Pa."
"Ain't gonna happen. He's 5 years behind in his land tax, same as mosta them. One of these years, rural municipality just up and take it all away. If it don't, all that machinery on its last legs. What happens when the combine-harvester or grain-truck gives out?"
"All is kaput, Uncle Billy Bob."
"Besides, pieca land like that, ain't enough to support one man, let alone two. Finish school, he's gonna boot you."
"I could always try the Army, Uncle Terry did ok. Tour of duty in Germany, BMW."
"Ancient history, nowadays all technician jobs. Need good high school math and science to even apply."
"Could try oil rigs, you did ok."
"You just forget that, little man. I defied the odds. For every one of me, there's four career-ending injuries. And don't be like Fred in the gas station, ten hours of work to collect eight hours of minimum wage. All these little scumbag employers here in Green Lake do that. Don't think them eight dollar an hour jobs in Edmonton'll get you rich. First, govamint steals tonna money in deductions. Then, landlord gouges you. Ain't nothing left. So, what you deciding to do?"
"Uncle Billy Bob, guess you's telling me to study a little harder."
"Jimmy, I ain't saying go blind, get straight A's, get beat up as a suck. But C+, B-, sound reasonable?"
"Yes Uncle Billy Bob."
"Good, don't wanna preach and get you mad. Now go listen to what that old fart says today."
We both laugh.
I don't remember one word old Mr Thompson said. My mind is spinning. Tricky to grow up. Besides all that stuff, gotta marry a white woman, get nagged to death; shack up with an Injun squaw; or get beat up alla time cuz they think you're one of them homosexyoualls."
Seeing the snow worsen outside, I have visions of It happening. Yeah bring It on. Then I feel shame. Supposedly Uncle Billy Bob likes his life, don't want him killed too.
Snow is a lot worse, there's vodka on his breath when he picks me up. On the way down Connors Hill, I sense his brakes have failed.
We're up to 140 kilometers an hour on wet snow by the time we hit that hairpin turn at the bottom. No contest, we're headed for the power pole.
I find the idea exciting. Yep, this is It.