Pow-Wow

By Tia Greenfield

Come to Southern Oregon and meet the elders, children, drummers, dancers, vendors, and other pow-wow regulars and hangers-on at the annual Wolf Creek pow-wow. Be there for set-up, shopping and swapping, cooling off in the river. You may even want to jump down the waterfall. You wouldnt want to miss the tribal salmon feed and potluck supper, would you? Then theres smudging and drumming around the campfire, plus late night high jinx.

Get up early for the flag-raising ceremony the next day, and dance at the afternoon pow-wow. Youre invited to chili night at Pam and Robs camp too.

What happens, though, when most of the drum groups counted on for the evening event just disappear? Who will save the pow-wow? That task falls to an unlikely group of make-do drummers rounded up at the last minute and aided by Menominee elder, Deep Water. Hurray! They pull it off!

Dont head home yet. The fun is just starting! The ceremonial pow-wow may be a serious and spiritual celebration of Native American culture, but what happens afterwards? Join sisters Sarah and Suzanne in the field under the stars for the annual family naming ceremony and walk with them on safety patrol. All sorts of things are going on out there, and what are those teenagers doing over at the river?

It may be getting very late, but the nights still young. Sit in Less teepee as he divides up the drum money from the blanket dance and hang out for marshmallow roasting, crazy talk around the campfire, and teepee creeping.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, but first, theres tear-down, clean-up, and the raffle. But dont worry, therell be another pow-wow soon, and until then, just keep on the Good Red Road!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 8, 2008
• ISBN: 9781467800761

Tia Greenfield

Tia Greenfield was born in Boulder, Colorado, and spent her childhood there. When she was in her early teens, her family moved to Southern Oregon. After graduation from high school, she moved to San Francisco, California, and attended City College of San Francisco and the University of California at Berkeley, where she received both her Bachelor's and Master's degrees in English Language and Literature. She has three grown children: Leef, Lars, and Lyca. Currently, she resides in the Chicago area with her husband, Dennis, and teaches English at College of DuPage in Glen Ellyn, Illinois. DOG WARS is her third novel, following POW-WOW and BARTER FAIR.

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THURSDAY

ON INDIAN TIME

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Dee Is Not Happy

Dee is not happy. In fact, she’s starting to get a headache, a nasty one. It seems like she always gets stuck with all the work. Well, most of it anyway. Anyway, more than her fair share. Way more. Sure Sarah has two little kids to get ready, but that’s certainly not her fault, is it now? And if Sarah could just be a little more organized, like Suzanne, or Sally. You’d think she’d dropped her on her head when she was a baby! Maybe she should have dropped her on her head! Dee takes another sip of coffee and one last drag on her cigarette before she puts it out. Still, two out of three daughters who can get it together isn’t bad, she has to admit - it sure beats having only one who can. Still three out of three would be even better, and who knows? Maybe someday Sarah will get her shit together. But she doubts it. Seriously doubts it. And then there’s Russ, their brother, her only son, the baby of the family. She doesn’t even want to start thinking about his problems.

It pisses Dee off that she usually has to do most of the shopping, packing, loading, unloading, setting up, repacking, and unpacking pow-wow after pow-wow, every damn time, not to mention the selling. Sure Sarah will take people’s money if they shove it under her nose, but she sure doesn’t really try to sell anything. And then it seems like she always needs to nurse Shasta or feed Sequoia or change Shasta’s diaper or take Sequoia to the toilet or some damn thing or other. Or she wants to go watch the drummers. Or she wants to go dance. Or walk around and look at the other venders’ stuff. Always something.

Suzanne is right. It is my own fault, she says out loud to herself. I know it. (Sometimes Dee likes to talk to herself.) I don’t have to do everything, she thinks. I could tell Sarah: Look, I’ll load my stuff, and you load yours. I’ll unpack my stuff, and you do yours. I suppose I could even tell her: Look, either you spend your fair share of the time watching the booth, or else I’ll sell my stuff, and you sell yours. But then Sarah would probably never sell anything, and then she’d just want to borrow some more money, so I might as well sell hers for her.

Anyway, she thinks, to be fair about it, it’s not exactly as if most of the stuff is really all hers or all Sarah’s anyway. Dee does buy just about all the materials, and she makes the buckskin rattles, but then Sarah does paint them, and beautifully too, she has to admit that. There’s no denying the fact that Sarah has talent. If only she’d make better use of it. But without Sarah to paint them, Dee thinks, she’d be up the creek without a paddle because she’s not very good at drawing or painting. And they sure do look a hell of a lot better than they would without any bears, lizards, turtles, buffalo, other animals, or sunfaces painted on them, even if Sarah does wait until the last possible minute to get them done every damn time.

So she supposes she won’t say anything to her after all. But damn it! Sarah knows she has a pinched nerve and that her back and fanny and all down her leg hurt like hell!

So it pisses her off that when Sarah called a while ago, she had asked, So can you just swing by and pick me up on your way out of town?

So Dee had just told her, No! You get your butt over here as soon as you can and help me! In fact, she isn’t even going to start loading until Sarah gets here. She’ll just have another cup of coffee and another cigarette, and if Sarah doesn’t hurry up, she just might even have a beer! Besides, she isn’t at all sure how they’re ever going to get all the tables, blankets, baskets, bags, tents, coolers, and other stuff in, not to mention the food. Plus all the shit Sarah is sure to bring - diaper bag and bottles and teething biscuits, Shasta’s stroller and changing pad, Sequoia’s teddy bear and Cabbage Patch doll, and God only knows what else. She wouldn’t be surprised if she even brought the damn ferrets!

And she for damn sure isn’t going to lift any of the heavy stuff up into the carrier Tom had helped her strap on top of her old Dodge van this morning. He’s a good grandson; you’d never think that he and Mark were Sarah’s sons if you didn’t already know. They’re not at all like her. Their lives are organized. They’re responsible. So she’ll just sit and wait. Her headache is getting worse. It sure would be easier to take the camp trailer, since a lot of the stuff that needs to go is already in it, but she doesn’t want to pull it up those hills outside of Grants Pass. She’s worried about the engine and doesn’t like creeping along in the slow lane. So they’ll just have to figure out something. And maybe she’ll just sell that old trailer anyway, if they’re not going to use it that much anymore.

Well, maybe she’ll just start to get a few things together. She gets up and stacks the baskets that have the rattles and mini-rattle necklaces in them on the couch. She puts the bag of the arrows Tom made to sell next to them. She hopes a lot of those and his spears will sell. He really needs the money, since he’s still determined to get married to that goofball in September. She doesn’t much like the idea, but he’s made up his mind, and there’s nothing she can say or do to change it, even if she is his grandma, so she’d just told him, Whatever makes you happy, Honey, the last time he’d asked her about it. She pours herself another cup of coffee and lights up another cigarette. Shymia starts barking like crazy, and then Suzanne and Olaf hit the door.

Shut up, Shymia! Suzanne kicks at the excited Pom who’s running in circles around her feet. Hi, Mom! Are you ready to go? she asks.

Do I look like I’m ready to go? Dee answers. I haven’t even started to load up yet. Where are Liam and Loren? I thought maybe they’d come this time.

Working; they both had to work this weekend. Got to help meet those college expenses, you know, replies Suzanne.

Yeah, I know. But they’re still kids. They shouldn’t work so much, says Dee.

I think they actually want to, says Olaf.

Suzanne looks around. Where’s Sarah?

Still at home. I told her to get her butt over here and help me, but it’ll probably be four o’clock before she gets here.

Is Sequoia feeling better? asks Olaf.

I don’t think so. She answered the phone when I called, and she said she still felt sick. She didn’t even get out of bed the other day. And she hasn’t been out to play all week.

Well then, is she really well enough to be going to a pow-wow? asks Suzanne.

Probably not, but Honey, she’d have to be half dead and having convulsions on the floor before Sarah’d even think about not going. And then after she’d thought about it, she’d probably still end up going! Dee answers.

Mom! Suzanne looks shocked. Well, it looks like we’d better help you load up. Let’s get started! Olaf, get those bags there, and I’ll bring these baskets.

I’ll call Sarah again and tell her to hurry up, says Dee.

Twenty minutes later, everything from the living room has been loaded. Dee drags a large cardboard box out of the storage shed that sits out behind her mobile.

What’s that? asks Suzanne.

It’s a plastic canopy I got on sale for $89 at Bi-Mart, says Dee. It’ll give us some shade. It’s going to get awfully hot up there this weekend.

Really? How hot? asks Suzanne, sounding worried. Even though she grew up in Southern Oregon, after having lived in San Francisco for so many years, she thinks that anything above seventy-five is definitely too hot.

According to the weather report, in the nineties during the days, says Dee.

That’s not good, says Olaf. I don’t know if I can take that kind of heat. It wasn’t nearly that hot last year.

That’s right, says Dee. But it’ll be hot hot this time.

Don’t you lift that, orders Suzanne. That’s heavy.

Well then who is going to? asks Dee.

I am. I’m strong, Suzanne replies, and she is. She lifts it, stands on the doorframe, and hefts it up into the plastic carrier on top of the van. What else do you want to go up here?

Jeez, Suzanne, says Dee. I guess all those karate classes you’ve been taking are really paying off.

It’s tai chi, Mom, says Suzanne. Not karate.

What’s the difference? Remember when the kids used to call you Bird Legs? I think there’s just those bags of groceries in the kitchen and those bags on the porch. I’ll run down to the trailer and get the card tables. They go in the trunk. And the other stuff from there that has to go.

I’ll get it, says Olaf.

Jeez, says Suzanne. You’ve got a lot of stuff, Mom! Where’s Sarah’s stuff going to fit?

I hadn’t thought of that, answers Dee. If there isn’t room, I guess she’ll just have to hold it on her lap.

By the time Olaf gets back, Suzanne has finished loading the groceries. Dee can’t believe how fast everything is getting done. It had taken her and Sarah over three hours to load up last weekend.

Anything else? asks Suzanne.

Just my clothes bag. It’s in my bedroom. I’ll get it.

Just then, Sarah pulls up in her beat-up old tomato-soup-red Volks-wagen. That’s just about right, says Dee. She usually gets here just when all the work is finished. Good timing.

Hi! Everybody’s here! This is going to be so much fun! Sarah gets out of the car smiling broadly. She’s wearing a faded tie-dyed ankle-length gauze skirt with a shiny, short-sleeved blue leotard, and she has three crystals, a pink one, a light blue one, and a clear one, on a silver chain around her neck. She has what looks like about a hundred strands of multi-colored beads wound around her left ankle. She has a new dragonfly tattoo just below her left collarbone. Her dishwater blond hair hangs in damp spirals. Long beaded earrings hang from her ears. She rushes over to hug everyone, then hurries back to the car. She unfastens the harness of Shasta’s carseat, lifts the chubby baby out of it, slings Shasta onto her hip and walks towards the others, followed by Sequoia, whose dark arms are decorated with pink splotches of Calamine lotion, and Lacy.

You’re late, says Dee, with obvious irritation in her voice.

No, I’m not, says Sarah. We’re going to a pow-wow. I’m just on Indian time.

Honey, you’re always on Indian time, says Dee. Ok, what’ve you got that needs to go? We have all my stuff loaded in. I don’t know where you’re going to put your stuff, but I guess you’ll have to figure something out.

You can put some of your stuff in our car, offers Suzanne, after she hugs Lacy, Sarah, and Sequoia. Lacy! Sweetie! How are you? Long time, no see! Have you been having fun staying with Auntie Sarah and your cousins? Have you been good?

Sure, Mom, says Lacy.

Well, let’s see, says Sarah. There are two bags of groceries and that box of Pampers - oh and that plastic bucket full of dinosaurs, Shasta’s potty chair - and the girls each have a couple of bags.

A couple of bags! exclaims Dee. I told you, one bag each.

Well, what difference does it make if they each bring one big bag or two smaller ones? asks Sarah, who is lighting a hand-rolled cigar-ette.

Dee doesn’t answer.

We only bring one small bag each when we go on trips, says Suzanne. You know that, Lacy, right? Just because you’re staying with Aunt Sarah doesn’t mean you can bring two bags! You know that!

But Mom, Aunt Sarah said it was ok.

Suzanne turns to Dee. Mom, where would you put all this extra stuff if we weren’t coming?

I’ll have to think about that, answers Dee.

And how long would it have taken you to load all this stuff without us?

I’ll have to think about that too.

I have to tell you, Mom, says Suzanne, if it gets unbearably hot up there, we might not want to stay for the whole three days, so you better think about what you really need, because it looks like we might have to bring some of your stuff back with us if we leave early. You better think about how you’ll do this without us next time, too.

Oh jeez, I hadn’t thought of that, says Dee. What would you do if you were me?

I’d get a r.v. (And the very next month, when a savings bond rolls over, Dee does - a used twenty foot mini-mobile, and she sells the old camping trailer.)

Well, it looks like everything’s finally loaded, says Sarah. So let’s go. She puts Shasta’s car seat into the backseat of Dee’s van and starts strapping the toddler in. Shasta wails, but she’s in. Sequoia and Lacy get in, one on each side of Shasta. Lacy is listening to rap music on her Sony Walkman, so loud that everyone can hear it, and Sequoia is checking her arms to see if she’s getting any new chicken pox spots, Shymia jumps in. Sarah and Dee get in, and Dee starts the engine.

We’ll follow you, says Olaf. He throws the car keys to Suzanne. You drive.

Why? asks Suzanne. She’d been looking forward to relaxing on the way up to the pow-wow grounds.

Because I’m tired from loading up, he answers.

You’re tired! says Dee as she begins to back the van out of the driveway. Her headache is still there, but she’s glad they’re finally off.

Sarah Is Excited

Sarah is excited. She’s happy that they are finally on the road. She loves everything about a pow-wow. Well, almost everything. She doesn’t like loading up, and it seems like Mom always expects her to do all the work! That’s not fair! That’s no fun! And she doesn’t much like sitting in the booth waiting for buyers either. That’s no fun! She’d love to get more of their stuff into some shops - maybe the shop Lois is going to open in Ashland - or in a gallery, so she doesn’t even have to think about selling at the pow-wows and can just go to have a good time.

She doesn’t like some of the junk Dee has been bringing to sell lately either. Sarah wants to sell only their own handmade crafts. Even though she realizes that most of the people who come to the pow-wows are not going to shell out thirty dollars for a hand painted T-shirt, no matter how beautiful it is, or fifty dollars for a handmade ceremonial rattle, though they will spend a couple of bucks for a string of beads or an arrowhead or a feathered keychain or hair tie. And those wooden ponies Mom has been making on her jigsaw are kind of cute; kids seem to like them, and they’ve been selling like hotcakes. And they do have to make some money somehow; she just wishes she could figure out a better way.

Anyway, she loves the pow-wows. She loves the dancing and the drumming and the drummers and the dancers - and one dancer in particular. Baby Face! What a hunk! Just thinking about him makes her feel flushed. Oh she knows all right that he belongs to Horse Face and that she has him on a short leash, real short, and it’s probably better that way. Better for him, being on the right path and all, leading a regular family life and being a daddy to Wechala and all. Better for her too! Just look at what happened when they had gotten together - Shasta! Not that she doesn’t love the baby, bless her little heart. Especially since Baby Face is her daddy! She looks just like him too!

Still, she wonders, since Wechala is only a few months older than Shasta, what was Baby Face doing teepee creeping at that pow-wow at Lake of the Woods anyway? He must have known that Horse Face was pregnant by then. Well, there must have been something special that attracted him to me, she thinks. God knows there’s something special that attracts me to him. Animal magnetism! That’s it! She loves it when he’s out there dancing with his face painted and half naked. Sometimes he wears shorts underneath his breechcloth, and sometimes he doesn’t. And when he doesn’t, she can hardly keep from wetting her pants, watching his long black hair swinging back and forth, the big jingling bells on leather straps around his ankles shaking, his thick legs moving up and down as he stomps the ground, his thighs flashing between the deer skin squares, his big butt swaying from side to side. No doubt about it, he’s wild, a wild Indian! Sure he’s short and stocky, some people might even say fat, but she just loves everything about him - everything she knows, which when she thinks about it, she has to admit isn’t really a whole lot. Still … he looks so good!

She wonders if he’ll show up at this pow-wow, and whether he’ll be alone, like he sometimes is, or if Horse Face and Wechala will be with him. She hopes he’ll be there. Alone. But she knows there’s a sun dance up at Silver Falls this weekend, and he’ll probably go to that instead. She remembers running her fingers over the scars left from the piercing he had done at another sun dance, remembers how touching them had made her feel. Reckless and wild! Wild and reckless! So though the thought had crossed her mind, she had said nothing about using a condom that night - her fortieth birthday and the night Shasta was conceived.

There’s no harm in just thinking about him. She sighs. It’s fun. Sarah is trying to convince herself that the fact that he has avoided her as much as possible at just about every pow-wow since then is all for the best - for both of them - but still, she can’t help but wonder, can’t help but wish, can’t help hoping that he will show up at Wolf Creek. She’d at least like to look at him. And who knows?

Les Is Waiting

Les is waiting. He’s sitting in his wheelchair in the sun. It’s still early, but it’s warm already. It’s quiet. Only a few of the vendors have arrived and are setting up their booths. Les is checking out the sound system his buddy Sam rented to him for just twenty-five dollars for the weekend. He’s playing a Bob Marley tape his mom got for him at a yard sale over the loud speakers. It sounds good!

Les feels good today. Really good. He takes his hairbrush out of the beaded leather backpack that always hangs over the handles behind his chair. He brushes his long dark blond hair. He’s looking forward to some singing and drumming, probably tonight after more people arrive, and for sure tomorrow, and at the pow-wow and then after, and then the next day too.

It’s been ten years now since the accident, almost ten years to the day in fact, plenty of time to get used to being in a wheelchair, Les thinks. But then again, he still has the feeling that he’ll never really get used to it, not completely anyway. There are still mornings when he’ll wake up and start to get out of bed, still groggy, try to stand up and walk to the bathroom, before he remembers that he can’t walk and won’t ever walk again. That’s for sure.

Sure, he’s glad to be alive and all, glad he came out of the coma ok, well pretty much ok, even though he had to learn to talk all over again, just like a baby. And then there are some advantages to having had a head injury. He can get away with some things he might not be able to otherwise, like when he forgets to do things he’s supposed to do. He chuckles to himself. And it makes people more tolerant of some of his little quirks, he thinks.

Basically, he accepts all that’s happened. He’s not bitter, like Dave, his old friend from physical therapy, all the time thinking and talking about ending it all. No sir, he’s got a lot, really a lot, to live for, a lot to be thankful for. Enough money to get by on. Nathaniel. Good friends. Lots of them. Loving, helpful parents, but not too helpful. His drum and drumming and singing and the pow-wows. In fact, he never would have gotten into coming to the pow-wows with his mom and dad and then the drum if it hadn’t been for the accident. It sure wasn’t his idea of a good time on a weekend before the accident - camping out with a bunch of Indians. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll! And alcohol. That had been his life in those days. Well, shoot, he still likes sex and rock and roll! Drugs and alcohol, he’d sworn off after the accident. Weed doesn’t count. It’s an herb, not a drug. Just good green medicine as far as he’s concerned. And it does help with the pain. Better than pain pills. Sex - not that he’s had any for quite a long while, but that could change. Maybe even this weekend. You never know. You just never know.

So what if he and Kit had broken up right after he got out of the hospital? He could understand her not wanting to spend her life with him this way. He’d probably have done the same thing if it had been the other way around. Still, he wishes she could have just left, though. It hurts, it still hurts to remember her hitting and kicking him when there wasn’t damn much he could do to fight back or even defend himself. That’s something he’s sure he wouldn’t have done if it had been the other way around.

He tries not to think about it too much, tries not to dwell on the past. Better to just live in the present. And he’s glad he’s got Nathaniel, real glad, even though it’s hard, real hard, taking care of a little kid when you can’t walk or chase after him to make him mind. Life is hard, and sometimes he feels bad, real bad, especially during the winter when he can’t get out much, but then there’s summer and the pow-wows to look forward to and get ready for. New songs to learn. New people to meet.

Les feels alive, really alive, when he’s at a pow-wow. Those are the best times. The pow-wows are good for him, body, mind, and spirit, no doubt about it. And this one is his favorite.

He’s just glad to be here. Today is going to be a good day. The sun is getting warmer. He finishes brushing his hair and replaces the brush in his bag. He bends down and unties his shoes, kicks them off, and rolls his socks off.

He chuckles to himself again. He wonders if Clinton and the Crab Apple kids will show up. He hopes those damn brats won’t dump him out of his chair again, those crazy little wild Indians. Sometimes they can just go too far; sometimes they can make him damn mad. But most of the time, they’re just having fun. They see him as just another kid to play with. And they play rough. That’s just how they play.

Les is not exactly happy about turning thirty next week. Thirty sounds so old. He doesn’t want to get old, like his mom and dad. Les wants to stay young forever.

He reaches into his backpack and rummages around for the gold cigarette case his mom gave him. He opens it and takes out a cigarette and lights it. He takes a drag, tilts his head back, blows out the smoke up towards the cloudless sky, and watches it vanish into the bright summer air. Today is going to be a good day.

Dee’s Tent

Rob had helped Dee set up her tent. It’s an old green nylon two-person tent with a small mesh window at the back. It has a roll-down shade too, so she can have the window open or closed. She got it at Target at the end of the summer sale a few years ago. She likes it. Nothing fancy, but it’s cozy, and it’s easy to put up, with only four poles and plastic toggles to fit them into up top. She could probably even get it up herself, if she tried, but someone always offers to help her, and that suits her just fine.

It’s just the right size for her, not too big and not too small. She has it all organized just the way she likes it. She’s getting too damn old and stiff to sleep in a sleeping bag on a pad on the hard ground under the tent floor, so she brings an old collapsible cot. It’s pretty comfortable, she thinks. It’s narrow, but that’s ok. She puts her old Coleman sleeping bag with the red plaid lining in it on the cot, and on top of that, she spreads out an old red wool trading blanket with wide black stripes near the ends. It can get pretty cool up here some nights. There’s almost nothing Dee likes better than lying on her cot at night at a pow-wow and falling asleep as she listens to the drumming and singing. That’s the best way in the whole world to fall asleep and one of the very best parts of any pow-wow.

Her clothes pack is stashed underneath her cot, along with the bag that holds her crafts materials. On the other side is a small cooler containing ice and eight cans of beer and two wine coolers. Sometimes Dee just feels like having a cold one, but she’s careful, and she’s discreet. She understands why there’s always a no alcohol rule at every pow-wow. She even agrees with that policy, to a degree. Alcohol is a serious social problem for Native Americans. She knows that. She just doesn’t completely agree with no alcohol for herself. On a hot afternoon, she likes to come in her tent, zip up the door, sit on her cot, and drink a beer or two. No one’s the wiser, and what harm does it do?

In the other corner, opposite the cot, down by the door, is the old Folger’s coffee can Dee uses as a chamber pot at night, when it’s late and dark and she doesn’t feel like getting up and walking all the way to one of the porta-potties or to the outhouse up the path that winds through the campground.

Dee has managed to convince Sequoia that it is her camp job to empty that coffee can every morning. It’s not a job Sequoia relishes, but she’s a good girl, and she loves her grandma, and Sarah always tells her that she should try to help Grammy whenever she can. So she does it. Once in a while, Dee gives her a dollar or two, so she can get a new coloring book or a comic or some candy.

Sometimes Sarah makes her empty the little pee-filled pot from underneath Shasta’s little wooden potty chair too. Sequoia remembers when it was hers and she used it when they were camping or at a pow-wow. Shasta will have to empty Grammy’s pee can when she’s older, thinks Sequoia, and she can have another job at camp. She’s getting older and stronger and bigger. Maybe she’ll be able to set up the tent soon instead. Or do something else.

But for now, emptying Dee’s pee can every morning is her camp job. Sequoia picks it up, careful not to slosh the contents around, holds it out at arm’s length, and plugs her nose with her other hand. Eeeeewwwwww! she says every time. She carries it carefully up the hill and dumps it behind a bush, then brings it back down and puts that coffee can back in the corner of Dee’s tent.

Lacy Is Setting Up

Lacy is setting up her tent down the hill from her parents’ tent under a tall pine tree. She’s listening to Prince on her walkman. She’s glad she has her very own tent now, even if she did have to use two months’ allowance to buy it. Well, anyway, it’s mostly her very own tent. She had to talk her best friend Angie into chipping in twenty dollars so she could buy it before the class end of the year campout. Really, there hadn’t been much choice, since Angie didn’t have a tent either, and they would have had to rent one with their own money from school if they wanted to sleep together, and that would have cost almost as much as buying one. Just because dumb old Mom and Dad had refused to let her use either of their tents again.

Just because the dumb old tent she had used for the camping trip at the beginning of the year had gotten a big rip in it. It wasn’t even her fault! If Janie hadn’t felt like she was going to throw up and hadn’t needed to get out of the tent right away, it never would have happened. It wasn’t her fault Janie got sick. It wasn’t her fault dumb old Janie had just tried to push her way out instead of unzipping the door. She’d tried to explain. But all dumb