Hummingbird’s Squash

Created by

The Native Diabetes Wellness Program 

Based on the original Eagle Books characters by

Georgia Perez

Written by

Terry Lofton

Illustrated by

Patrick Rolo
The Eagle Books

In the original Eagle Book series, a young boy, Rain 

that Dances, discovers an unhappy eagle. Mr. 

Eagle is tearful because many of the people in the 

community are developing a disease called type 

2 diabetes. Rain that Dances invites his friends 

Thunder Cloud, Little Hummingbird, and Simon, to hear what the 

eagle has to say about staying healthy. The great bird assures the 

children that people can help to prevent type 2 diabetes by eating 

nourishing foods, being active, and following the traditions of 

their ancestors.

Coyote and the Turtle’s Dream

In the original Eagle Books stories, Rain and his friends 

were about six years old. However, in this new story, 

Coyote and the Turtle’s Dream, they are entering the 

seventh grade. Once again, the eagle gives a warning 

to Rain, but this time it is about the disappearance 

of water on their reservation. Never forgetting the health messages 

taught to them by the eagle, the kids embark on a mystery/adventure 

to solve a riddle about ancient fossils that will restore the water’s flow.

Hummingbird’s Squash

In Hummingbird’s Squash, our young heroes continue 

their adventures under the watchful eye of Sky Heart, 

the eagle. In this story, Hummingbird pursues an 

ambitious plan to grow healthy foods that will help 

the community prevent type 2 diabetes. Little does 

she know that Coyote is leading her, Rain, Boomer, Simon, and her 

new “sister” Arianna, on a path of knowledge that reveals what it means 

to embrace all of one’s relatives and honor the wisdom of ancestors.
Hummingbird’s Squash

Created by

The Native Diabetes

Wellness Program

Written by

Terry Lofton

Illustrated by

Patrick Rolo

Based on the original

Eagle Books characters by

Georgia Perez
Hummingbird’s Squash

Created by the Native Diabetes Wellness Program

Written by Terry Lofton

Illustrated by Patrick Rolo

Graphic Design by Linda Beatty, Westat Graphics

Based on the original Eagle Books characters by Georgia Perez

U.S. DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH AND HUMAN SERVICES

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

Center for Mental Health Services

www.samhsa.gov

DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH AND HUMAN SERVICES

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention

Division of Diabetes Translation

Native Diabetes Wellness Program
This book is dedicated to Buford Rolin, Chairman of the Poarch Band 

of Creek Indians, for his lifetime of achievement as an advocate for 

the health of Native peoples and his tireless work in the prevention of 

type 2 diabetes.

For more information about CDC’s Native Diabetes Wellness 

Program and Eagle Books educational materials, please go to 

www.cdc.gov/diabetes/projects/diabetes-wellness.htm. Additional 

information about diabetes and diabetes prevention can be found at 

the National Diabetes Education Program’s website, http://ndep.nih.

gov/. Under “Find Publications for Me,” select the drop down box for 

“Age” and find “Teens and Children.” Posted are tips for teens with 

diabetes, and tips for how kids can lower their risk for developing 

type 2 diabetes.


About Diabetes

Diabetes is a disease in which blood glucose levels are above normal. Most 

of the food we eat is turned into glucose, or sugar, for our bodies to use for 

energy. The pancreas, an organ that lies near the stomach, makes a hormone 

called insulin to help glucose get into the cells of our bodies. When you have 

diabetes, your body either doesn’t make enough insulin or can’t use its own 

insulin as well as it should. This causes sugar to build up in your blood.

Type 1 diabetes, which was previously called insulin-dependent 

diabetes mellitus (IDDM) or juvenile-onset diabetes, may account for about 

5 percent of all diagnosed cases of diabetes. The causes of type 1 diabetes 

appear to be much different than those for type 2 diabetes, though the exact 

mechanisms for developing both diseases are unknown. The appearance of 

type 1 diabetes is suspected to follow exposure to an “environmental trigger,” 

such as an unidentified virus, stimulating an immune attack against the beta 

cells of the pancreas (that produce insulin) in some genetically predisposed 

people. Researchers are making progress in identifying the exact genetics 

and “triggers” that predispose some individuals to develop type 1 diabetes, 

but prevention remains elusive.

Type 2 diabetes, which was previously called non-insulin-dependent 

diabetes mellitus (NIDDM) or adult-onset diabetes, may account for about 90 

percent to 95 percent of all diagnosed cases of diabetes. A number of studies 

have shown that regular physical activity can significantly reduce the risk of 

developing type 2 diabetes. The Diabetes Prevention Program (DPP), a major 

federally funded study of 3,234 people at high risk for diabetes, showed that 

people can delay and possibly prevent the disease by losing a small amount of 

weight (5 to 7% of total body weight) through 30 minutes of physical activity 5 

days a week and healthier eating.

For more information, visit the Centers for Disease Control and 

Prevention’s Diabetes Public Health Resource at http://www.cdc.gov/

diabetes/consumer/index.htm

vi
Preface

In 2005, the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s 

(CDC’s) Native Diabetes Wellness Program introduced children 

in American Indian/Alaska Native communities to the Eagle 

Books. In these stories, written by Georgia Perez, an eagle brings 

important messages about the prevention of type 2 diabetes to a 

young Indian boy and his friends. The eagle teaches that Native 

knowledge provides the wisdom and power that helps friends 

and families stay healthy. By eating the foods their ancestors 

did and being physically active, children learn that much can be 

done to prevent type 2 diabetes.

Because the Eagle Books were so popular with elementary 

school children, we decided to develop books that would 

appeal to middle schoolers as well. In the first youth novel, 

Coyote and the Turtle’s Dream, Sky Heart (the eagle), Thistle (the 

rabbit), and Coyote lead Rain that Dances (Rain), Thunder 

Cloud (Boomer), Little Hummingbird (Bird), and Simon to 

deeper understandings about the health and well-being of their 

community. They learn that it is the people’s cultural values and 

their relationships to each other and their environment that 

are the sources of a healthy life in balance. They also learn from 

their new friend, Arianna, who has type 1 diabetes, that balance 

in nutrition and physical activity is essential for her health, too.

In this new book, Hummingbird’s Squash, we once again 

find our heroes working to improve the health of families on 

the Medicine Cave Indian Reservation. In this story, the focus 

is on Hummingbird as she pursues a “giant plan” to grow 

vii
huge fruits and vegetables that will provide abundant food to 

everyone. A bit full of herself, she believes that her “giants” will 

make Native seeds and growing methods unnecessary. She is 

unaware, however, that Coyote is playing tricks that will teach 

her and her friends about the history and wisdom of the foods 

their ancestors grew. His schemes also bring them into conflict 

with a school bully who has other plans for their giant garden. 

However, with help from Sky Heart, Thistle, the teachers at 

Thunder Rock Middle School, and their favorite store owner 

Boo, they find ways to prevent bullying and restore harmony 

to their school. By the way, you might like to know that in this 

story, Coyote performs the biggest trick (it is 9 feet tall) and 

oldest trick (about 4.5 billion years old) that he ever played. 

One of them is so spectacular (and traditional), the trickster 

even makes Miss Swallow, the science teacher, lose her cool!

To help you imagine new characters and events in the book, 

Patrick Rolo returns as our illustrator. He brings Coyote’s tricks 

to life, and draws a terrific basketball game—not to mention a 

flying hamburger bomb that is pretty funny. Patrick has also 

updated the map of the town of Thunder Rock—just so you will 

know where you are.

On behalf of the author, Terry Lofton, and all the people 

at the Native Diabetes Wellness Program, we hope that you 

enjoy Hummingbird’s Squash. If there are some words or terms 

you don’t understand, we have included a glossary at the back 

of the book. Don’t let a word stump you, just look it up and 

keep reading!

viii
Acknowledgments

The Native Diabetes Wellness Program (the Wellness Program) 

would like to thank the following people who have helped to 

develop Hummingbird’s Squash and those who will play a role in 

the future dissemination and use of the Eagle Books youth novels.

We once again express our gratitude to the Tribal Leaders 

Diabetes Committee (TLDC) for their enduring support of 

the Eagle Books project. We want to personally thank Buford 

Rolin, Chairman of the Poarch Band of Creek Indians, Chair of 

the TLDC and Vice Chair of the National Indian Health Board 

(NIHB); Judy Goforth Parker, Chickasaw Nation Health System, 

former TLDC member; and H. Sally Smith, NIHB board member 

and Alaska Area Representative, former TLDC member. They 

saw, almost a decade ago, the potential for storytelling as a way 

to reach children with a message of hope: type 2 diabetes is not 

their inevitable future.

Many thanks also go to Indian Health Service, Division 

of Diabetes Treatment and Prevention, for their continued 

partnership and friendship. The Tribal Advisory Committee 

(TAC) for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) 

and the Agency for Toxic Substances Disease Registry (ASTDR) 

additionally provided much appreciated support.

The Wellness Program also says ‘thank you’ to Georgia 

Perez, the author of the original Eagle Books. Her work as a 

Community Health Representative for the Nambe Pueblo and 

her dream of an eagle who brings healing messages encouraged 

her to write Through the Eyes of the Eagle, Knees Lifted High, Plate 

ix
Full of Color, and Tricky Treats. Her characters still inspire us to 

write stories about good health and good friends. 

Continuing in his role as the principal illustrator for the 

Eagle Books project, Patrick Rolo (Bad River Band of Ojibwe 

Indians) has once again performed his magic for Hummingbird’s 

Squash. Patrick breathes life and excitement into the written 

characters with pencil and paint, motivating our graphics team 

to create products of the highest quality.

Reading and reviewing manuscripts is an important job. 

For their insightful reviews and detailed feedback, we express 

thanks to Dr. Lawrence Barker, Associate Director for Science, 

CDC’s Division of Diabetes Translation; Melinda Frank (Navajo 

Nation), health scientist/epidemiologist with CDC’s Division 

of Diabetes Translation, Native Diabetes Wellness Program; 

Lorelei DeCora, R.N. (Ho-Chunk), our valued consultant and 

promoter of Eagle Books Talking Circles; and Arianna and Shirley 

Baros (the real Arianna and her mother) for sharing their very 

personal perspectives on the type 1 diabetes messages in the 

book. Other appreciated readers are Dr. Sanford Garfield, 

National Institute of Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney 

Diseases, National Institutes of Health; Dr. Carolee DodgeFrancis (Oneida Nation of Wisconsin), Executive Director of the 

American Indian Research and Education Center, University 

of Nevada, Las Vegas; Randy Chatto (Ramah Band of Navajo), 

Coordinator of the ERNEH Project: Empowering Ramah 

Navajos to Eat Healthy Using Traditional Foods; and Rosalie 

Carter, mother of the late Dr. Janette Carter of the Indian Health 

Service, who encouraged Georgia Perez to write the original 

story, Through the Eyes of the Eagle.

x
The Wellness Program is grateful as well to the families and 

middle school readers who read early drafts of Hummingbird’s 

Squash. They represent the Navajo Nation, the San Felipe 

Pueblo in New Mexico, the Santee Sioux Tribe of Nebraska, and 

the Winnebago (Ho-Chunk) Tribe of Nebraska.

Additionally, we want to say how much we welcomed the 

participation of Coach Darren Wilkins of Salem High School in 

Conyers, Georgia. He provided expert knowledge of basketball 

training techniques for boys of middle school age and advised 

us on basketball procedures and rules.

Looking to the future, the Wellness Program further 

recognizes those who are building on the foundation established 

by the TLDC. We value so much the investment that has been 

made by the Chickasaw Nation under the leadership of Governor 

Anoatubby and Judy Goforth Parker. They have enthusiastically 

supported development of “Eagle Adventure,” a program based 

on the four books in the Eagle Books series. A USDA-funded 

program, “Eagle Adventure,” was developed by Chickasaw 

Nation Nutrition Services in partnership with Oklahoma State 

University (OSU), under the direction of Stephany Parker, OSU 

Department of Nutritional Sciences. The program shows great 

promise as a significant means of Eagle Books sustainability. It 

has strong appeal to many tribes across the country and features 

a design that can accommodate books for older readers. 

And lastly, we acknowledge our wonderful partners on 

the Eagle Books project: Westat, for implementing the writing 

and graphics production for Hummingbird’s Squash, and 

Kauffman and Associates, Inc., the designers of our website and 

promotional strategies.

xi
Praise for Hummingbird’s Squash

“Reading Hummingbird’s Squash was extremely meaningful to me. It portrays 

the importance of being a good relative—to one’s family and friends, and even 

to those who have forgotten how to be good relatives. Good relationships 

between people, like the sacred relationships between humans, plant life, and 

Mother Earth, help to create good health—whether it is preventing diabetes or 

healing the spirits of those who bully and are bullied.”

—Lorelei DeCora

Winnebago Tribe of Nebraska (Ho-Chunk)

Health Educator/Diabetes Talking Circles Facilitator

Former Alternate, Tribal Leaders Diabetes Committee

“A great inspiration for all young and old! The story is fun and exciting and 

captivates the imagination. I can absolutely relate to the messages told by 

the children and whoever reads this book will as well. It teaches not only the 

importance of the health and wellness of our body, mind and spirit, but also 

the health and wellness of the renewable resources within our environment.” 

—Randy Chatto

Ramah Navajo, Project Coordinator

Empowering Ramah Navajos to Eat Healthy Traditional Foods Project 

“I read ‘Hummingbird’s Squash’ and was impressed with how good a story it is 

(independent of its purpose). The plot incorporates the life of the now older 

children in a world that is real and full of symbolism and imagination—all to 

teach the message of health. The children of the Eagle Book stories learn how 

their environment and culture is a source for understanding and how both, 

when lived as Native Peoples always did, lead to health and, as in the Diabetes 

Education in Tribal Schools K-12 curriculum, give the message—Health is Life 

in Balance.”

—Dr. Sanford Garfield

National Institute of Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney Diseases

National Institutes of Health 

Co-Director of the Diabetes Education in Tribal Schools

Health is Life in Balance, K-12 curriculum

xii
Praise for Hummingbird’s Squash

“Promise the readers a tale of magic and adventure. Deliver them one even 

better than you promised. And, while you are delivering it, teach some 

important lessons about life and health, and teach those lessons in such an 

entertaining way that the reader might not even notice they are being taught. 

In other words, give them one thing under the guise of another. Coyote (on at 

least his relatively benevolent days) would approve of Hummingbird’s Squash.” 

—Dr. Lawrence Barker

Associate Director for Science

Division f Diabetes Translation

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention

“My daughter, Janette Carter, would be so thrilled to see what has become of 

the Eagle Book stories with the second middle school novel, Hummingbird’s 

Squash. Janette’s faith in stories to “reach, teach and heal” has proved its 

worth to inspire the continuation of storytelling as a significant part of type 

2 diabetes prevention programs. How fortunate we are to have the team who 

continues this work. The book is really a good one!”

—Mrs. Rosalie Carter, Albuquerque, New Mexico1

“The story and character content segue from Coyote and the Turtle’s Dream to 

Hummingbird’s Squash is beautiful! The book constantly reinforces the message 

of hope and positive change, for our Native communities, families and within 

ourselves.”

—Dr. Carolee Dodge Francis

Oneida Nation of Wisconsin

Executive Director 

American Indian Research and Education Center

University of Nevada, Las Vegas

1

 Please see Acknowledgments. Mrs. Rosalie Carter is the mother of the late Dr. Janette Carter who inspired Georgia 

Perez to write Through the Eyes of the Eagle. 

xiii
Contents

1. Elephant’s Toothpaste • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 1

2. A Catalyst for Bullies • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 13

3. Soap Bombs and Burgers • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 21

4. Courtyard Conferences • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 33

5. Shake-Ups and Shake-Downs • • • • • • • • • • 41

6. Coyote Drumming • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 53

7. Too Much and Not Enough • • • • • • • • • • • • 69

8. A Giant Plan • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 75

9. Sheds and Gardens • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 81

10. Coyote’s Diagnosis • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 91

11. The Poisoned Apple • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 97

12. Bullies R Us • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 105

13. Toads and Targets • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 115

14. Wins and Losses • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 123

15. Thinking Big • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 133

16. Fast-Grow Formulas • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 147

17. The Big Burp-Off • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 157

18. Guarding Gardens • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 167

19. Pulp and Seeds • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 175

20. Back the Way it Was • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 189

21. Green Ancestors • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 199

22. The Miraculous Tree • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 209

23. Lessons and Confessions • • • • • • • • • • • • • 221

24. Rabbits in a Hat • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 231

xiv
25. Healthy Secrets • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 237

26. De-Bullification • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 245

27. Drills and Thrills • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 253

28. Harvest Time • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 263

29. Coyote’s Garden • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 275

30. Moving Mountains • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 287

31. A Grand Entry • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 297

32. Pumpkin Arguments • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 305

33. Holes and Soft Spots • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 315

34. All In It Together • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 331

35. The Offering • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 339

36. Cast of Characters • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 355

37. Glossary • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 361

xv

Chapter 1

“Ha! She can’t resist. She can’t. It’s too tempting. She’s going to do it! 

Tell Thistle what you see, Eagle.”

Elephant’s Toothpaste

Lester nervously licked his lips and lowered the flaming splint 

into the mouth of the test tube. As expected, his efforts were 

rewarded with a loud “Poof!” Murmurs of “Hey, cool” floated 

across the classroom in appreciation. Smiling, Lester looked up, 

seeking the approval of Mr. Pence, the 7th grade science teacher.

“Thank you, Lester. So, what is the name of the gas that 

caused the ‘pop’ we heard?”

1
Lester’s smile faded. He shrugged his shoulders and 

guessed. “Diesel?”

Amid the laughter, the teacher sighed and double-wrapped 

his muffler around his neck. Mr. Pence was always cold. For 

him the early days of October were arctic, not crisp. He walked 

over to the thermostat and checked it for the third time that 

morning. It always read 70 degrees. Mr. Pence had tried putting 

ice cubes on the bogus instrument in hopes of pushing the room 

temperature into a balmier range, but to no avail. Resisting the 

urge to pull the thermostat off the wall, he wiped his ever-icy 

nose with a tissue and turned his attention back to the class.

Mr. Pence nodded and smiled amiably, but suspicioned 

that Lester wasn’t being funny. A kindly soul, the science 

teacher always enjoyed a joke from his students. “That was a 

good one, Lester. You can go back to your seat. Well, anybody 

want to identify the gas?”

Hummingbird shot up her hand. “Hydrogen! It’s hydrogen. 

That’s the gas that blew up the Hindenburg. It was this giant 

airship...like a big blimp! I saw a movie on TV about it.”

Remembering last week’s rubber tubing catastrophe, the 

science teacher thought, Yes, Miss Birdie, you do seem to like 

things that “go boom.” Checking his lesson plan, Mr. Pence 

noted that his star science student’s demonstration was next. 

“For our last activity today, we are going to generate oxygen from 

hydrogen peroxide. Hummingbird, come on up and show us 

how it’s done.” As Hummingbird came up to the lab bench, Mr. 

Pence whispered, “No antics, right? You promised you would 

be good.”

2
Hummingbird whispered back, “I promise, Mr. Pence. 

No tricks.”

“Okay, let’s take a look at the chemical equation for this 

reaction. And define what a catalyst is. We will be using a catalyst 

in this experiment.”

While Mr. Pence went to the board, Hummingbird began 

to remove the items she needed from her cardboard “goodie 

box:” liquid soap, green and red food color, and a bottle of 3% 

hydrogen peroxide from the drug store. She wished that RD, 

Boomer and Simon (her best friends—of the boy variety) were 

in the 3rd period science class. They would love this demo! She 

and Mr. Pence had practiced the experiment the day before. It 

was really cool, but she was a little disappointed that it wasn’t 

more exciting.

On a low hill overlooking Thunder Rock Middle School, 

Coyote crouched, half-hidden behind a clump of bushes. 

He balanced a pair of field glasses on his snout with one paw 

while he scratched aggressively at a flea with the other. This 

displacement activity released only some of the excited tension 

that was building in his quivering haunches. Staring intently 

through a window into Mr. Pence’s science class, the trickster 

began to hum and then sing-song breathlessly: “She’s gonna do 

it, she’s gonna do it...”

“So what are you so happy about?” The question came 

from an eastern cottontail rabbit that had quietly joined Coyote 

behind his bushy cover.

3
Coyote ignored her.

“Excuse me, but helloooow! Do you mind telling me why 

you wanted me to come here?”

Ignored again, the rabbit became impatient and hopped 

in front of Coyote to get his attention. When she saw his new 

optical equipment, the rabbit knew full well that someone 

on the Medicine Cave Indian Reservation was short a pair of 

binoculars. She asked the question anyway: “Where did you 

get those?”

Coyote still said nothing.

“Don’t tell me. I know—you found them lying beside 

the road.”

Annoyed, Coyote growled, “Shut up, Thistle! Can’t you see 

I’m working?

“Hey, you asked me to this party. I didn’t volunteer.” Thistle 

shrugged and began to nibble while she waited for the arrival of 

Sky Heart, the eagle. Of all the “Animals of Stories,” he was the 

one to which Coyote would give most respect. Perhaps he would 

reveal his intentions to the Great Messenger.

Presently, Thistle heard the eagle’s flapping and raised her 

head to watch him land in a nearby opening in the underbrush. 

Once on the ground, he advanced with hops so precise that he 

did not even rustle the dead weeds. Just like Sky Heart, Thistle 

thought, he never makes a big show. When his majestic white 

head appeared above a stand of golden rod, she called out, “Sky 

Heart! Over here.”

With good humor, the eagle replied patiently, “Yes, Thistle, 

I see you.”

“So, do you know what this is about?”

4
“No, but it can’t be good.”

Coyote jerked the glasses’ strap from around his head and 

held out the binoculars to Sky Heart. “It’s about these. I asked to 

borrow your eyeballs—just borrow them for just a few minutes. 

But, no, you wouldn’t share those precious peepers of yours. So 

I got something just as good.” He raised the field glasses back to 

his eyes and continued his vigilant observation.

Sky Heart explained to Thistle. “He said he wanted to 

exchange eyeballs for a while. Thought I might enjoy seeing the 

world from his viewpoint.”

Thistle harrumphed, “What would that be? The back end 

of another coyote?”

The eagle laughed. “What are you looking at, Trickster?”

“Look for yourself. You don’t need binoculars.”

Finishing up his explanation at the board, Mr. Pence 

retrieved a small bottle of liquid sodium iodide from a locked 

cabinet off limits to students. The sodium iodide was the 

catalyst—the all-important substance that could speed up or 

slow down a chemical reaction. He would allow Hummingbird to 

handle the weak solution of sodium iodide since it was relatively 

harmless. Deciding to have some fun, Mr. Pence asked, “So, 

how many of you brushed your teeth with people toothpaste this 

morning?” Hands shot up all over the classroom.

Sammie, one of Hummingbird’s friends, protested, “Mr. 

Pence, this is science—not health class. Besides, what else 

would we brush our teeth with?”

5
“Sammie, I think you’ll find that science and health can 

really be two peas in the same pod.” As he expounded on the 

relationship between scientific research and good health 

behaviors, Mr. Pence set up a plastic safety screen at the front of 

the lab bench. This experiment was not considered dangerous 

because the 3% hydrogen peroxide was so weak (unlike 35% 

hydrogen peroxide which could severely burn the skin). But Mr. 

Pence always followed the rules—for safety sake and to protect 

the student’s clothes from exposure to the bleaching or staining 

effects of various chemicals.

Smiling mysteriously, Mr. Pence continued. “All I’m 

suggesting, kids, is that there are other kinds of toothpaste. 

Today, we are going to make some very big toothpaste—like the 

kind that elephants use.”

Several students protested, “Oh, come on, Mr. 

Pence, elephants don’t brush their teeth! You don’t mean 

elephant’s toothpaste!”

“Yes, that is exactly what I mean—elephant’s toothpaste.” 

After he and Hummingbird had donned their safety goggles, 

aprons, and gloves, Mr. Pence stepped aside and said 

ceremoniously, “Hummingbird, please proceed.”

Clearing her throat, Hummingbird described the 

procedure. “First, we add 20 milliliters (mls) of the hydrogen 

peroxide to the graduated cylinder. Next, we add 5 mls of liquid 

soap—a couple of good squirts. Then, we add food coloring.” She 

dribbled several drops of red food coloring down the inside of 

one side of the glass cylinder and green food coloring down the 

other side. Hummingbird looked up and smiled sweetly at the 

6
class. Then she wiggled her eyebrows up and down as if to say, 

Hang on. This is going to be fun!

The class strained forward in their desks.

 “Ha! She can’t resist. She can’t. It’s too tempting. She’s 

going to do it!” His eyes gleaming, Coyote flashed a look at Sky 

Heart. “Tell Thistle what you see, Eagle.”

Sky Heart turned his head and focused his extraordinary 

vision through the classroom window. “I see Hummingbird 

standing in front of a classroom.” Looking at her now, so grown 

up, the great bird smiled. He remembered this pretty Indian 

girl when she was a spunky little six-year-old. Yes, he thought, 

that was the summer when the “Animals of Stories” had talked to 

the Rain that Dances, Hummingbird, Boomer and Simon at the 

old tree stump. Talking to humans was something rarely done 

these days, but the message was too important to ignore. The 

people had to start eating healthier...and moving their bodies. 

He, Thistle, and Coyote had decided that the children were 

the answer—the answer to helping their families and friends 

prevent type 2 diabetes.

Coyote interrupted the eagle’s thoughts. “Yes,” the trickster 

chuckled, “Little Hummingbird is indeed who you see.”

Alarmed that Coyote was up to something, Thistle asked, 

“What is she doing Sky Heart?”

“She’s holding a bottle over a tall glass tube.”

“Yes, heeeee-heeeee. Whahhh! Haaa! Here it comes...here 

it comes!!!

7
“Then last, but certainly not least, we add the catalyst 

that will speed up the release of oxygen from the hydrogen 

peroxide.” Hummingbird held out her hand to Mr. Pence. As the 

bottle of catalyst transferred from teacher to student, Mr. Pence 

made a move that would set a string of events into motion that 

Hummingbird would remember for the rest of her life. What 

small innocent act, you ask, could be so momentous? He merely 

reached down to pick up a tissue he had dropped on the floor.

In the moment that Mr. Pence diverted his eyes from 

Hummingbird, she made a lightning-fast decision based on 

a belief (the demonstration should be more exciting) and 

an assumption (more excitement meant a faster chemical 

reaction). Her decision? To add more catalyst.

Instead of the recommended 2 mls, she poured half the 

contents of the bottle directly into the soap/hydrogen peroxide 

mixture. In a flash, not even a nano-second, a pink and greenstriped soap bomb fueled by the oxygen from the hydrogen 

peroxide zoomed from the cylinder! At first it looked just like 

a gigantic squeeze of toothpaste, but as it blobbed out in ever 

bigger billows of bubbly foam, it took on the appearance of a 

shape-shifting, mutant, pinky-green mushroom. Like a fungus, 

it began to grow up and over the safety screen where it fell in 

bulbous lumps on the floor.

Hummingbird stumbled back from the still-blossoming 

eruption that obscured her view of the classroom and Mr. Pence. 

She could hear gasps, shrieks, and scraping desks as kids ran 

8
for the door or retreated to the back of the room, bunching 

up against the windows. Sammie yelled, “Bird! Get away from 

that thing!”

The chemical reaction spawned “toothpaste” for several 

more seconds. Then, it stopped as abruptly as it had begun. 

The foaming mound seemed to emit a hot exothermic sigh as 

its short life expired. The hydrogen peroxide was “dead.” Each 

of its molecules (H2O2) had lost one atom of oxygen. All that 

was left over from the reaction was H2O—plain old water—and 

the catalyst.

Quiet descended on the room. Hummingbird took several 

faltering steps backward and bumped into one of the now 

empty desks. Dumbly, she looked back and forth between her 

classmates and the humongous load of puffy goo that covered all 

of the lab bench, the surrounding floor, and Mr. Pence’s desk.

Suddenly, the classroom door flung open! Miss Betty 

Swallow stood in the door frame, her eyes bright and alert 

for potential danger. Quickly scanning the classroom, she 

demanded, “What is going on in here?”

Lester pointed his finger at Hummingbird and bleated in 

the whiny voice of tattle-tales the world over: “She did it...”

Coyote flung himself into the air with glee. “She did it!” 

The field glasses went flying into a clump of bushes. “Yes, yes! 

She did it!! Oh Gahhh, that was funny! Wahh. Ha-ha!” He rolled 

on the ground, pounding it with his fist. “Hee-Hee...haaaa!” He 

laughed so hard he started to choke. Gagging, Coyote fell down 

9
flat on his face, his shoulders heaving. He raised his head for a 

gasp of air; then he laughed some more. “Ha ha ha. Haaaaaa!” 

Coughing out the last of his delight, he finally rolled on his 

back, panting.

Thistle looked to Sky Heart. “I couldn’t see it. Was it 

that funny?”

Sky Heart’s beak was open. Stunned, he looked down at 

Thistle, then back at the scene in the classroom. “Well, let’s put 

it this way. It was very entertaining.”

Thistle went searching for the field glasses. When she 

found them, she fit her eyes as best she could to the position of 

the eye pieces. She watched the classroom for a few seconds and 

asked, “Did she make that foamy stuff?”

Coyote answered dreamily, “Yes, isn’t she wonderful?” 

Then he added with a sly grin, “Of course, I helped.”

“Well, it looks like Miss Swallow just showed up,” Thistle 

reported. “Maybe she’ll put a stop to this nonsense.”

“Awww...patooties,” Coyote pouted, “little Miss Betty is 

going to spoil everything.” Suddenly very annoyed, he barked, 

“Here, gimme those glasses!”

Handing over Coyote’s new “eyeballs,” the little rabbit 

narrowed her own eyes and cast a suspicious look at the trickster. 

Suddenly she realized why Coyote had invited them to join him. 

Hopping over to Sky Heart, she whispered, “Coyote’s started a 

game, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. A Hummingbird game. Looks like we are going to 

be busy.”

10
“Right,” Thistle sighed. “Watch over her, Sky Heart, 

and let me know what happens. I have to get back to my 

nest building now.” Mustering the considerable muscle 

energy in her haunches, Thistle bounded into the brush and 

quickly disappeared.

Coyote lowered the field glasses. Feeling empowered by his 

trickery, he stood up on his hind legs and toddled toward the low 

branch where the eagle now perched. Grinning at Sky Heart, the 

trickster declared, “I hope you’re in good shape, Eagle. This is 

going to be grand sport. And just in case you were worried, Miss 

Swallow hasn’t spoiled it.” “No indeed,” he giggled, “this game 

has only just begun!”

11

Chapter 2

13

Suddenly, a hole began to drip open where the creature’s mouth should be. 

One of the boys hollered, “He looks like the Scream Monster!”

A Catalyst for Bullies

“Where is Mr. Pence?” No one spoke. Worried, Ms. Swallow 

called, “Mr. Pence!”

A peculiar sound came from the direction of the lab bench. 

Miss Swallow thought it sounded like a boot being pulled from 

a mud hole. All eyes turned to the front of the classroom where 

a greenish (minty fresh?) slurp of foam began to rise and take 

on the blurred outline of a humanoid form. The big bubble 

stretched out its arms as if pleading for help and began to blindly 

squish toward Hummingbird.
Hummingbird’s hand flew to her mouth in shock. This 

is terrible, she thought, what have I done? Overcome by guilt, 

Hummingbird could only stammer, “Oh, Mr. Pence, I’m so 

sorry. Please...don’t be mad...”

The bubble creature cocked its head to the side, seemingly 

confused by the apology. It turned slowly, like a ship setting new 

coordinates, and headed toward Miss Swallow. Leaving a striped 

pinkish slime trail, it trudged step by step toward the beautiful 

8th grade science teacher. Suddenly, a hole began to drip open 

where the creature’s mouth should be. One of the boys hollered, 

“He looks like the Scream Monster!”

Miss Swallow ran to Mr. Pence. “Oh my gosh, David, are 

you all right?” She pulled off her lab coat and began to brush 

great wads of foam from his head and shoulders.

From the mouth hole came the sound of laughter and 

protest, “No, no! Stop, Miss Swallow. I like it. It’s wonderful! 

I’m warm! I’m sooo warm! It’s the first time I’ve been warm 

in months!”

“Yes, of course, the chemical reaction gave off heat. But 

we need to get this mess off of you.” Miss Swallow looked at the 

clock—the class period was almost over. The bell would ring 

in a few minutes. An expert at classroom management, Miss 

Swallow took charge. “Everybody, return to your seats and get 

your things together.” Amid the erupting classroom chatter, 

she continued issuing orders that would restore normalcy to 

the situation. “Sammie, run get the janitor. You, George, get 

some towels from Coach Brown.” To Mr. Pence she said, “Thank 

14
goodness, your next period is planning. Hold on. I’ll be back in 

a few minutes.” She was almost out the door when she turned 

and called out, “Hummingbird, please remain. I want to talk 

to you.”

When the bell finally rang, the class surged out of the 

trailer. Hummingbird dejectedly sat down next to a window and 

watched her schoolmates run to the main building. They can’t 

wait, she thought, to tell everybody in the whole school. She 

looked over at Mr. Pence who had removed his safety goggles 

and was untying the rubberized apron that had protected most 

of his lab coat and shirt. The bottom of his pants and shoes were 

another matter. Following Mr. Pence’s example, Hummingbird 

took off her safety gear and laid it on the desk beside her. Looking 

sadly at the goggles and gloves, her thoughts became glum and 

confused: I’m in real trouble now. What was I thinking?

Floyd, the school custodian, knocked on the door. “Heard 

you had a problem.”

Mr. Pence pointed toward the gloppy mess. “Over there, 

Floyd. Sorry about the extra work.”

“That’s okay, it’s my job.” Floyd wheeled in his bucket and 

mop, then hesitated. “It ain’t poisonous, is it?”

Miss Swallow bustled into the classroom behind Floyd. 

She answered for Mr. Pence. “No, it’s harmless, Floyd.” As the 

custodian set to work, Miss Swallow handed Mr. Pence some 

towels and a clean track suit from Coach Brown. When he went 

to the trailer bathroom to change clothes, Miss Swallow took a 

seat beside the abashed young girl. Quietly she said, “Do you 

want to tell me about it, Hummingbird?”

15
“I’m sorry, Miss Swallow. I don’t know what made me do 

it. I just wanted it to be more exciting, I guess. You know, go 

faster—be bigger? I didn’t know this would happen.”

“What exactly did you do?”

Casting her eyes downward, Hummingbird confessed, “I 

added more catalyst than I was supposed to.”

Miss Swallow frowned and looked quizzically at 

Hummingbird. “Yes, but what else did you do?”

Her voice quavering, Hummingbird replied, “Nothing.”

Mr. Pence emerged from the bathroom—his arms crossed 

tightly up against his body. He was already cold again. The fact 

that he was wearing a dry pair of athletic socks, but no shoes, 

probably added to his discomfort. The enormous crush he had 

on Miss Swallow didn’t help either. Looking at her adoringly 

with his pale blue eyes, Mr. Pence said shyly, “Thanks so much 

for your help, Miss Swallow. That was a bit of a disaster.” Then 

he turned to Hummingbird. Feeling betrayed, he said, “I’m 

very disappointed in you, Hummingbird. You’ve become so 

irresponsible! Last week you didn’t follow directions and blew 

up two feet of rubber tubing. The week before that you turned a 

test tube into a missile.” Turning to Miss Swallow, he added, “It 

shot across the room and landed in our aquarium!”

Tears began to form in Hummingbird’s eyes. If Mr. Pence 

was a mean teacher, she could at least have mustered some 

resentment toward him. But he had always been kind and 

understanding—even when she pushed the envelope sometimes. 

Now, she had let him down.

16
“What I really don’t understand is where you got the strong 

solution of hydrogen peroxide. Who got that for you?”

“Nobody. The 3% hydrogen peroxide was what I bought at 

the drug store, Mr. Pence. It was the same bottle I used when we 

practiced yesterday.”

“That’s impossible.” Mr. Pence got up and went to the locked 

chemicals cabinet. He searched the shelves until he found the 

recently ordered 35% solution of hydrogen peroxide. It was still 

sealed. He stepped over some foam that Floyd had not mopped 

up yet, and picked up Hummingbird’s bottle of hydrogen 

peroxide and read the label. “Three percent,” he muttered.

Miss Swallow explained. “Hummingbird, there isn’t 

enough oxygen in the 3% solution to create that big explosion.” 

Turning around in her seat, Miss Swallow called out to Mr. Pence 

who was examining Hummingbird’s “goodie box.” “There is 

something else that is puzzling me.”

Hummingbird thought, Oh, no. What have I done now?

After Mr. Pence rejoined them, Miss Swallow went on. 

“Hummingbird says that she added more of the sodium iodide 

than was called for...and that’s all she did. She believed it would 

make the reaction go faster and make more foam.”

Mr. Pence laughed and shook his head. “That just doesn’t 

make sense.”

Looking at both teachers, Hummingbird asked, “Well, isn’t 

that what made the foam blast out...instead of just dribble?”

Miss Swallow said, “No, Hummingbird. There’s not enough 

oxygen gas released from the 3% solution to make the foam shoot 

17
out of the cylinder that fast. What’s more, the 2 mls of sodium 

iodide will immediately release almost all of the oxygen in the 

3% hydrogen peroxide—so adding more catalyst won’t produce 

more oxygen. Without more oxygen, there won’t be more foam.”

Brightening for a moment, Hummingbird asked hopefully, 

“So, I didn’t really cause the explosion?”

“I don’t know what you did,” Mr. Pence answered. “What 

concerns me is that you intended to create a bigger effect. If 

not an explosion, then something like it.” The science teacher 

uncharacteristically became very stern. “Until I understand 

what happened here today, your participation in lab activities 

will be restricted. I’ll have to call your parents...and talk to the 

principal.” He paused and then added, “This might even require 

a suspension from school.”

Hummingbird’s face crumpled. “Suspended?” she 

whispered. Suddenly realizing the consequences of her actions 

Hummingbird jumped up from the desk. “Oh, no, Miss Swallow, 

the science fair! I might not be able to participate...”

Miss Swallow was very solemn. “Perhaps not, Hummingbird.

A polite knocking at the door interrupted the teachers’ 

consideration of Hummingbird’s fate. The president of the 

science club peered inside the classroom. “Excuse me, Miss 

Swallow, but...”

“Oh, I forgot! Sorry, sorry, Chris. Please tell Miss Oliver I’ll 

be right there. I promised to do a demo for the sixth graders.”

18
The boy withdrew, but did not immediately obey Miss 

Swallow’s request. Instead, he stood to the side of the door 

and continued to listen as he had been doing before his wellmannered intrusion. So, Hummingbird could be blocked from 

the science fair? He smiled to himself. Miss Smarty, it seems, 

may have taken herself out of the competition...Chris was 

pleased, very pleased, with this new development. Elated at 

Hummingbird’s misfortune, he slipped quietly down the steps 

of the trailer and headed back to the main building. There was 

a decided bounce in his step as he pondered how to use the 

“toothpaste fiasco” to his advantage. As he amused himself with 

devious thoughts, his smile suddenly twisted into an ugly smirk. 

Chris Sorrel didn’t like competition. He wanted the science 

fair’s blue ribbon for himself.

19

Chapter 3

21

Suddenly, an incoming ball of tinfoil flashed between Arianna and Simon’s heads.

Soap Bombs and Burgers

Hummingbird nervously clutched the note that Mr. Pence had 

written to explain her late arrival to her 3rd period class. She 

ran to the 7th grade wing, and then walked rapidly to her locker, 

avoiding the stares of the few students in the hallway. Releasing 

the combination lock, she jerked open the locker door and 

crammed in her science book. Fretting about the quiz she was 

missing, she tugged at the blue spine of her history book—too 

forcefully. The book and a pile of papers spewed from the locker 

and scattered on the floor.
“Seems like everything is exploding today.”

Hummingbird jumped. “Oh, hi. I didn’t see you, Chris.” 

Nervously, the young girl focused her attention on the 13-yearold boy who had slipped up on her so silently. Like her 

girlfriends, Hummingbird liked to engage in giggling chitchat 

about the most popular boys at school. Chris Sorrel, captain 

of the 8th grade basketball team, was at the top of their list. 

Good-looking and tall for his age, the girls thought that he was 

conceited. But that didn’t detract from his appeal, especially 

to Hummingbird, since Chris was also on the math team and 

president of the science club.

Hummingbird reached down to pick up her papers. Her 

voice tight, she said, “So, I guess you heard what Mr. Pence said.”

“Uh-huh. I wonder how long it will take Mr. Pence to 

trust you again? I’m sure it won’t be long. He’s so stupid—he’ll 

probably believe anything you tell him.”

Not appreciating the comment about Mr. Pence, 

Hummingbird said, “I thought Miss Swallow asked you to 

deliver a message for her.”

“Miss Swallow? She doesn’t order me around. Nobody does.”

Noticing that Hummingbird had stopped picking up her 

papers, Chris said, “Here let me help you with those.” He walked 

across the hall and picked up a set of stapled sheets. He saw that 

it was a science test with a score of 100. Fixing Hummingbird 

with a bright stare, he crumpled the test in his hand and shoved 

it in his pocket. Smiling coldly, Chris shot his poison arrow. 

“Yeah, he’s so dumb he’ll probably believe what other people 

tell him about you, too.”

22
Hummingbird froze. Not even breathing, she watched 

Chris turn and saunter down the hall. At the intersection with 

the 8th grade wing, he stopped in front of a glass partition to 

examine his reflection. Satisfied with his fashionable “bed 

head,” he disappeared around the corner.

That morning, Hummingbird had come to school a bright, 

vivacious girl. Now the joy and the morning were gone. She 

glanced at the hall clock and saw that the bell would ring in a 

few minutes. Hummingbird returned the history book to her 

locker. She decided to take the late note to Mr. Braun, her 

history teacher, between classes. That way she would attract 

less attention. In the meantime, she would hide out in the 

girl’s restroom.

Hummingbird walked quickly down the hall and gently 

pushed open the door to the girl’s restroom. She peeped inside. 

No one was there. She slipped into the last stall and locked it. 

Leaning her head up against the door, the former star of Mr. 

Pence’s class waited for the bell. She could feel herself sweating. 

Oh geez, she thought, what was that with Chris? Hummingbird 

knew that some kids didn’t like him or his brothers, but what 

had she ever done to him? What was he going to say about her? 

Oh, come on, please ring! Out loud, she whispered, “I’ve got to 

talk to RD...”

Finally, the bell yielded to the clock and the halls came to life. 

The restroom door thumped open and the clamor of laughing, 

chattering voices immediately displaced the quiet. Stalls banged 

and faucets gushed as girls combed their hair, applied lip gloss, 

and traded the latest juicy tidbits. As Hummingbird expected, 

23
she was the tidbit. “Did you hear—she blew up Mr. Pence!” “I 

heard Miss Swallow had to save him!” “Yeah, she made a soap 

bomb!” “They say she put gun powder in the soap...” “Who said 

that?” “I don’t know, but Wanda saw everything...” The rumors 

grew and flew until the ‘elephant’s toothpaste’ had evolved into 

an explosion that could only be described as atomic. At last, the 

crowd dispersed and headed to the lunchroom. Hummingbird 

didn’t move. She stood staring at the stall door, but not seeing 

it. Her only thought was an irrational one. Maybe I can stay in 

here until school is out.

Apparently, that would not be an option. A familiar and 

friendly young voice whispered, “Bird, you can come out now.”

Hummingbird pulled the stall door open and peeked out. 

“Oh, Arianna! How did you know it was me? There’s nobody 

else in here, is there?”

“I recognized your shoes, Silly.” Looking around, Arianna 

said, “No, they’re all gone.”

“You heard all that? What am I going to say to people?”

“I’d be more worried about what you were going to tell 

your mom and dad.” Since Arianna was temporarily living 

with Hummingbird’s family until her parents relocated to the 

reservation area later in the fall, she was well aware of her 

friend’s recent troubles in science class. “What really happened 

anyway?”

“Wait until we get to the lunchroom. Then I’ll tell all you guys 

everything. Right now, I’ve got to take this note to Mr. Braun.”

Hummingbird and Arianna headed for the history 

classroom. Mr. Braun was standing in the hall, locking his door. 

24
Noticing the approaching girls, he said, “You almost missed 

me, ladies.”

Hummingbird said, “Mr. Braun, sorry I didn’t make your 

class. Um, here is a note from Mr. Pence.” Mr. Braun took the 

note, but didn’t read it. Smiling, he said, “I take it then that Mr. 

Pence has survived.”

“Oh, yes. He wasn’t injured or anything.”

“That’s good. So, you missed a quiz, young lady. You can 

make it up later. It won’t take long. Well, I’m going to lunch. 

Would you like to accompany me?” Both girls nodded. Thus, 

under the wing of her history teacher, Hummingbird approached 

the full glare of her new notoriety as the “soap bomber.” As they 

drew nearer to the florescent brightness of the lunchroom, 

Hummingbird felt as if she were being wheeled into surgery. 

She steeled herself for their entry. Suddenly, she heard her 

name being called.

“Bird!”

It was RD! With great relief, she watched Rain that Dances 

run to join them. Of all her friends, this slim, quiet boy with the 

faraway look in his eyes was the one who would most understand 

her feelings of disappointment and confusion. They had grown 

closer and closer ever since that long ago summer when the eagle 

had told Rain and his friends about the healthy ways of their 

ancestors. Now, the two of them spent hours talking about ways 

they could help their families and friends eat healthy traditional 

foods, play sports, and get active. Preventing type 2 diabetes 

was their dream. Her science fair project had been part of that 

25
dream. Now, she thought guiltily, because of her foolishness, 

the school might not see her project’s important messages.

“Bird, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Hi, Mr. Braun.”

“Well, it looks like you are in good hands,” the history 

teacher said. He gave Hummingbird a reassuring pat and joined 

Mrs. Corn who was on duty as lunchroom monitor. Mr. Braun 

whispered something to Mrs. Corn that raised her observation 

of student behavior to a higher level. There would be no catcalls 

or heckling of Hummingbird with Mrs. Corn on duty.

Rain looked hard at Hummingbird. “So, is it true? The 

‘elephant’s toothpaste’ went bad?”

“Yeah, real bad.”

“Where have you been? Simon said you weren’t in 

history class.”

Arianna told on Hummingbird. “She was hiding in the 

girl’s restroom.”

“Well, she can’t hide in there,” Rain said, pointing to the 

cafeteria. “Come on, let’s go.”

With Rain “riding shotgun” on one side and Arianna on 

the other, Hummingbird marched down the middle of the 

lunchroom. She kept her eyes focused on one goal—the table 

where Simon and Boomer were sitting. As they passed each 

row of tables, whispers and giggles replaced the normal din 

of conversation.

Noticing the change in noise volume, Boomer looked up. 

He nudged Simon, and then started waving energetically. The 

easygoing boy with the megaphone voice and equally big sense 

of humor was a joyful sight to Hummingbird. Pulling his nose 

26
out of a book, Simon turned and waved, too. A “science freak” 

like Hummingbird, he was eager to ask her about the experiment 

gone wrong.

Running the gauntlet without incident, Hummingbird slid 

into the chair beside Simon—her back to the lunchroom crowd. 

She breathed a big sigh of relief. Rain plopped down beside 

Boomer and pulled out a copy of this month’s Mammoth Boy, the 

boys’ favorite comic. He delivered it to Boomer as promised. 

The boys exchanged a wordless “thumbs up.” Taking the seat on 

the other side of Simon, Arianna asked, “What are you reading, 

Simon?” Rain and Boomer furtively watched Simon’s reaction. 

They knew that he really liked Arianna.

Smiling, Simon said, “It’s called The Fall of the Dinosaur 

Empire, about the big meteorite that hit earth and wiped out the 

dinosaurs. It has great pictures.”

Laughing, Arianna replied, “I should have known it was 

about dinosaurs. You love those lizards...” It was well known 

that Simon was the ultimate “dino-geek.”

Shyly, Simon said, “Yeah, and more than ever now.”

Everyone at the table knew exactly what Simon meant. 

In the weeks since Rain and Simon had returned the missing 

bones of the Great Turtle, the boys had talked to their friends 

constantly about the ancient creatures they had seen in her cave 

at Shell Ridge. Simon would never get those images of the great 

marine reptiles out of his mind. And he didn’t want to.

Holding open one of the illustrated pages of the dinosaur 

book so Boomer could see it, Simon made an offer: “I’ll trade ya 

for that Mammoth Boy when you’re finished, Boom.”

27
“You bet. Those dinos look cool!” Noticing that 

Hummingbird wasn’t eating, Boomer asked, “Where’s 

your lunch?”

“In my locker. And I’m not going through the lunch line...”

“Here, you can have some of mine.” Boomer cut his turkey 

sandwich in half and placed it on a napkin. Simon shoved over 

one of his cartons of low-fat milk, and Rain lobbed an orange 

across the table, hollering, “Catch!” Arianna opened a package 

of unsalted seeds and nuts (toasted) and a snack box of dried 

choke cherries. She offered them to Hummingbird. These 

snacks were some of the most popular traditional foods sold at 

Boo’s Gas ’n Grocery. (Arianna said the treats were good for kids 

like her who had type 1 diabetes and everybody else, too.) For 

sure, Hummingbird wouldn’t go hungry.

Comforted by the presence of her good friends, 

Hummingbird launched into the story she knew they wanted 

to hear. She spared no details (even the fact that she could get 

suspended), pausing only to take bites of sandwich and sips 

of milk. Arianna and the boys hung onto every word. Ending 

her story, Hummingbird surprised them with Miss Swallow’s 

conclusion. “She said that extra catalyst couldn’t have caused 

the explosion of foam.”

Intrigued, Rain asked, “Then how did it explode?”

“I don’t know. If anybody could figure it out, I thought 

maybe Simon would be able to...”

Boomer interrupted. “Wait, wait! If the catalyst didn’t 

cause the explosion—that means you’re innocent.” Putting 

two and two together with his lawyer’s genius for arguing “not 

28
guilty,” Boomer cried, “They can’t punish you for something you 

didn’t do!”

“Yes they can. Mr. Pence said I was trying to make the 

experiment more exciting—without knowing what would 

happen. I had even promised him I wouldn’t pull any tricks.”

At the mention of the word “tricks,” Rain frowned. “It just 

doesn’t add up,” he said quietly. Deep down, his subconscious 

mind began to dig into his experiences with all things tricky.

Simon pushed his glasses up on his nose and said, “Okay, 

Bird, let’s go over it step by step. Where did you get the hydrogen 

perox...?”

Suddenly, an incoming ball of tinfoil flashed between 

Arianna and Simon’s heads. The crumpled hamburger wrapper 

with the apple core payload hit Boomer right in the middle of 

his forehead. A runny goo of ketchup, mayonnaise, and meat 

grease ran down his nose and dripped onto his shirt.

A sudden burst of loud laughter erupted from the other side 

of the cafeteria. Boomer’s eyes swiveled to a pack of kids who 

were “high fiving” Walter, an 8th grader. Known as Dumptruck, 

Boomer recognized him as a kid with a bigger reputation for 

being goofy than a real troublemaker. Like Dumptruck, his 

applauding fans, Tater Tot, Freddie, and Lester, were members 

of the Invisible Club—that bunch of kids in every school who 

hung out together because they were excluded from every other 

crowd. Tater Tot, a freckle-faced redhead who was a recent 

arrival on the rez, was actually visible because of his flamecolored hair, but so socially obscure that nobody even knew his 

real name.

29
Boomer stood up and yelled, “Hey, Dingfod!” (For some 

reason, Boomer had recently invented the word “dingfod” to 

describe anyone he thought was acting like a dope or a jerk). 

Boomer forked his fingers in front of his eyes and pointed at 

Dumptruck. “Big D,” as some kids called him, got the message 

and the challenge that went with it. Unfortunately, Mrs. Corn 

did, too. She strode to Dumptruck’s table and ordered him to 

follow her. She also signaled Boomer to come forward.

Wiping off the ketchup mess with a napkin, Boomer griped, 

“Aww, man. What did I do? Nothin’!”

“No sweat, Boom, you know how to talk to Mrs. Corn,” Rain 

assured him.

“Yeah, but don’t wipe off all the evidence,” Simon advised.

Boomer sighed and got up from the table. As he was making 

his way toward the teacher, a ripple of snickers followed him. 

Hummingbird’s eyes drifted in the direction of the mocking 

laughter—a table of popular 8th graders. Chris Sorrel was 

leaning back in his seat at the head of the table, presiding over 

his groupies. Yuk, Hummingbird thought, he is so stuck-up. She 

figured that Chris had put Dumptruck up to throwing the burger 

ball, but he was just too cool to even check out her reaction.

Still thinking about tricks, Rain was curious about why Bird 

had started doing funny stuff in Mr. Pence’s class. “Hey, Bird, 

what were you trying to prove when you blew up that tubing 

last week?”

“Huh? What?” Hummingbird looked at her friend—then 

her eyes wandered back to Chris.

30
“Oh, nothing. We can talk later.” What’s Bird looking at? 

Rain wondered. He followed her gaze and saw she was looking at 

Chris Sorrel. They both watched him take a scrunched up bunch 

of papers out of his pocket and smooth them on his lunch tray. 

Satisfied to the paper’s flatness, he leaned over to Mindy Two 

Horses and whispered something in her ear. Mindy nodded. 

She took the paper, folded it, and placed it in her purse. She 

immediately got up from the table and left the lunchroom. 

Chris carefully folded his hands on the table and raised his 

eyes to Hummingbird. His face had no expression. His eyes 

didn’t blink.

A chill came over Hummingbird. She gasped, “Why is he 

doing this?” Her next thought was, I’ve got to get out of here! 

Snatching up her sweater, she accidentally overturned Simon’s 

water bottle. The water streamed across the table and ran under 

The Fall of the Dinosaur Empire. Simon jerked up the book, yelling, 

“Hey! Watch it! This is a library book...”

Hummingbird choked out an unapologetic “Sorry” and ran 

for the courtyard exit. Startled, Arianna cried, “What’s wrong 

with Bird?”

Rain looked back to where Chris had been sitting, but the 

big man and his troops were gone. “I don’t know, Arianna, but 

we’re going to find out.”

Anxious about her best friend, Arianna hurriedly bunched 

up the napkins and wrappers that littered the table and plunked 

the wad in front of Simon. “Here, please throw this away, okay? 

And please wipe up that water, Simon.” Then, she dashed 

after Hummingbird.

31
Rain grabbed his books and followed Arianna. At the door 

to the courtyard, he called over his shoulder, “Hey, Simon, get 

Boomer’s stuff...”

Simon sat there staring after his friends. Protesting his 

involuntary status as a busboy, he grumbled loudly, “Oh, sure. 

Want me to mop the floor, too?”

Mr. Berry, the principal, was patrolling nearby when he 

heard Simon’s question. He smiled and thought, that young man 

should be on our ‘Keep the School Clean’ committee. Leaning 

over his new candidate for promoting lunchtime sanitation, 

the principal said appreciatively, “Mopping won’t be necessary, 

Simon, but thanks for offering.”

32
Chapter 4

33

When it was Rain’s turn, he stared at the photo so long that Sammie had to ask for the phone back.

Courtyard Conferences

Rain and Arianna stood in the middle of the courtyard—the open 

space at the center of the school. From this hub radiated the 

three wings that housed the sixth-, seventh-, and eighth-grade 

classrooms. Each day Mr. Berry gave the students free time after 

lunch. He believed that unrestricted chatter and blowing off 

steam was healthy for middle schoolers.

Arianna spotted Hummingbird sitting on a bench by herself 

near the sixth-grade wing. She wasn’t doing much chattering. 
Her two best friends meant to change that. They hurried over to 

find out what had scared her.

“So, what’s going on with Chris Sorrel?” Rain asked.

“Who’s Chris?” Arianna wanted to know. Being new to 

the reservation, she didn’t know all the kids at Thunder Rock 

Middle School.

Unfortunately, the answers to both questions would have 

to be postponed. Being a girl with lots of friends, it was no 

surprise that other kids would want to talk to Hummingbird, too. 

Sammie, Star, and Little Deb (everyone called her that because 

her mom’s name was Big Deb) were suddenly swarming around 

Bird like inquisitive bees. They were nosy, to be sure, but they 

were supportive, too.

“Are you okay?” Star asked. “That foam stuff didn’t get on 

you, did it?”

“I told you it didn’t get on her, Star. I was there!” Sammie 

said impatiently. To prove it, she reached for her back pack. She 

fished out her cell phone, bursting to show everyone a photo she 

took of the ‘elephant’s toothpaste.’ Pushing the photo in front of 

Hummingbird’s face, Sammie insisted that she appreciate the 

catastrophe. “Look, look at that, Bird! It just went whoosh!”

Reluctantly, Hummingbird glanced at the photo. “Yeah, 

that’s what it looked like all right...”

Sammie passed around the phone. Until Arianna saw 

the size of the foam bomb, she didn’t realize how big it really 

was. When it was Rain’s turn, he stared at the photo so long 

that Sammie had to ask for the phone back. The girls couldn’t 

34
stay long—they were on the yearbook staff and had to turn in 

assignments to Mr. Braun for this afternoon’s meeting of The 

Flash. Star had drawn a new design of the yearbook logo—a 

Thunderbird with zigzag lightning coming from his beak. She 

thought it looked very “flashy.”

Before they left, Little Deb tried to be reassuring. “Don’t 

worry Bird, everything will turn out okay. Mr. Pence really likes 

you.” A believer in the wonders of cosmetics, Deb dug out some 

blush from the bottom of her purse and gave Hummingbird’s 

cheeks a couple of pink swipes. She smiled, “You needed a little 

color.”

Sammie agreed, “Yeah, that looks better.” Looking at the 

time on her cell phone, Sammie said, “Well, gotta run.” Making 

a little joke, she added, “Don’t worry about the picture, we won’t 

put it in the yearbook!”

Suddenly, Rain said, “Hold up a second, Sammie, I want to 

give you my mom’s email.” He scribbled the address on a scrap 

of paper and handed it to her. “Um...send me the picture of the 

‘elephant’s toothpaste,’ okay?”

Waving “bye,” Sammie said, “Okay. No problem.”

Hummingbird gave Rain a funny look. He just shrugged. 

“We might as well keep a picture of the explosion. It is pretty 

amazing.”

Eager to pick up where they left off, Arianna repeated her 

question. “So who is Chris Sorrel?”

Just then there was a commotion on the other side of the 

courtyard. A pickup truck had pulled into the delivery zone 

35
between the sixth-grade wing and the back of the school gym. 

Two young men got out of the cab and started unlashing a 

tarp that covered the bed of the truck. A small crowd began to 

gather—Boomer and Simon among them. Suddenly, Boomer’s 

yelled across the courtyard, “Hey, RD! Come on over! Joe’s got 

the new drum!”

Excited, Rain said, “I better check it out. Be back in a 

minute.”

Trying to lift Bird’s spirits, Arianna said, “Come on. Let’s 

go see the drum, too.” Bird got up without saying anything. As 

they walked slowly across the grass, Arianna made small talk. 

“Bird, do you like singing with the drum?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s one of my favorite things.” Hummingbird’s 

mother, Darlene, had made sure of that. She was a well-known 

singer at pow-wows and had always encouraged her daughter to 

join the circle of “chorus girls” whose high voices complemented 

the lower register of the male drummers.

As the girls drew nearer they saw Joe Red Crane, a tall man 

in his 70’s, get out the driver’s side of the truck. All the kids 

loved Joe. He managed the school’s heritage program which 

included Native language, drumming, dance, and Tribal history 

and culture. Joe taught the language and drumming lessons 

himself. He was glad to see the students’ enthusiasm, but asked 

that everybody stand back so that the big drum (almost two and 

a half feet in diameter) could be unloaded. The community 

had invested some dollars in this beauty—a deep barreled 

instrument made of elk hide and cedar.

36
After the drum passed safely (but not without struggle) 

through the doors to the gymnasium’s band room, Joe came 

back out to remind the crowd that 7th grade drum practice 

would be at 3:30 that afternoon. The kids began to peel away. 

Only five minutes of free time remained before 4th period. The 

boys spotted Hummingbird and Arianna near the only clump of 

trees that shaded the courtyard. Arianna called out, “Looks like 

you didn’t get in trouble, Boom.”

Arianna had no trouble hearing Boomer’s answer. Even 

when he was trying to talk quietly, he sounded like a P.A. system. 

“No, Mrs. Corn just told me ‘to control the volume of my voice.’” 

Boomer did a pretty good imitation of Mrs. Corn’s high-pitched 

warble. “Dumptruck got detention though.”

Hummingbird waited until the five friends had re-grouped. 

Then she revealed her suspicions. “Chris Sorrel put Dumptruck 

up to it.” Boomer and Simon looked surprised. Rain did not.

“Okay, I’m going to ask again,” Arianna sighed. “Who’s 

Chris?”

Hummingbird finally answered. “He’s an eighth grader. If 

you weren’t new to the school, believe me, you’d know him. He’s 

really smart and athletic. He’s been the president of every club 

at least once, and he’s the captain of the basketball team. It’s like 

he’s the king of everything.”

“His father’s on all these Tribal committees,” Boomer said, 

“and his mother runs this mail-order business. My mom works 

for her at Christmas. She says Chris’s mother is real nice.”

37
“Well, his mom might be nice, but his brothers think 

they’re the big bosses around here. Like the rest of us are a 

bunch of dweebs,” Simon said resentfully.

When his family had moved back to the reservation the 

previous year, Simon had had a run-in with Chris’s older 

stepbrothers, Jesse and Melvin. They had chased him out of the 

recreation center gym, threatening to beat him up if they saw 

him there again. The brothers boasted that the gym was their 

territory. They set the rules. Rule number one, according to 

Jesse’s balled up fist, was that only real Thunder Rockers could 

hang out there. 

Simon complained about the harassment to Clifford, his 

cousin, who was a junior at Thunder Rock High. He just shook 

his head and told Simon not to take it personally. A fan of old 

Star Trek reruns, Clifford joked that the brothers considered it 

their “prime directive” to make life miserable for everyone over 

the age of six. They got away with everything because the Sorrels 

were big wheels on the reservation. His message to Simon was 

to stay out of their way.

Boomer broke into Simon’s disgruntled thoughts. “I told 

you, Simon, we’re not dweebs—we’re dingfods!”

“Yeah, right! And I’m the biggest dingfod!” Giving Rain a 

playful punch on the shoulder, Simon turned his grouchiness 

on his best pal. “Thanks, RD, for getting me put on the ‘Keep the 

School Clean’ committee.”

“How did I do that?”

“Mr. Berry thought I was being so responsible. Cleaning up 

the mess you guys left.”

38
Boomer started laughing. “Woo-hoo! Maybe you can 

work your way up to chairman of the ‘Keep the School Clean’ 

committee!”

“Ha, ha. So funny,” Simon grumped.

“Sorry, Simon,” Arianna apologized. “I guess that was kind 

of rude. Dumping that trash on you.”

Simon melted. “Oh that’s okay, Arianna. I didn’t mean 

you. You can give me your garbage anytime.” The kids would 

have burst out laughing had it not been for the goofy smile on 

Simon’s face.

Boomer cleared his throat. For Simon’s sake, he thought it 

best to change the subject. “So, what were we talking about? Oh, 

yeah, Chris. Why would he put Dumptruck up to throwing stuff 

at me? What have I done to him?”

“I think Dumptruck was aiming at me, not you,” 

Hummingbird said. “Chris is trying to freak me out.”

Boomer and Simon’s “Huhs?” and “Whys?” drowned out 

Arianna’s predictable question, “Who’s Dumptruck? What kind 

of name is that?”

Hummingbird explained. “Chris overheard Mr. Pence get 

mad at me about messing with the ‘elephant’s toothpaste.’ So, 

he comes up in the hall and says some stuff like he’s going to 

spread rumors about me. Make Mr. Pence think I’m a creep 

or something.”

Before Boomer could say it, Hummingbird said impatiently, 

“Yeah, I know, Boom, not creep—dingfod.” Finishing her story, 

she said, “He even took my science test we got back yesterday 

39
like he hated me or something and wadded it up.” Hummingbird 

imitated Chris balling up the paper in his fist.

“That still doesn’t explain why he’s after you,” Simon said.

Looking at Hummingbird, Rain said warily, “The test—that 

must be what he gave to Mindy?” Rain had been unusually quiet 

since looking at the photo on Sammie’s cell phone. He had not 

joined in the conversation very much until Bird reminded him 

of Chris’s actions in the cafeteria.

“You saw that?” Hummingbird said, surprised.

“Yeah. I wonder what he’s up to?”

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to find out.”

40
Chapter 5

41

The boys spotted Chris and his two playmates on the walkway in front of the 

gym. Simon muttered, “Oh-oh. It’s Big Frog and the ‘toad patrol.’”

Shake-Ups and Shake-Downs

As the kids were talking, Arianna spotted Mr. Pence walking 

across the courtyard. When he saw Hummingbird, the science 

teacher altered his route and headed toward the tree where the 

five friends had gathered. Arianna said, “There’s Mr. Pence and 

he’s coming over here.”

“Oh, no,” Hummingbird whispered, “Does he 

look friendly?”

Rain replied, “Not particularly. But he does look cold. He 

just tied a scarf around his neck.”
Stopping short of the small group, Mr. Pence called out, 

“Hummingbird, could I see you for a moment?”

Hummingbird swallowed hard and looked nervously at her 

friends. They watched quietly as she approached the teacher. He 

handed some papers to her. Despite straining to hear what was 

being said, all they could pick up was murmuring. When Rain 

saw Hummingbird’s shoulders slump, he thought, Uh-oh.

Mr. Pence abruptly turned and walked away. Hummingbird 

didn’t move. She just stood there. The kids hurried to her side.

Arianna was the first to speak: “What did he say?”

She handed over a set of stapled papers to Rain. It was the 

test. “He said Mindy told him she found this in the garbage in 

the girl’s restroom. Since the test had a 100 on it, she thought 

the person who ‘lost’ it would want it back.”

Simon asked the question that he thought Mr. Pence would 

have asked: “Why didn’t Mindy just give it to you?”

“Oh, my name was conveniently torn off, like she didn’t 

know who it belonged to...”

“But Chris knew Mr. Pence wouldn’t forget who made 100 

on that test.” Simon replied.

Hummingbird nodded. Then she took a deep breath and 

forced out her words in a frantic rush—as if she wanted to 

get rid of them as quickly as possible. “Mr. Pence said he was 

disappointed that I would throw away my tests. Because he 

thought I cared more about science than that. Then he said...” 

She stopped. A big tear slowly rolled down her face, smearing 

Little Deb’s pink blush. “Then he said he was disappointed 

42
to find out that I would say really...really nasty things about 

people.” The tears that had pooled on her lower eyelids suddenly 

spilled over into real misery.

Their voices tumbling over each other, the kids protested 

their disbelief. “What? Come on, No way! He didn’t say that!”

Hummingbird wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. 

“Oh, yes, he did. Look on the back of the last page...”

Rain turned over the test. In large block capitals was written:

MISS SWALLOW SAYS MR. PENCE IS A LOSER AND 

A DORK.

Sky Heart heard the bell ring and saw the middle schoolers 

scatter as they headed back to their classrooms. The eagle had 

keenly observed Hummingbird’s dejected posture and the way 

that her friends gathered protectively around her. Clearly, she 

was upset. He had never seen this bright and beautiful girl 

cry before.

From his perch on the telephone pole, the eagle turned 

his attention from the school and made a brief scan of Thunder 

Rock, the largest community on the reservation. The town was 

quiet. Feeling a bit stiff, he stretched out his wings and flapped 

them several times. Sky Heart had been on duty all morning 

and felt the need to fly. Hummingbird wasn’t his only concern 

on this day. His role was to give heart to anyone who sought the 

reassurance of his presence. He was a messenger of hope to all 

the people.

43
The eagle launched himself and quickly rose into a low cloud. 

As he circled upward, his mind focused on Hummingbird’s 

tears. Yes, he thought, something was very wrong. He resolved 

to return to the school after his mid-day flyover.

The last bell of the day signaled that exhilarated sense of 

freedom that meant only one thing—it was Friday. Students 

grabbed their books for homework assignments and teachers 

stuffed ungraded tests in their briefcases and totes. But these 

responsibilities could wait until Sunday evening. Tomorrow 

was Saturday!

Rain and Boomer, however, didn’t have to wait for their 

good time. Drum practice was scheduled for that afternoon. 

They had convinced Simon to go along—at least to watch and 

listen. Simon was shy about learning how to drum. He had been 

teased by his cousins (not Clifford—he was cool) when they 

saw him trying to do some pow-wow dancing. They called him 

a “city boy” who didn’t know how to dance “ind’n.” Simon had 

become very self-conscious after that, but the boys thought Joe 

could bring him out of his shell.

Needless to say, Hummingbird did not share her friends’ 

enthusiasm for the weekend, drums, or anything else. She and 

Arianna usually attended after-school activities. But not today. 

Hummingbird just wanted her mother’s comfort.

44
Circling above the school, Sky Heart saw Hummingbird 

and Arianna join the crowd of students that were scheduled for 

the first bus group. As soon as he saw them board their bus, Sky 

Heart arced away from the scene below and made a wider sweep 

of the school area. He wasn’t surprised to see Coyote nestled 

comfortably on the hill above the classroom trailers. The eagle 

had to smile when he saw Coyote raise the binoculars to his eyes. 

He was wondering who the old scoundrel was watching now—

when a slight disturbance in the bus loading zone attracted his 

attention.

Sky Heart lowered his altitude and re-directed his gaze 

to the group of waiting riders. He observed two boys herding 

a smaller child off by himself. Although he could not hear, the 

eagle could see what was going on.

Keeping an eye on the two teachers on bus duty, Dumptruck 

slyly maneuvered the sixth-grade boy behind the hedge that 

bordered the front of the school. Thrusting out his hand, Big D 

said, “Okay, whatcha got left?”

The boy reached in his pocket: “Just a quarter.”

“Then, gimme it,” Dumptruck said impatiently.

Tater Tot, who was on look-out, called out. Hurry up. Mrs. 

Biddy’s walking this way.

Dumptruck gave his victim a kindly word of counsel: “Tell 

on us and you’ll be real sorry.” Then he pushed the back of the 

boy’s head and let him go.

45
Tater Tot joined his partner in crime. “How much we 

get today?”

Dumptruck fished out some coins and one crumpled dollar 

bill from his pocket. “About six dollars.”

“Too bad we don’t get to keep any of it,” Tater Tot grumbled.

“Is Chris watching?”

Tater glanced toward the school’s big double doors. “Yeah, 

he can see Old Biddy’s getting too close. Come on, let’s go.”

When the two boys vacated the cover provided by the hedge, 

Chris emerged from the school entrance. He walked toward the 

courtyard, knowing that Dumptruck and Tater Tot would follow. 

Suddenly, Chris side-stepped behind a fence that shielded a 

row of garbage cans. He didn’t like to advertise his association 

with Dumptruck or Tater Tot—especially when he was making 

collections. “Okay, hand it over. How much is it?”

“Six dollars.”

“Is that all? Last Friday it was fourteen.”

“Yeah, but that was the field trip money from those girls.”

Chris counted the money. He frowned and looked up with 

disgust at these idiots he intimidated into doing his dirty work. 

In Chris’s view, guys like Dumptruck and Tater Tot were the 

bottom of the social and mental ladder he used to rank people. 

Angrily he snarled, “This is nothing, man. You better find 

somebody else to squeeze.”

In truth, Chris was more afraid than angry. His stepbrothers 

would be expecting more than this measly handful of change. 

The few times he hadn’t coughed up money from the middle 

46
school, they had made him very sorry. Chris turned his fear on 

the two boys. Smiling menacingly, he said, “Come up with more 

money or you’ll be having a little talk with Melvin and Jesse.”

Dumptruck and Tater Tot hastily agreed, and the three boys 

continued on their way to the courtyard in search of new prey. At 

the same time Rain and his pals were headed down the 7th grade 

wing to the courtyard exit. Rain and Boomer were speculating 

about the new song Joe was going to teach that afternoon. 

They had learned memorial songs, veteran’s songs, and honor 

songs...Joe knew them all. A new song was always fun, but today 

was a special day. They would play the new drum for the first 

time. Even Simon was getting excited.

As they exited the building, the boys spotted Chris and 

his two playmates on the walkway in front of the gym. Simon 

muttered, “Uh-oh. It’s Big Frog and the ‘toad patrol.’”

At almost the same time, Chris caught sight of Rain. When 

he saw that Rain was with his friends, he switched his objective 

from a “shake-down” to “shake-up.” He thought it would be a 

good opportunity to put a little pressure on Little Miss Birdie’s 

buddies—especially Simon. Small for his age, Simon looked 

like a kid easy to push around. What’s more, he was too smart 

for Chris’s liking. Chris whispered to Dumptruck and Tater Tot, 

“Come on, let’s show’em whose boss around here.”

Rain watched Chris strut toward them—backed up by his 

“muscle.” He couldn’t help but play out the frog joke: “Looks like 

they’re hopping this way.” Joining in the fun, Boomer popped 

off, “Don’t touch ‘em! You’ll get warts!”

47
The boys fell out laughing. Or rather, Rain and Boomer 

laughed. Simon snorted. When he got really tickled, Simon 

inhaled his “ha-ha’s” and they came out as oinky snorts. Simon’s 

‘nose grunts’ literally tore up Boomer. He started laughing so 

loud, other kids turned to see what was going on.

Despite Chris’s big swagger, some of the puff went out of his 

chest. Why were they laughing? Anxious to buck up his tough guy 

image, he whispered to Dumptruck and Tater Tot, “Watch this.” 

Chris planted his feet apart, blocked the walkway, and launched 

his first dig. “Oh, look, it’s Veggie Man, the ‘you’ll get diabetes’ 

dweeb and Thunder Thud! The Soap Bomber’s friends! And the 

wimp, Simonosaurus!”

The boys stifled their giggles. Trying not to move his mouth, 

Rain said quietly, “Don’t say anything.”

Disappointed that his punch didn’t land, Chris tried again. 

“Hey, Simonosaurus’s new name is bigger than he is!” Like an 

audience that had been paid to applaud, Dumptruck and Tater 

provided the appropriate snickering and fist-bumps.

Rain folded his arms and looked bored. Simon polished 

his glasses. Boomer scratched his stomach and performed his 

own ventriloquist act. “We’re psyching him out. He’s starting 

to sweat.”

Getting desperate, Chris threw out a champion insult 

guaranteed to offend any self-respecting dino-geek: “You 

know, Simon, you’re so stupid, you got another brain in your 

tail to make your legs work!”

48
Appreciating the intelligence and humor of the insult, 

Simon whispered admiringly: “Too bad he’s such a creep. That 

was funny!”

Running out of patience, Boomer whispered back, “Yeah, 

well, explain it later. Right now I’m going to drum practice.” The 

boy with the big voice started rolling his shoulders, stretching 

his arms, and cracking his knuckles. Then he began to twirl his 

arms in circles. It was quite a show.

Dumptruck and Tater Tot took a step backwards, leaving 

Chris out front and alone. Tater was freaked out. “What’s he 

warming up for?”

After a couple of deep knee bends, Boomer announced his 

intentions. “Oh, yeahhhh...I feel a song coming on!” Feeling 

no guilt since their adversaries had been fairly warned, Boomer 

let loose with the Tribe’s flag song: “Our flag will stand forever. 

Under it the people will grow.” True to his name, Boomer’s 

singing was so deafening that Tater Tot broke ranks and ran 

off. Not being from the reservation, he didn’t recognize the flag 

song. To his ears it was an air raid siren that screamed, ‘Run!’

Suddenly the side door to the band room flung open. Joe 

Red Crane stuck out his head and called out, “Hey, fellas. You 

wanna sing—get in here!” Boomer halted his solo performance 

and yelled, “Coming, Joe!”

When adults got in the act, Dumptruck wanted no trouble. 

He stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled off into the grass—

leaving most of the walkway unobstructed. Chris didn’t move.

49
Boomer and Simon ran past Chris, but Rain lingered. After 

the door closed behind his two friends, he stepped closer to 

Chris. Quietly but firmly, he said, “We know you wrote that 

stuff about Miss Swallow and Mr. Pence on Hummingbird’s 

test, Chris.” 

Chris eyes flew open. He was surprised that his role in 

Hummingbird’s harassment had been so easily detected. Not 

only had the Veggie Crowd laughed at him, they were way too 

sharp. Pointing a finger at Rain, Chris said in a barely controlled 

voice, “If I catch that little runt Simon by himself, he’s gonna 

wish he never came back to this rez—or ever knew you guys....” 

Then he turned quickly and stormed down the walkway.

Rain was shocked. In just a few minutes, Chris had gone 

from silly insults to real threats. Rain had always thought of 

Chris as just that stuck-up guy who lorded it over other kids. 

Now he wasn’t so sure. He seemed like he really wanted to hurt 

somebody—namely Hummingbird and Simon. But why?

As Rain hurried past Dumptruck, he gave the big 8th grader 

a searching look that said ‘What’s with you?’ Big D turned away 

confused and not a little scared. He and Tater had backed out on 

Chris. He dreaded the consequences. Dumptruck knew he had 

to find Tater Tot before Chris did.

50
Rain watched Dumptruck scurry away in the direction that 

the redheaded boy had fled. When Boomer stuck his head out 

the door and yelled, “Come on, RD!” he eagerly ran to join his 

friends. Entering the brightly lit band room, he was struck by 

the contrast between Chris’s dark anger and the happy voices of 

the boys standing around the new drum. Rain didn’t notice Joe 

coming over to offer him a drum stick. Of course, being lost in 

his thoughts was not out of character for Rain.

Joe waved his free hand in front of Rain’s eyes. “Hey, RD, 

are you with us?”

Startled, Rain re-focused his eyes on Joe’s kindly wrinkled 

face. Without any explanation for the unusual question, Rain 

asked, “Joe, in our language, what is the word for ‘bully?’”

51

Chapter 6

53

“Well, um...Bird got in trouble in Mr. Pence’s class.” Looking from Darlene to 

Chick, she added, “Again.”

Coyote Drumming

Hummingbird ran up the dirt path to her house, followed closely 

by Arianna. Because her mother, Darlene, only worked half 

days at the hospital on Fridays, Hummingbird knew she would 

be in the kitchen with Aunt Chick. Her aunt always brought over 

fresh vegetables from her garden on Friday afternoons. When 

she burst through the back door, the sight of her mother’s soft, 

round face, flushed from the heat of the stove, immediately 

brought on the sobs Hummingbird had held back all day. The 

distraught girl hesitated then called out “Mother...” in a tiny 

wail. Darlene immediately knew something was wrong. Her 
daughter only called her ‘mother,’ instead of ‘mom,’ when 

something was wrong. Darlene quickly abandoned the onion 

she was chopping and wiped her hands on a dish cloth. Alarmed, 

she asked, “Bird, what is it”

Hummingbird ran to her mother and buried her head in 

her shoulder. Darlene, an inch shorter than her growing child, 

held her close with her with her short, sturdy arms. Aunt Chick, 

who had been stirring a bubbling vegetable stew, brought her 

big wooden spoon to a sudden stop. She repeated her sister’s 

question, only louder: “What is it!”

When Hummingbird continued to cry, Arianna answered. 

“Well, um...she got in trouble in Mr. Pence’s class.” Looking 

from Darlene to Chick, she added, “Again.”

Darlene guided her daughter into the living room, leaving 

Arianna and Chick to finish preparing supper. They sat down 

on the old blue and white afghan that had covered their 

couch ever since Hummingbird could remember. “So, what 

happened, Sweetie?”

Between sniffs, Hummingbird haltingly told her mother 

about the events in Mr. Pence’s class. To comfort herself, she 

nervously picked at a frayed corner of the afghan. When she 

finished, Darlene sighed and said, “I told Mr. Pence when 

he called last week that you would be more careful. Now this, 

Bird. If you’re trying to impress other kids by pulling these...” 

Darlene searched for the right word. “Pranks...or whatever 

you call them...then you’re chasing after something this family 

doesn’t approve of. We thought you loved science because you 

wanted to find ways it could help the people—not because it gave 

you a chance to show off.”

54
Somewhere deep inside, Darlene had struck a nerve. But 

the young girl wasn’t prepared to go there. “Mother, I do want 

to help the people. I just honestly don’t know why I did what I 

did. I know I was wrong. But I’m just so scared that everything 

I’ve done for the science fair is for nothing! If I’m suspended, 

maybe I can’t participate. And...and everybody is talking about 

me. Chris Sorrell is even trying to make Mr. Pence think bad 

things about me!” Squeezing her eyes shut, Hummingbird 

wailed, “Oh, nooo, Mom, now Richard and Dale will tease me—

forever! (Richard and Dale were Bird’s older brothers who went 

to Thunder Rock High School.)

“Bird, stop that. Richie and Dale aren’t the problem here. 

Now, look at me. What has Chris Sorrell got to do with this?”

When Hummingbird explained about Chris’s bullying and 

the note written on her test, Darlene was puzzled. “I don’t know 

why he would do that. Are you sure he wrote it?”

“Not exactly. But he took the test.”

“I’ll talk to Miss Swallow. Don’t worry—she knows you 

better than that. She’ll set it right with Mr. Pence.”

“Please, mother, when Mr. Pence calls, don’t say anything 

about it unless he does. It’s just so...embarrassing. Everybody is 

always talking about how he is always making goo-goo eyes at...”

The ringing of the phone suddenly interrupted 

Hummingbird’s repeating the most popular grist in the school 

rumor mill. Aunt Chick called out, “For you Darlene. It’s 

Mr. Pence!”

55
Hummingbird couldn’t listen. She got up and ran to the 

security of the bedroom she shared with Arianna. Banging 

the door behind her, she leaned against it, eyes tightly shut. 

Hummingbird trusted her mother to help her, but she dreaded 

what Mr. Pence would say. Slowly, Hummingbird opened her 

eyes. There on the table in front of the window was her science 

project—a careful mapping of the areas where the Tribe’s bison 

herd grazed and the plants that grew there. She had been 

working on it off and on since last summer. Now it was almost 

finished. The poster she had made of the reservation was actually 

quite pretty. Differently colored areas showed the presence of 

native and non-native plants, mostly grasses. Miss Swallow 

had suggested the project because the Tribe wanted to expand 

their native prairie land. The science teacher said controlling 

invasive plants that degrade native prairie habitat was critical to 

promoting healthy food for the bison, as well as protecting food 

and cover for wildlife.

Hummingbird walked to the table and picked up some dried 

samples of non-native plants she had collected—European 

buckthorn, crown vetch, and loosestrife. She wrapped them 

in clear plastic film and laid them beside the sample of native 

grasses she had collected for her exhibit. The rustling sound 

awoke her old cat, Scooter, who had been sleeping on the 

windowsill. He jumped on the table and sat down, watching her 

labeling the plant samples. Not so strangely, this simple activity 

calmed her down. As she finished the last sample, she heard a 

small knock at the door: “Bird?”

“Yes, Mom...?”

56
The door opened. When her mother said nothing, 

Hummingbird turned around. Darlene’s face said it all. “Bird, 

Mr. Pence discussed the situation with the principal. They 

decided on an in-house suspension for three days next week.”

Hummingbird simply absorbed that news and moved on to 

what she really cared about. In a quiet voice, she asked, “What 

about the science fair, Mom? Am I suspended when the science 

fair is going on?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. But Daddy and I will talk to Mr. Berry, 

Sweetie. Maybe we can get him to delay the suspension ...”

Hummingbird slowly sat down on the bed. “When is Daddy 

coming home?”

“Sunday night.”

Hummingbird said, “The science fair starts Monday 

morning, Mom.”

Sympathetically, Darlene said, “I’m sorry, Bird. I wasn’t 

thinking.”

Hummingbird picked up Scooter and sat on the bed. She 

started thinking about her father. Daddy will be so excited when 

he gets home. He’ll want to tell us all about the food sovereignty 

conference and the stuff that kids on other reservations are 

doing...and then Mom will say, ‘Do you want to know what 

Hummingbird did?’

Sighing, she stroked Scooter’s soft cheeks—his favorite 

thing. The cat pushed his head aggressively against her hand 

and purred. Suddenly, she kissed her old friend on the head and 

put him down. “Sorry, Scooter, but I have to finish my exhibit.”

57
Darlene smiled. One thing you could say about her 

daughter—she wasn’t a quitter.

By the time the boys left drum practice, it was getting dark. 

They stood in front of the school waiting for Gerald, Rain’s 

father, to pick them up. Tonight, Boomer and Simon would 

be eating supper with Rain’s family. Simon often ate dinner at 

Rain’s house when his dad, Henry, a long-haul trucker, was on 

the road, and his mom, Ellen, a nurse, worked the night-shift at 

the hospital. The appetites of two more 12- year-olds would put 

no strain on the cooking pot. Extra plates were already being set 

for his mother’s cousins and their kids who were visiting from 

another town on the reservation. Rain’s mom, Roberta, liked 

cooking for a crowd.

Keeping an eye out for his dad’s car headlights, Rain started 

singing the new song Joe had taught them. Boomer chimed in, 

then nudged Simon to sing with them. Simon smiled shyly and 

shook his head. Boomer suddenly called a halt. “Okay, Simon, I 

guess I’ll just have to sing for both of us.”

Rain clapped his hands over his ears. Laughing, he pleaded, 

“No, Boom, don’t!”

Simon hollered, “I’ll sing—I’ll sing!”

Fixing his eye on Simon, Boomer started the song. Rain 

joined on the second round, and as promised, Simon sang, 

but only the chorus. Boomer smiled, “Hey, that wasn’t half 

bad, Simon.”

58
“Man, I could never sing like you, Boomer. You’re great.”

“That’s why he is the lead singer for our drum,” Rain said. 

Changing the subject, Rain laughed, “Wow, Boom, when you 

started singing the flag song—I thought I’d die! Did you see how 

fast that Tater guy ran off?”

“Yeah, he really freaked!” Then getting serious, Boomer 

asked, “So, are we gonna talk to somebody about Chris?”

“Yeah, our parents I guess,” Rain said. He actually realized 

more than his friends that Chris wasn’t to be taken lightly. “We 

could tell my dad about it.”

“Good idea.” Simon agreed. “I guess I should have told 

my mom and dad about Chris’s brothers running me out of the 

rec center.”

Just then, Rain’s father pulled into the school driveway. As 

soon as the car stopped, the boys jerked open the car doors and 

piled in, chucking their backpacks where there wasn’t a stack of 

papers or a box of reports. Gerald, the economic developer for 

the Tribe, was notorious for bringing home office work.

Turning to the boys who had somehow squeezed themselves 

into the back seat, Gerald asked, “How was drum practice?”

“Dad, you wouldn’t believe the new drum!”

“Yeah,” Boomer said excitedly, “this drum is gonna make 

people wanna dance!”

Eager to be part of the conversation, Simon added, “I 

could feel the ‘boom’ fill up my whole chest. Just like it was my 

heart beating.”

Boomer looked over at Simon. Yeah, he thought to himself, 

that’s what Joe says—it’s the heartbeat.

59
“Dad, Joe did a tobacco blessing for the drum and taught 

us a new song, too. He says we got to start rehearsing more—for 

the Harvest Pow-Wow. I thought we could go out to the shed and 

practice some after supper.”

Gerald was glad to hear the boys’ enthusiasm. “I wish I’d 

known somebody like Joe when I was your age. Sure would have 

saved me a lot of catching up. The school I went to didn’t offer 

Native Heritage.” Fiddling with the dial on the car radio, Gerald 

followed up with the usual parent question. “So, what else 

happened at school today?”

The boys exchanged glances. “Well,” Rain replied, “lots of 

stuff. Let’s see. Hummingbird blew up her science class.”

Gerald glanced in the rearview mirror at the boys. “You’re 

kidding. Was anybody hurt?”

“No, but it made Chris Sorrel start acting like a real weirdo.”

“Yeah,” Boomer said, “he got this guy to throw a wad of 

hamburger at me in the lunchroom.”

Simon figured he should get in his two cents, too. “Um...

and Chris was real nasty to Hummingbird. He took a test of 

hers and wrote some stuff on it like Miss Swallow doesn’t like 

Mr. Pence.”

“Even though everybody knows he’s in love with her,” 

Boomer explained earnestly.

Confused, Gerald asked, “You mean Chris Sorrel 

loves Bird?”

“No, no! I didn’t mean that!” Boomer protested. “It’s Mr. 

Pence who likes...”

60
Finally finding the sports program he was looking for, 

Gerald interrupted, “Well, if it gets any worse than spitballs and 

love letters, let me know.” He turned up the sound and started 

listening intently to the latest NFL football analysis.

Simon whispered, “Boy, did we sound lame.”

“Yeah, lame,” Rain admitted. When he had asked Joe about 

the word ‘bully,’ he had said he should talk to his parents if he 

knew that bullying was going on. Now, Rain realized that adult 

ears could process information in different ways than expected, 

especially if you didn’t have their full attention. Next time he 

and his friends talked to grown-ups about Chris they would 

have to be a lot clearer.

As Gerald pulled the car to the back of the house, the porch 

light flicked on. He had not even opened the car door before 

Danny and Del, Rain’s 5 year old twin brothers, and Margie, 

his little sister, came pushing through the screen door. Behind 

them, the yellow warmth of the kitchen framed the silhouettes 

of family—their outlines softened by steam from the stove’s 

simmering pots. As was his habit every night, Rain hugged 

Margie and ruffled the twin’s hair. Then he made an immediate 

detour to check what was cooking.

Boomer and Simon headed to the small living room, its 

only light coming from the TV screen. Simon switched on 

a lamp and flopped on the floor beside Granma’s big brown 

recliner. Boomer made himself comfortable on the couch. 

61
Hearing the unusual sound of a laugh track from the TV, he said, 

“Hey, look, the weather’s not on. I didn’t think she watched 

Gilligan’s Island.”

All regular visitors to Rain’s house knew that his greatgrandmother was an avid watcher of the Weather Channel. 

Grandma said that as she’d got older she’d learned the difference 

between the things she could do something about—and the things 

she couldn’t. She said that wisdom lay somewhere between 

the two. Granma liked to say that people couldn’t control the 

weather—the biggest reality show on TV—but they could learn to 

recognize storm sign and to make themselves ready. She wasn’t 

much for fatalism.

Rain came in and joined Simon on the floor. “Mom’s 

supper looks great. We’re having chicken & wild rice soup. It’s 

got carrots, celery and onions in it. And Mom’s made her baking 

powder biscuits.”

Boomer’s voice awakened Granma from one of her little 

snoozes. “Oh, it’s you boys,” she smiled. “I must have dozed 

off.” She fished around in her chair for the TV remote. “Rain, 

where’s that clicker gone? How’d that show get on?”

“Here it is, Granma. On the floor.”

“Switch it over to the local weather, honey. I want to see 

what tomorrow looks like. I got a big day. Joe’s coming by to take 

me to the Senior Center.”

“What’s going on over there, Granma?” Rain asked.

Before answering, Granma pulled her sweater around her 

tiny, thin shoulders. “Well, us old folks are planning our own 

booth at the pow-wow. We’re meeting to come up with ideas for 

62
making some money for the center. Joe thinks we could raise 

money by selling stories. A dollar each. Kinda like folks used to 

sell kisses at fairs.” The image of herself selling kisses tickled 

Granma so much she started laughing at her own joke.

As always, her good humor drew the boys in. Simon thought 

the storytelling was a great idea. Joining Rain on the floor, he 

said, “Say, I bet people would pay more than a dollar to hear 

Delbert’s story about the coyote and the cave. Not everybody’s 

heard it.”

Granma reached over to tousle Simon’s head. “Just about 

the whole world’s heard about it now, Simon.”

Simon cast his eyes down guiltily. “Yeah, you got kidnapped 

because of me, Granma Hettie. If I hadn’t told everybody that 

the Great Turtle was in the cave where the coyote took you and 

your brother, Delbert... well, then Vernon Smeed wouldn’t have 

thought you could show him where the cave was.”

“Well, don’t you feel bad, Simon. It all turned out for the 

best. That fossil poacher got caught and didn’t make a cent off 

the old turtle. And you were a brave boy—helping Rain to put her 

bones back.”

Sitting up in her chair, Granma looked around at each of 

the three twelve year olds. Smiling, she said, “You boys did the 

right thing. You’re all my heroes.”

“Granma, um, we need some advice,” Rain said. “About 

that ‘right thing’ stuff. There’s a guy at school that’s trying to 

bully Hummingbird and he was messing with us today, too. Did 

you ever get bullied at school?”

63
“I remember kids getting bullied. But nobody bothered me 

much. Not when Delbert was around. We really stuck together. 

That’s my advice. Stick together. Friends can look out for each 

other.” Frowning, Granma asked, “Did you say somebody’s 

picking on Hummingbird?”

“Yeah, Chris Sorrel played a bad trick on her,” Simon replied.

“Oh, my, I hope she tells her parents or her teachers. Some 

tricks aren’t funny.” Looking at the boys over her glasses, she 

added, “I think we’ve had enough tricks for a while, especially 

the coyote kind.”

Rain thought, Hmm, yeah, but has the coyote had enough 

of us? He walked over to the small table in the corner where 

Roberta had set up her home computer. He logged on.

Roberta brought in the boy’s plates. Seeing Rain standing 

in front of her old PC, Roberta said, “Now, you guys eat before 

you start playing with the computer. Rain, get that pitcher of ice 

water by the sink, okay?”

“Okay, Mom.” Rain brought in the water and put it on 

the card table. Then, he watched Roberta help Granma to the 

kitchen where the rest of the family was already seated. Once 

they were alone, he turned on the computer. “Hey guys, come 

over here. I want you to see something.”

Walking over to Rain, Simon said, “Do you think Granma 

will tell your mom and dad about Chris?”

“Yeah. They’ll ask me about it, for sure.” Laughing, he said, 

“I’ll get the facts straight next time.”

“Come on, RD,” Boomer broke in impatiently, “Can we eat 

and look at what you want to show us? I’m hungry.”

64
“Me, too,” Simon agreed. While Boomer and Simon picked 

up the card table and shifted it next to the computer, Rain logged 

into email. Not waiting for their host, the boys tucked in. After 

swallowing all of his soup in three slurps, Boomer threatened, 

“If you don’t want yours, RD, I’m gonna eat it!”

Grabbing his plate, Rain hollered, “No way!” He shoveled 

in some chicken and rice and tapped the computer screen. 

“Take a look at this picture.”

The boys got up and crowded in next to Rain. Squinting 

his eyes at the image on the screen, Boomer asked, “What’s that 

pink cloud?”

With his mouth full, Simon garbled, “Hold it! Oh, wow!” 

He coughed and swallowed. “It’s the ‘elephant’s toothpaste!’”

Boomer hollered, “Oh, geez, is that Mr. Pence? This is so 

bad! Who sent this?”

“Sammie. She showed it to me at lunch.”

“Oh yeah,” Simon said, nodding his head. “Bird is definitely 

going to get suspended. It’s huge! How did she do that?”

“Do you see anything weird about the picture?”

“The whole thing is weird, man,” Boomer said.

“Look at the window.” Sammie had taken a shot that 

captured the view outside the back windows of the school room. 

Simon pointed his finger to a fuzzy shape that appeared beside a 

bush about forty yards from the classroom trailer. “What’s that?”

Boomer stretched out his neck for a better view. “Call me a 

dingfod, but it kinda looks like...a coyote?”

“Can’t be, Boom, the eyes are too big,” Simon said.

65
Rain agreed. “I thought it was a coyote, too. But, yeah, the 

eyes are too big. Let’s try this.” He zoomed in on the shape and 

began enlarging the frame. The pixels broke up into a jig-saw 

puzzle, but the mystery was solved. Rain and Simon looked at 

each other—speechless.

But Boomer, whose tongue was never tied, cried, 

“Binoculars. He’s got a pair of binoculars...!”

66
Sighing, she stroked Scooter’s soft cheeks—his favorite thing. 

Suddenly, she kissed her old friend on the head and put him 

down. “Sorry, Scooter, but I have to finish my exhibit.”

Chapter 7

Ramen noodles

Lunch meat

Box of macaroni & 

cheese mix

Grape soda

Canned sausages

Hot dogs

Chocolate Milk

69

Bird peeped into shopping carts and observed what was being bagged at the cash 

register. Several times she picked up discarded shopping lists and coupons.

Too Much and Not Enough

The next morning, Sky Heart watched the sun’s rays pierce the 

dark blue sky, bringing a new day to the Medicine Cave Indian 

Reservation. From his perch high atop a tall pine, he saw the 

community, both human and animal, begin to awaken and stir. 

Thistle was among the early risers, having already done some 

voracious grazing before the sun came up. After all, she was 

eating for her unborn babies.

Sky Heart approved of the location she had chosen to 

build her nest. She was favoring an old brush pile overlooking 

a garden soon to be planted with winter vegetables. The pile 
of debris provided good cover and was surrounded by thick 

grasses. Noticing that she had finished her breakfast, the eagle 

glided downward to join her. “The eating is good here. May you 

produce many.” he said, using an old formal greeting among 

the animals.

“Thank you, Sky Heart. Yes, it is a good place. That is Aunt 

Chick’s garden down there. She’s Hummingbird’s aunt, you 

know.” She paused for a moment to sample a bit of clover, but it 

was too mature and not to her liking. “So, tell me what happened 

yesterday at the school after I left.”

Sky Heart described what he had seen in the school 

courtyard, paying special attention to Hummingbird’s 

interaction with Mr. Pence. “There were a lot of emotions—

sometimes laughing, but also fear and anger. I can see what they 

do, Thistle, but I need your ears to understand what is going 

on.” He also expressed alarm about the disturbing behaviors he 

had witnessed after school: “Later, two boys took money from a 

small child, and then joined the boy, Chris, to start trouble with 

our young friends.”

Thistle understood. “Just tell me where you want me to go. I 

will listen for us. It sounds like Coyote is working something big.”

Hummingbird sat at the breakfast table—staring at the 

bowl of oatmeal. She had not slept well and kept rubbing her 

eyes. Although she was trying to be brave, the disappointed girl 

was not thinking positive thoughts. All she could think about 

was the gossip she had heard in the restroom—and the laughter 

70
in the cafeteria. Hummingbird had never been the butt of jokes 

before; nor had she ever been suspended.

Arianna noticed her friend’s lack of appetite. She tried to 

think of something “perky” that would cheer her up. “Bird, I 

heard that Janie’s mom is having one of those make-up parties 

at her house. We could go and get some of those little samples...”

Hummingbird picked a raisin out of the oatmeal with her 

spoon. She looked at the wrinkled brown fruit as if it were some 

kind of bug. Disgusted, she plunked the spoon in the cereal and 

pushed the bowl aside. “No, they probably wouldn’t want the 

soap bomber to spoil the party.”

Darlene, who had just come into the kitchen, overheard her 

daughter. “Well, I think that you girls should come to the store 

with me. Arianna, Rain’s mom gave me some new recipes that 

are low carb. Check them out and see if it’s stuff you would like. 

Then, what do you say we go over to Chick’s and help her with 

her garden? I told her we might come over. It’s a pretty day.”

Arianna always liked to try out new recipes and was eager to 

go. The grocery store didn’t have much appeal to Hummingbird, 

but she agreed to help her mother shop. Unenthusiastically, she 

pulled on her sweater and slumped to the car. The drive over 

to Medicine Cave Plaza wasn’t far. Darlene always shopped at 

the tribally-owned retail center. She believed in a dollar being 

touched several times before it left the reservation.

By the time they arrived at the store, Arianna had thumbed 

through Roberta’s recipes and had selected two which she gave 

to Darlene—a cherry tart with only 23 grams of carbohydrates 

and a chicken enchilada recipe with 26 grams. She was always 

71
thinking about carbohydrates. She paid attention to the simple 

ones like table sugar that enter the blood stream very quickly and 

raise blood glucose levels. She also was very aware of starches in 

foods like white bread that boost blood sugar levels almost as 

fast as table sugar. To keep an eye on her glucose levels, Arianna 

had to do several finger sticks a day. She had a little sticker that 

she used to prick her finger. After a drop of blood appeared she 

would put it on a special strip of paper and insert it into a blood 

glucose meter that fit in the palm of her hand. The meter had a 

small screen that displayed a number that told her how much 

glucose was in her blood. Arianna’s blood sugar could vary--

from low to high. If it was high before lunch, she would eat a 

lower carb meal; if it was low when she got home from school, 

she would eat a higher carb snack. She had to work at keeping 

her body healthy all day long.

Arianna organized her shopping list carefully. She needed 

a variety of foods that would help to keep her blood sugar in 

proper balance. For snacks she loved crackers and part-skim 

milk cheese, all kinds of fruits (especially berries), and she was 

a big fan of celery and low-fat cream cheese. 

While Arianna went in search of her favorite snacks, 

Hummingbird got a cart and followed her mother to the 

produce. They picked over the fruits and vegetables. Because 

the reservation was very rural, produce that wasn’t in season or 

grown locally had to be trucked in. It was often expensive and 

not very fresh. Nevertheless, they found some decent bananas, 

oranges, and green peppers on sale.

72
Picking up a plastic bag of grapes, Hummingbird noticed a 

small boy staring into her shopping cart. She recognized him. 

It was Donny, one of the elementary school children who rode 

her bus. He looked up at her with a puzzled frown. “You’ve got a 

lot of stuff.” Hummingbird looked back into the boy’s big brown 

eyes. She just nodded and smiled. Feeling a bit guilty, she didn’t 

know what to say.

“I like grapes,” Donny said. Smiling, he reached into the 

fruit bin and picked up a large bag of grapes with both hands. He 

glanced over his shoulder at Hummingbird as he walked toward 

his mother, a harried young woman with a fussing toddler. She 

had no cart, only a hand basket that contained two loaves of dayold bread and some cartons of ramen noodles.

“Mom, can we get these?” the boy asked quietly.

“Put those back, Donny.”

“But, Mom...”

“They cost too much. I’ve run out of food stamps. It’s the 

end of the month.”

“You got any WIC vouchers?”

She sighed, “Yes, but that’s for formula. Nothing else.”

The boy didn’t beg. He replaced the fruit and tagged along 

with his mother to the baby food. Hummingbird abandoned 

her shopping and followed them. From a distance she watched 

to see if they would buy anything else. When Donny and his 

mother headed to the checkout, Hummingbird began to 

circulate throughout the store. She peeped into shopping carts 

and observed what was being bagged at the cash register. Several 

times she picked up discarded shopping lists and coupons.

73
Finally, Hummingbird sat down in an empty chair in 

front of the customer service desk. An idea—a big idea—was 

forming in her brain. Something wild—the ultimate “what 

if.” Hummingbird was staring straight ahead when Darlene 

interrupted her churning thoughts. “Bird? We’ve been looking 

for you. Where did you go?”

“Mom, everybody’s just eating starch, starch, starch...

starch and sugar, starch and salt. Our families can’t buy what 

they need! I’ve had it all wrong. I’ve got to find a way to speed it 

up. Not all this slow stuff!”

“Speed up what?”

“Growing vegetables! My science project is stupid. It’ll take 

years for a healthy prairie to produce healthier meat for people! 

I’ve got to do something now!”

Exasperated, Darlene said, “Can we at least pay for the 

groceries first? Why don’t you and Arianna wait for me outside?”

Hummingbird took Arianna by the hand. “Come on. You’re 

going to have to help me with this. I can’t do it by myself.”

“Do what?”

“Grow giant vegetables. And grow them really fast!”

74
Chapter 8

75

Darlene saw the familiar look of determination that meant Bird’s mind was made up. “Let’s 

see what Chick says. Let’s get what we need from the shed and head on over to her garden.”

A Giant Plan

Darlene drove home to drop off the groceries before heading 

over to Aunt Chick’s. She kept one eye on the road, while glancing 

repeatedly in the rearview mirror at the Hummingbird and the 

Arianna. The girls had their heads together, conferring quietly, 

but intensely. Words like “fertilizer,” “compost,” “irrigate” and 

“weeds” floated out of their conversation; and occasionally, 

Hummingbird made big round-shaped gestures with her arms. 

Darlene was sure that when they were ready, she would hear all 

about it. She didn’t have to wait long.
After they had unloaded the car and put away the groceries, 

Darlene saw Hummingbird look at Arianna as if to say, ‘okay, 

here goes.’ “Mom, I...we...have a plan. Um, I’m going to keep 

right on with the science project. So, don’t think I’m dropping 

that. But, I want to start a new project. My idea is to...ah...

grow really big fruits and vegetables. If they’re really big then 

they can feed everybody. There would be summer and winter 

vegetables—that way, we could have some all year round.”

“Another project?” Darlene said doubtfully. “What kinds 

of vegetables?”

“I don’t know yet. I promise I won’t try to do it all by myself. 

I want to talk to Daddy about it. And Aunt Chick, too. I know that 

Rain, Boomer, and Simon will help.”

“It will be my project, too, Aunt Darlene.” Arianna 

said brightly.

Darlene was skeptical, but she didn’t want to discourage 

Hummingbird’s ambition to make her community a healthier 

place. She could see that the girls working together would be 

a good thing, too. There would be time for hard questions and 

reality checks later. “I’ll talk to Daddy. I know he’ll help. He’s so 

proud of you. But, please, honey, don’t think you girls have to 

solve all these food problems by yourselves. Daddy and the guys 

at the bison co-op have been really successful this year. And he’s 

worked so hard on the Tribe’s food sovereignty policy. That’s all 

volunteer work and he’s done it because of you, Bird.” Glancing 

at her daughter, Darlene saw the familiar look of determination 

that meant Bird’s mind was made up. “Well, we’ll see what Chick 

says. Let’s get what we need from the shed and head on over.”

76
After loading the trunk with garden tools, Hummingbird 

enjoyed the short drive to Aunt Chick’s. The road passed by 

green and yellow fields, edged by stands of red cedars and 

black locust trees. Hummingbird loved the eastern part of the 

reservation. Her family had ranched and done truck farming on 

this land for over a hundred years.

Bird spotted Aunt Chick sitting in the backyard when they 

drove up. She jumped out of the car, eager to recruit her aunt 

into the “giant plan.” Leaving Arianna to wrestle with a shovel 

that had wedged in the trunk, Hummingbird grabbed a hoe and 

charged to the back of the house. Darlene followed, carrying 

a box of flower bulbs. Hummingbird was pleased to see her 

mother sit down in one of Chick’s old metal lawn chairs. Good, 

she thought, we can talk before we get to work.

Thistle was snoozing in her nest when the chattering of 

human voices woke her. She had extremely sensitive hearing, 

although her ears drooped down instead of standing erect like a 

wild rabbit. This odd transformation had occurred many, many 

years ago when she had abandoned her homeland to follow the 

tribes to the west during the Great Removal. Since that time 

she had lived in many places and near many nations. Once a 

member of a powerful trickster family, she had abandoned their 

wily and joking ways. Now she was proud to live as an animal 

helper—mostly to children.

Yawning, Thistle sat up. She began “nose blinking,” that 

funny wiggling of the nose that everyone imitates when they 

77
want to act like a rabbit. Her powerful sense of scent confirmed 

that people were visiting Aunt Chick. She squeezed from her 

nest enclosure and hopped on top of the brush pile. From that 

perch, she easily identified the visitors. Ah, she thought to 

herself, I can do some listening for Sky Heart.

Thistle bounced down the slope of the hill, following 

the patches of brushy cover. She halted when she reached a 

fence overgrown with wild privet that bordered Aunt Chick’s 

backyard. Nestling in the camouflage, Thistle focused on the 

human’s conversation.

Aunt Chick liked to be properly equipped before she started 

preparing one garden for its “winter sleep” and another for a 

winter crop. A great believer in electrical tape, glue, and never 

throwing anything away, she asked Hummingbird to repair 

some rusting spots on her old wheelbarrow. Pulling off a length 

of tape, Hummingbird launched her sales pitch. “Aunt Chick, 

what do you know about giant vegetables?”

“Nothing much, Bird. Just the giant pumpkins I’ve seen at 

the Harvest Pow-Wow. Those are some whoppers, aren’t they?”

“Well, we’re thinking of growing some. I thought you might 

let us use one of Grandpa’s old garden plots—maybe the one with 

the red fence around it?”

“This isn’t the time of the year to start growing a giant 

pumpkin, honey, or any kind of pumpkin. They’re being 

harvested now.”

78
“Oh, I know. I’m thinking of experimenting and getting 

ready for next year. So, um, the old shed might be perfect. You 

know, sprouting some seeds under a plant grow light; figuring 

out which seeds grow fastest. Then get a head start and set out 

some seedlings by April or May. Maybe Arianna and I could 

grow some winter vegetables, too.”

“Grandpa ran an electrical line out to that shed years ago,” 

Aunt Chick said. “He used it for a workshop one time. But the 

electric doesn’t work anymore. It will get mighty cold in that 

shed without a heater.”

“Boo could help us with the electricity,” Bird said. “He’s got 

tons of secondhand stuff in his garage. And RD, Boomer and 

Simon can till up the garden.”

Aunt Chick looked at Darlene. “If she wants to work in the 

shed, it’s fine by me. Those old cold frames next to the shed are 

in good shape. They keep the ground warm. Good enough for 

some mid-winter vegetables.”

Bird jumped up. “Come on, Arianna, let’s go over to RD’s 

house and tell him about the ‘giant plan!’”

“Hold on, girls,” Darlene said, “there’s work to be done 

here first.”

Aunt Chick handed a rake to Hummingbird. “Come on, 

ladies. Let’s do some cleaning.”

79
Thistle popped open her eyes as the human voices began 

to fade. She peered through a crack in the fence and watched 

the women and two girls walking toward a recently harvested 

garden. Thistle knew that plot well. She recalled with relish the 

tasty treats that she had eaten there. Naturally, as a rabbit, she 

supported the idea of growing giant vegetables. However, she’d 

heard nothing that would explain the odd behavior Sky Heart 

had witnessed at the school the day before. Thistle was baffled. 

Sky Heart had said Hummingbird was upset. Upset? The girl was 

positively cheery! Thistle frowned. Have I missed something?

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Chapter 9

81

Hummingbird ran on ahead and stood in front of the shed door, which hung on valiantly by a single 

hinge. She waited until the others joined her: “Well, guys, this is it.”

Sheds and Gardens

After raking off the debris from Aunt Chick’s vegetable patch, 

the girls took off. They followed the road for a short time, and 

then detoured along Salt Lick Creek until they came to the 

meadow near Rain’s house. Arianna challenged Hummingbird 

to a race across the expanse of tall yellow grass. The girls ran—

laughing too much for it to be a real race—until they crossed Old 

Schoolhouse Road and reached the gravel driveway of Rain’s 

little blue house. They heard singing and drumming.
Running around to the backyard, the girls saw Rain and 

Boomer beating on an old wooden wire spool. Simon was lying 

on the ground listening. When Boomer saw them, he stopped 

and yelled, “How do you like our drum?”

Hummingbird was fast with the compliments. “You guys 

are sounding pretty good.”

Pleased, Boomer said to Rain: “See I told you this old spool 

would work.”

Jumping right in, Hummingbird said, “Um, guys, I know 

you’re practicing right now. But I wanted to talk to you about 

this really great idea I had. I thought you might want to help.” 

The boys looked at Bird like ‘what now?’ Glancing at Arianna 

for support, she said boldly, “I think we should experiment with 

growing giant vegetables.”

“Who is we?” Rain wanted to know.

“All of us. Look, if we want to get people to eat more fruit 

and vegetables, then we’ve got to grow more of it. But not little 

stuff—I’m talking about big stuff. Giant fruits and vegetables. 

Then we could feed everybody. You know, it would be like a 

short cut?”

Rain was confused. “Isn’t your science project about 

helping native grass grow better—so buffalo can graze on it and 

produce lean meat? That’s about healthy food.”

“Yes, of course, it is and it’s important to Miss Swallow’s 

Bison Project and the Bison Co-op. But it’s so slow....It could 

take forever to re-create native prairies, RD!”

“How do you grow giant vegetables?” Simon asked. “Have 

you read up on it?”

82
Cheerily, Bird answered, “Not yet. I thought you could do 

that Simon!”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Look,” Bird continued, “Aunt Chick is giving us the shed. 

And the garden for next spring and summer.”

Boomer, whose throat was dry from singing, sipped on a 

cup of water and said, “Well, it sounds kinda crazy, but...”

Rain interrupted. “What gave you the idea?”

“When I was looking in people’s shopping carts at the 

grocery store. They’re just eating junk! The good food costs too 

much.” Bird stood up and crossed her arms. Fixing her friends 

with a firm stare, she declared, “And we are just sitting around 

doing nothing about it!”

Rain stared back and crossed his arms, too. “You wouldn’t 

be trying to impress somebody, would you?”

Simon picked up on what Rain was saying. “Yeah, like Mr. 

Pence? Getting back on his good side after the big blow up.”

Miffed, Hummingbird yelped, “What? I’m just doing like 

the eagle told us!”

Arianna gave Bird a funny look—a look that Simon didn’t 

miss. He thought to himself, I bet she’s wondering what Bird 

meant by that.

“This shouldn’t be about how smart you are, Bird,” Rain 

said quietly. “If we agree to this, it should be because we really 

believe in it...”

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Bird was indignant. “Is that what you think I’m trying to 

do—show off?” Despite her protest, deep inside Bird was asking 

herself the same question. Is that what I am trying to do? Mom 

said almost the same thing...

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” Boomer laughed. “Mr. Pence would 

be a big dingfod for suspending the girl genius that grew the 

giant turnip!”

Irritated, Arianna asked, “Why are you picking on her?”

“It’s okay, Arianna,” Hummingbird sighed. “They’re just 

keeping me honest.” Thinking more deeply about her motives, 

she confessed, “Well, yeah, it is kinda like ‘I’ll show ’em’ and 

‘won’t they be sorry for suspending me.’ It’s not like I haven’t 

thought of that. But...I really do want to do this. I felt so guilty 

at the store. We had stuff in our shopping cart and other 

people didn’t.”

Rain got up and laid his drum stick on the make-believe 

drum. “What do you say, guys? Are we with Arianna and Bird?”

“I am!” Boomer yelled. “I’m ready for something big 

around here—besides Chris Sorrel’s mouth!”

“I guess I could substitute a few ‘thunder vegetables’ for 

‘thunder lizards,’ Simon smiled. “But, just for a little while, 

of course.”

“Then, take us to your shed!” Rain cried.

As the kids walked the short distance to Aunt Chick’s, 

Simon pulled Rain back and whispered, “Should we tell Bird 

about the coyote and the binoculars?”

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Rain glanced up ahead at Hummingbird. She was almost 

skipping she was so happy. “No, I think it would freak her out. 

Let’s just be cool for a while.”

Hummingbird turned around and yelled, “Hurry up, guys!” 

Rain and Boomer ran to catch up. Passing by Aunt Chick’s 

house, Hummingbird pointed across a recently harvested 

field. “The shed’s behind that red fence over there.” The kids 

cut directly across the stubbly ground. Soon, they spotted the 

shed. It didn’t appear that the fence had done a very good job of 

protecting it from the wind. The little building was a bit worse 

off than Hummingbird remembered it. Its unpainted wooden 

exterior was badly weathered, the roof sagged, and the two front 

windows were missing some panes.

Hummingbird ran on ahead and stood in front of the door, 

which hung on valiantly by a single hinge. She waited until the 

others joined her. “Well, guys, this is it.”

“Looks kinda creepy,” Boomer said. “What does it look like 

on the inside?” He tugged open the door and the kids entered, 

hopping over some tall weeds that clogged the doorway. Shafts 

of afternoon light slanted through the broken, dirty windows, 

dimly illuminating a small room. Leading the way in, Rain 

stepped gingerly around a clutter of rags and rotten cardboard 

boxes. Almost immediately, he bumped his head on an old 

cobweb-festooned light fixture that hung by a single cord from 

the ceiling. It swung crazily, spewing out a cloud of dust with 

each back and forth.

Pulling cobwebs out of his hair, Rain turned in a circle, 

quickly assessing the possibilities. “It’s going to take some work.”

85
Arianna nodded. “Yeah, the mice have been having a good 

time.” Pointing at the droppings on the floor, she laughed, 

“There’s your fertilizer, Bird.”

Trying to be optimistic, Hummingbird smiled. “Yeah, all I 

have to do is sweep it up in a nice pile. Yuk! Well, at least, it’s got 

lots of shelves. And there’s a table.”

Simon was carefully examining the walls and ceiling, 

looking for signs of water damage. “Doesn’t look like there’s 

many cracks and it’s dry in here.” Reaching up to check a shelf 

that was coming away from the wall, he suddenly brought down 

an avalanche of dust that enveloped him from head to toe. 

Fighting for air, Simon erupted into a coughing fit that sounded 

like a barking dog.

Boomer’s face lit up. “Gee, Simon, when you laugh, you 

snort like a pig, and when you cough, you...”

Simon interrupted, “I know, I know,” he laughed. “...bark 

like Scooby-Doo.”

Rain grinned at Boomer. “Unless we want Simon to turn 

into a “were-dog,” we better clean this place up.”

“I need some air,” Simon wheezed and hurried outside.

The kids followed him out into the clean afternoon 

sunshine. They fanned out, seeing what else the property had to 

offer. Happily, Rain found a water spigot that worked. (A godsend 

to Simon who cleared the dust from his throat with a cool drink). 

Arianna stumbled on a box of glass jars and old clay pots, and 

86
Bird unearthed a half-buried roll of tough plastic sheeting. But 

they didn’t find much else of use. However, moseying around to 

the back of the shed, Boomer made a major discovery. Looking 

to where the open ground rose toward a hill covered in small 

bushes and weeds, he spotted the wooden pole that had linked 

the shed to the utility pole on the road. “Yo, I found where the 

electricity line comes in!”

Unknown to Boomer the wooden pole lined up almost 

exactly with the location of Thistle’s nest. He was actually staring 

directly at the rabbit, who was peering at him from a hole in her 

brush pile. With keen interest, she watched Boomer walk over 

to help Rain force open the garden gate. Then, as soon as the 

girls followed the boys to the garden, Thistle bounded down 

the hill—again. She found a convenient weed clump nearby and 

huddled there, listening intently.

The kids checked out the garden. Boomer started walking 

off one side of the fence, following a gravel path that separated 

the fence from the garden soil. Figuring that his foot was 

approximately 10 inches long, he calculated that it was a fifty 

feet on each side. Dismayed by the weeds and poor condition of 

the soil, Rain said, “Doesn’t look like anything’s grown here in 

a long time. Man, this needs some big-time tilling. My dad can 

bring over our tiller.”

87
Arianna turned to Bird. “So what kinds of vegetables grow 

really big?”

“Um, I’m not sure. Cucumbers? Tomatoes?”

Boomer said, “The only giants I’ve ever seen are the big 

pumpkins at the pow-wow.”

“I’ve seen those on TV. They’re awesome! Are we gonna 

grow some of those?” Arianna asked.

Hummingbird smiled pleasantly. “Sure, why not.’

“Hey,” Rain laughed, nudging Boomer, “you know 

who always wins the giant pumpkin growing contest at the 

Pow-Wow...”

Boomer let loose with his best “evil” cackle. “Heh-hehheh. Sure. Chris Sorrel’s family!”

“Oh, crud,” Bird said, the smile dropping off her face. “I 

forgot about that.”

Boomer was really tickled now. “If you win next year, Chris 

will really have it in for you. Then Dumptruck will have to throw 

rocks at me! I’ll be a dingfod for sure then.”

“Well, Chris will be laughing his head off when he finds 

out my suspension starts next week. I’m out of the science 

fair, guys.”

Rain was stunned. “You didn’t say it was next week!” He 

stared at her. She looked away and didn’t meet his eye.

88
Rain and Simon hadn’t entered the science fair this year. 

Simon had been more interested in building dinosaur models 

and Roberta had put her foot down, saying Rain didn’t need 

any more responsibilities or activities—drum practice and 

basketball were enough. But Rain had helped Bird with her 

science project, mostly collecting plants. Hummingbird knew 

he cared about the project’s success.

Feeling guilty, she said, “You know I’m keeping on with the 

science project.”

“Well,” Rain admitted, “the science fair isn’t everything.” 

He was disappointed that the school wouldn’t see the project’s 

messages about healthy environments and healthy people, but 

he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want Bird to feel too terrible. 

Then switching back to the subject of Chris, he said, “You all 

might as well know, Bird’s not the only one Chris is trying to 

bully. He’s after Simon, too.”

Simon started to laugh. “Oh come on, RD. He was just 

saying stupid stuff last night. He wasn’t serious.”

“Yes, he was, too. After you left, he said you’d be sorry if he 

caught you by yourself.”

“But why?”

Bird sighed. “Maybe it’s because you’re one of the Veggie 

Crowd...or the Soap Bomber’s friend,”

89
“I know why. It’s because I’m short—and he thinks he can 

push me around! I’m never going to grow!”

“I think he’s jealous because you’re smart—like Bird,” 

Arianna said.

Rain thought, ‘Veggie Crowd, jealous, smart, short, Bird’s 

friend’—apparently there were lots of reasons why someone 

might become Chris’s target. Resolving to buck up his friends’ 

spirits, he repeated Granma’s advice. He also added what 

Roberta and Gerald had told him after Granma had clued 

them in about the bullying. “Look, I think we should all stick 

together. Don’t go running around by ourselves. Chris and his 

toadies won’t bother us if we’re tight. And if somebody tries to 

start something, just keep cool and don’t get drawn into a fight.” 

Involuntarily, he glanced at Arianna. Would “has type 1 diabetes” 

be on Chris’s list of reasons to pick on a kid? Would she be next? 

Rain immediately cut off his thoughts. He just didn’t want to go 

there. Little did he know that at that moment Chris was aiming 

at another target—but it wasn’t Arianna.

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Mindy liked Chris’s “bad boy” image. He was always full of surprises and never boring. 

He had everybody snowed...

Coyote’s Diagnosis

Coyote lay on his back in the grass not far from the gravel 

road that led to the Sorrel’s house. Tired from his exertions, 

he snuggled into a comfy pile of straw and propped his head 

against a fence post. Thus positioned (with the handy pair of 

binoculars nearby), Coyote had a good view of the road and a 

nearby pasture. That morning he had woven into the pasture a 

complex network of over-lapping trails whose purpose only he 
understood. As he patiently waited for the one who would enter 

his web-like maze, he crooned a song a spider had taught him

Round, round—loop and twist (sticky-sticky)

Round, round—warp and weave (sticky-sticky)

Round, round—trap and trick (sticky-sticky)

Presently, a car drove up and stopped. A boy and girl got 

out from the backseat and waved to the teacher who had given 

them a lift. Coyote grinned. He picked up the binoculars and 

began to observe.

Chris set a fast pace to his house, leaving Mindy Two 

Horses on the road. She hurried to catch up with him. Puffing 

slightly, Mindy tried to make conversation. “That was nice of 

Mr. Braun to give us a ride.” Chris didn’t say anything, so she 

tried again. “Gee, Chris, none of the other guys at the carwash 

raised as much money for the newspaper as you did. You’re sure 

to get editor.” She glanced at him to see if he appreciated the 

flattery she’d been heaping on him all afternoon. Unfortunately, 

a preoccupied smile on his face told her that he wasn’t listening. 

Mindy thought, Okay, time to be shameless. “Oh, Chris, I can’t 

wait to see your science project! Thanks for showing it to me. I 

know you’ll win first prize.”

“What? Oh, yeah. I plan on it. You’ll be impressed by my 

exhibit. I’ve got it set up in Mom’s workroom.”

Mindy smiled. Success! She liked Chris’s “bad boy” image. 

He was always full of surprises and never boring. Nobody knew 

him like Mindy. He had everybody snowed—the teachers most 

of all. Chris was always so polite, but she knew they couldn’t 

control him. His favorite saying was, “nobody tells me what to 

92
do.” What Mindy really liked was that other kids did what he told 

them to. Nobody ever pushed him around—he did the pushing. 

She had to admit to herself that Chris could be mean, and he was 

so conceited that it was a little creepy. Well, maybe more than a 

little... but it was worth it. Mindy liked the sense of power she 

felt when she was around him.

“So, Mindy, we really jerked Hummingbird around last 

week,” Chris said, laughing.

“Oh, yes! That was so funny!”

“You know, I think it’s time we told everybody the truth 

about the Veggie Crowd.”

“The truth?”

Chris and Mindy didn’t know it, but they were approaching 

the part of the road where Coyote had laid down his first trail. 

In anticipation of what was to come, the trickster stood up. He 

began to watch more attentively.

“Yeah, the truth. RD made up the story about his Granma 

following a coyote to a cave full of bones. I was there when...” 

Suddenly, Chris couldn’t finish his sentence. Even worse, his 

head abruptly started to vibrate like a tuning fork. Chris grasped 

his head in his hands, but he couldn’t stop the rapid shuddering 

or the slow twisting of his head to the left. When his head 

stopped turning, his whole body rotated so that he was facing 

forward. Then, he began to march, robot-like, off the road.

Mindy watched Chris wading into the high grass. Mystified, 

she followed him. “Chris! Where are you going? I thought we 

were going to your house.” When he didn’t answer, Mindy got 

annoyed. “Chris...Chris!”

93
Turning his head stiffly toward her, his eyes wide with 

terror, Chris found his tongue: “I don’t know where I’m going! 

I can’t stop!” But just as he said he couldn’t stop—he did stop. 

He stood rigidly at attention for several seconds—and then took 

off! He began running first in one direction and then the other—

making a big zigzag across the pasture.

Once he reached the other side, Chris began to run in circles 

that got bigger and bigger until he bumped into the fence that 

enclosed the Sorrel’s horse corral. Two young horses standing 

nearby spooked and dashed off to join an old mare drinking 

from a water trough. The old one raised her head and regarded 

the boy. Not liking what she saw, she led the youngsters to the 

other side of corral, where all three horses watched him warily.

Chris held onto the fence for a moment. Then, without 

warning, he flung himself into another charge—but backwards 

this time! Mindy stood with her mouth open, staring at this 

bizarre sight. Alarmed, she saw that he was now retracing his 

steps to where she was standing. As he drew nearer, she could 

hear Chris panting, “Loop! Warp! Trick! Sticky! Sticky!”

Before he got any closer, Mindy started to run, too. Coyote 

laughed as she dumped her backpack and doubled down on her 

speed. The last he saw of her, she was disappearing down the 

blacktop, headed in the direction of Thunder Rock. Turning his 

attention back to Chris, he saw that the boy was now standing in 

the middle of the gravel pathway where his journey had begun.

94
Dr. Coyote sat back down on his straw couch, intertwined 

his fingers behind his head, and considered the evidence. He 

replayed Chris’s actions in his head—creating a mental map of 

the boy’s performance. Then he analyzed it, starting at the end 

and working to the beginning like a true trickster.

First, he examined the backwards running. Coyote knew 

that a straight forward path lay within the trails he had laid 

down. That path led to respect, harmony, and sharing. It was 

immediately clear that was not the path Chris had taken. For 

most people, when they did something backwards they knew 

that it was the wrong way. Or as Coyote preferred to think of it, 

an unexpected way that would make people laugh or help them to 

think in a different manner. But for Chris, the backwards route 

reversed respect into disrespect, harmony into jealousy, and 

sharing into “always having to win.” Ahh, yes, Coyote thought, 

‘warp and twist’ is right.

Next, he looked at Chris’s circling patterns. Even Coyote 

struggled a bit with the meaning of it. Usually a circle indicated 

something whole, open, and complete. But, after much flea 

scratching and pulling at his whiskers, Coyote saw that Chris’s 

spirals were not truly circles, but the loops of snares that 

trapped the boy. Apparently, the snares had been woven and 

set by members of his own family—some consciously and 

others unconsciously.

95
Finally, he studied the zigzagging. It was obvious that it was 

a lightning bolt. So, Coyote thought, there is some possibility 

for change—an unexpected adjustment so to speak. Lightning, 

the trickster knew, had the power to shock Chris—to transform 

him from what he was now to what he could be. Coyote stared at 

the captain of the Thunderbird’s basketball team. To himself, he 

said, “Hmmm, so lightning frees a Thunderbird.” The father of 

clowns laughed. So many twists in this maze! So many surprises!

Remembering, he turned and looked toward Red Water 

Mountain. Raising the binoculars to his eyes, he smiled in 

delight as its crags and peaks drew close to him. Only he and 

Sky Heart knew that thunderbirds once nested there. Only the 

Trickster and the Great Messenger knew the real origins of 

Thunder Rock. But that was a very, very old story.

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Chapter 11

97

Chris’s jealousy provided him all the justification he needed to punch “enter” and launch 

his cyber attack.

The Poisoned Apple

Coyote released Chris from his power. The boy awoke with no 

conscious knowledge of what had happened. He tried to pick 

up his sentence where he left off, but he was a little fuzzy. He 

strained to remember what he was talking about. Suddenly, the 

memory flooded in—the Veggie Crowd! Jubilantly, he smirked, 

“Oh, yeah! I was there when Boomer told Mrs. Corn they made 

up the whole story.” Pausing to let this information sink in, he 

added: “Let’s spread it around that RD is a fake.” Anticipating 
her enthusiasm, Chris glanced to where Mindy should have 

been standing. But she wasn’t there. Chris twirled around. 

Where did she go?

“Mindy!” He called out her name again, but there was no 

answer. Disappointment flickered over Chris’s face. He thought 

that the girl liked him. Shoulders hunched, with hands in his 

pockets, Chris began to trudge up the road to his house. As he 

walked, he became angrier with each step. By the time he reached 

the back door, Chris was furious with Mindy for dissing him.

He flung open the door, stormed past his mother, and ran 

down to the basement workroom. Her reprimand, shouted 

from the top of the stairs, just made him angrier. So what if he’d 

almost run her down? So what if he didn’t say ‘Hello.’ What did 

she care? All she thought about was her mail-order business.

Chris dumped his backpack and immediately went to 

check out his science project. The exhibit, now finished, was 

undisturbed. Not like last week when Melvin and Jesse had 

stolen three rubber balls that were part of his three-panel 

display. Althea, his mom, had made them return the balls, 

but his stepfather had said nothing. Chris twisted his mouth 

bitterly. They get away with everything.

Chris reached out and carefully adjusted the text posters. 

Everything was ready for tomorrow—the first day of the science 

fair. The posters described how he had produced the rubber 

balls from the sap of a small potted rubber tree and the juice 

of morning glory vines that grew on an old fence near his 

house. The rubber, he thought proudly, was just like the stuff 

the Olmecs had made 3,000 years ago! Chris stood back so he 

98
could also see the full effect of the Maya ball court and players 

shown in the center panel. He had placed the white balls so that 

they seemed to be emerging from the picture. It was so cool! He 

loved his exhibit!

Chris had labored over the project for this year’s Native 

Science theme. He’d spent hours drawing the illustrations of 

the rubber making process. But he never let anyone see how 

hard he worked. It wasn’t part of his image.

Smiling, he fantasized about how proud his family would 

be when he won the science fair. But the smile quickly faded, 

to be replaced by the tight-lipped expression he usually wore 

when at home. His stepdad didn’t care about him, he thought. 

Nothing would ever be good enough. His mood turning hostile, 

Chris slid into a chair and popped open the laptop on the card 

table where he did his homework. Pulling a notebook from his 

pocket, he flipped to the page where he had jotted down Mrs. 

Corn’s password to a local message board for teachers. Peeping 

over shoulders while delivering messages for the school office 

came in handy at times.

He logged onto the computer and went to a popular site 

called “Apple for the Teacher” that was managed by the local 

school board. Entering Mrs. Corn’s school email address and 

the password Popcorn32, Chris began his masquerade. Clicking 

on a forum about ‘student behavior,’ he pretended to be Mrs. 

Corn describing how Boomer had told her that RD’s interview 

with Granma was phony. Then he typed, “Maybe Rain’s saving 

his great-grandmother from a fossil poacher was all made up, 

too!” Giggling, he added: “What should I do? I feel so guilty not 

99
reporting my doubts. Maybe some innocent people have been 

sent to jail! All advice is appreciated.”

Chris remembered the smiling photos of RD and Simon 

with their families (“Local Boys Foil Fossil Poachers”) in 

the reservation newspaper. His jealousy provided him all 

the justification he needed to punch “enter” and launch 

the cyber attack.

Mrs. Corn marched across the parking lot, a box of 

The Thunderbird held proudly in front of her. She sniffed 

appreciatively. The language arts teacher loved the inky smell 

of fresh newsprint. Bustling into the school office, she glanced 

at the clock and signed “7:45” under the Monday column in the 

attendance ledger. Next, she bestowed a school newspaper on 

Louise Shield, the secretary, and then began to shove copies into 

the teachers’ mailboxes. Working her way down the alphabet, 

she bumped into Mr. Pence at the P’s.

“Good morning, Mr. Pence. Would you like a copy of The 

Thunderbird? It’s hot off the press!” Without waiting for a reply, 

she thrust the paper in his direction and moved on to the R’s.

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Corn.” Wiping his nose with a tissue, 

he added, “Um...I just wanted to say that I understand your 

dilemma, but I’m sure there is an explanation. Rain and Simon 

seem like honest boys.”

100
Mrs. Corn gave Mr. Pence a puzzled look. What is he going 

on about? Turning suddenly, she almost ran into Miss Otter. 

The 6th grade math teacher was looking at her sympathetically. 

“Oh yes, Mrs. Corn, I’m sure the Tribal police can confirm that 

the kidnapping really happened.”

At the mention of the word, “kidnapping,” the two student 

office aides pricked up their ears. When Mr. Berry opened his 

door and asked Mrs. Corn to step in, their ears stood up even 

higher. Something was going on! By 8:00 the office was filled 

with faculty. The few teachers who had visited “Apple for the 

Teacher” soon had the whole room buzzing. The loud whispering 

suddenly halted when a muffled shriek was heard behind the 

closed door of the principal’s office. “What! What! I never, Mr. 

Berry!” In the silence that followed, the listeners strained to 

hear more of Mrs. Corn’s indignant protest.

Without warning, Mr. Berry flung open the door and asked 

a student aide to notify Boomer’s homeroom teacher that he 

should report to the office. He stared at the teachers and barked, 

“Well, don’t we have some teaching to do today?” Looking 

everywhere but at the principal, the embarrassed crowd quickly 

dispersed. As teachers headed for their classrooms and office 

aides delivered their messages, a thick cloud of gossip began to 

form over the school. Had the fossil poaching ring been a hoax? 

Were Rain and Simon’s families in on it?

101
Boomer hadn’t been at school five minutes before he was 

sitting in the hot-seat across from Mr. Berry. As the principal 

listened, he retold Granma’s story about a cave full of bones. 

Rain, Boomer explained, didn’t know that the story would be 

printed in the school newspaper. He was afraid that the fossil 

poacher, Vernon Smeed, would read the story and go after his 

Granma. Boomer looked apologetically at Mrs. Corn. “The 

interview was true. But I figured that you’d give us a pass to 

round up all the papers if you thought it was bogus. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Boomer. I didn’t give it another thought after 

we found out about the fossil poacher.” Turning to Mr. Berry, 

she said, “Boomer may have been a bit misguided, but his 

intentions were good.*”

Mr. Berry took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. 

Leaning across his desk, he asked Mrs. Corn, “Who else was in 

the newspaper room besides Boomer that morning?”

“Some members of the newspaper staff,” Mrs. Corn replied.

“Then, someone on your staff started this rumor.”

Mrs. Corn looked shocked, but only nodded.

Mr. Berry said, “I’ll make an announcement during 

homeroom tomorrow. I want this rumor stopped dead in its 

tracks. Mrs. Corn, I need a list of your newspaper staff.”

* Note: As the reader can see, Coyote’s tricks can cause mischief long after 

they have been played. Indeed, some tricks may have no expiration date at all.

102
Chris stood back so he could see the full effect of the Maya ball 

court and the players shown in the center panel. He had placed 

the white rubber balls so that they seemed to be emerging from 

the picture. It was so cool!

Chapter 12

105

“David, I just saw Chris Sorrel and two boys go over behind the air 

conditioner. Could you check them out?”

Bullies R Us

Chris rushed into the noisy gymnasium, lugging a box and a big 

flat folder that held his posters. Everybody was setting up their 

exhibits and he was late. He searched the rows of tables until 

he found the numbered space reserved for his entry. Skirting 

around other students carrying an assortment of plants, 

posters, and papier mâché models, Chris made his way to 

Exhibit #10. Hurriedly, he assembled his table-top display. He 

was positioning his samples of latex and the rubber balls when 

Sammie looked over from a neighboring exhibit.
“Wow, Chris. That’s awesome.”

Chris nodded. “Yeah.”

Sammie had stepped behind Chris to see his posters better, 

when Star and Little Deb ran up. To be polite, they briefly 

admired Chris’s exhibit, then excitedly drew Sammie aside. 

Big-eyed, Little Deb said, “Have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“About all that stuff in the newspaper that said RD fought 

a fossil poacher and saved his Granma. It was a big lie. They’re 

saying that it was really RD’s father that was stealing the bones.”

Chris’s hands suddenly halted their busy activity.

“No way! You’re kidding!”

“No really. Mrs. Corn said it’s true!”

“Come on,” said Sammie excitedly, “let’s find Hummingbird! 

She’ll know what’s going on.”

Whistling happily, Chris resumed arranging his exhibit. 

Yes, tomorrow would be the big day. The award ceremony was 

scheduled for first period. Chris closed his eyes, blissfully 

imagining his triumph. He smiled—for many reasons.

The girls headed for the drive at the front of the school. 

While they waited for Hummingbird’s bus, Sammie dug as much 

information out of Star and Little Deb as she could. Most of it 

was nonsense from the “gossip virus” that was spreading like 

wildfire through the school.

106
When Hummingbird’s bus finally pulled in, the girls ran 

to the curb. As the kids unloaded, they could hear the name 

“Arianna” and the word “pump” being repeated over and over 

amidst the usual chatter. Bird and Arianna were the last to 

get off the bus. Oddly, a muffled dinging sound seemed to be 

emanating from inside Arianna’s pocket.

“What’s that noise? A cell phone?” Star asked.

“No,” Arianna said wearily as if she had already explained it 

a thousand times. “It’s my insulin pump. I have type 1 diabetes. 

The alarm went off and I can’t make it stop. It means I have a 

low battery.”

Sammie said, “Oh, your insulin pump,” like she knew what 

one was.

“Come on,” Bird said to Arianna. “Let’s go to the office 

and call Mom. She’ll bring over a new battery.” Looking at their 

welcoming committee, Bird asked, “Were you waiting for us?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Sammie. “We’ll go with you. We’ve got 

something to ask you.”

The girls hurried to the office accompanied by the nonstop 

complaining of the pump alarm. Fortunately the office phone 

wasn’t in use. Bird called her mother. Darlene said she would 

be at the school in a few minutes. Bird explained Arianna’s 

situation to Miss Shield, and they took a seat in the waiting 

area. Reluctantly, Little Deb and Star said they had to get to 

homeroom, but Sammie didn’t seem to be in a hurry. She 

leaned over and said something that Arianna couldn’t hear. 

Hummingbird turned and looked at Sammie, her mouth open.

107
Just then, Rain and Simon walked into the office. Simon 

nudged Rain and pointed at the girls. Surprised, Rain whispered, 

“What are you guys doing here?” But before anybody could 

say anything, the secretary announced the boys’ arrival. Rain 

shrugged his shoulders as he and Simon were herded into the 

principal’s inner sanctum.

The soft ‘ding-ding’ of the pump filled the silence. Finally, 

Arianna asked quietly, “Are they in trouble?”

A bewildered look on her face, Hummingbird said, “Let 

Sammie tell it.” Sammie started re-hashing every bit of rumor 

she had heard. Most of it was about Rain faking Granma Hettie’s 

rescue from the fossil poacher.

Arianna quickly got fed up with all the baloney. “Just stop, 

Sammie! None of that is true. I was at the house. The fossil 

poacher tied up Aunt Sissy and took Granma Hettie. Margie, his 

little sister, saw everything.”

Hummingbird was about to add her two cents when Chris 

Sorrel walked in. He gave the girls a dismissive look as he 

sauntered up to the counter. Plopping two extension cords on 

top of the “IN” box, he said to the student office aide, “Floyd 

said they don’t need these in the gym. They got enough.” Chris 

leaned against the counter, and coolly re-directed his attention 

to Arianna. “Why don’t you answer that call?”

“It’s not a ring tone, Chris,” Sammie answered selfimportantly. “It’s the alarm on her insulin pump, if you’d like 

to know!”

Chris pretended to ignore her reply. Smiling, he said, 

“Sammie, did you tell them about my awesome science exhibit?”

108
Hummingbird’s response was frosty. “We weren’t talking 

about you, Chris.”

The homeroom bell suddenly rang, terminating their 

conversation. “Sorry, I gotta get to class,” he said, as if he were 

prematurely ending a friendly chat. He started to leave, then 

turned around and added spitefully, “I guess you better report 

to in-house suspension, Hummingbird, or you might get a 

detention for being late.”

Sammie watched Chris wave “tootle-oo” as he disappeared 

into the moving crowd in the hallway. Looking at Hummingbird, 

she said, “I forgot you were suspended.”

“Well, I haven’t forgotten,” Bird sighed.

One would have thought that the cyber attack was bullying 

enough for one day. But, the success of the “poisoned apple” he 

had sent to Mrs. Corn emboldened Chris. Between homeroom 

and the end of third period, he’d devised another scheme. He 

couldn’t thank Sammie enough for the idea. Mustering his toad 

squad outside at lunchtime, Chris was, however, having a hard 

time getting across his plan.

“But why call her Miss Ding-Ding?” Dumptruck 

argued. “How about Miss Ding-Dong or Miss Dum-Dum? 

That’s funnier.”

“I’m not trying to make Arianna laugh! It’s the sound her 

pump...Oh, forget it. It’s about showing the Veggie Crowd they 

can’t laugh at me—at us, I mean.”

109
Tater Tot, only half listening, was busy probing the mystery 

meat in the sandwich his mom had packed for lunch. He looked 

up at Chris and frowned: “How does yelling Miss Ping-Ping 

make them not laugh at us?”

“Not ping! Ding! Ding!” Chris shouted. Exasperated, he 

switched targets. “So what’s going on with Simon? He’s walking 

around here like he owns the place.”

“I stepped on his heels yesterday,” Tater offered. “It 

must’ve hurt.”

Dumptruck giggled, “Yeah, but when he turned around, 

you said, ‘Excuse me.’”

“So what did you do that was so great?” Tater challenged.

“I thought up this great name for Simon ’cause he’s so little.” 

Dumptruck started giggling agin. “I called him “Gnat-Boy!”

Chris was impressed. “That’s pretty good. What did 

he say?”

“Man, Simon’s so funny. He told me to’bug off!’ Get it? 

Gnats are bugs?” Dumptruck cracked up. “Then, he said, ‘Get 

out of my way, I’m having lunch with a spider!’”

“You fell for that?” Chris yelled. “You guys are totally 

worthless!”

“We can’t do anything to Simon!” Tater protested. “He’s 

always with somebody. He’s never out of Boomer’s shadow. All 

of those guys stick together like glue.”

“And the teachers are telling kids to snitch if they see 

anybody picking on people,” Dumptruck complained.

“Well, we’ll just wait until there’s no little snitches around! 

I’ll meet you back here in fifteen minutes. Watch for Arianna.”

110
Chris cut across the courtyard and slipped into a side 

entrance to the gym. Making sure that no one was around, he 

bounded up a short flight of stairs to a second tier of seats that 

looked down on the gymnasium. The upper level of the gym 

was deserted. Down below he saw a small group of teachers 

filing out the gym entrance. “They finished the judging!” he 

murmured to himself. Bending over, he scurried quickly to 

the side of the gym where he could see his exhibit. Peeping 

over the seats, he ran his eyes down Row 2, until he spotted 

Exhibit #10.

Chris sharply drew in his breath. There it was! The blue 

ribbon! He stared unblinking at the award. It was beautiful! A 

blue sun had replaced the yellow one that illuminated the Maya 

ball players. The new sun’s ribbon rays fanned downwards 

proclaiming “First Prize” in gold letters.

Worried that he would be discovered, Chris did not linger 

to savor his victory. He made a fast getaway by the same route 

that he had entered the gym. His head full of triumph, Chris 

wanted desperately to share his success with someone. He 

thought of Mindy, but dismissed it. She was still avoiding him.

Pumped up by his win, he ran back to get Dumptruck and 

Tater Tot. Chris couldn’t believe how everything was turning 

out the way he’d planned!

111
Miss Swallow was usually not in the cafeteria or the 

courtyard during first lunch. But today, her class was in another 

classroom watching a film. So, she was available to fill in for an 

absent teacher. She was walking slowly across the grass, keeping 

a casual eye on the milling students, when she spotted Chris 

pushing two other boys behind the library air conditioning 

unit. She wondered what he was up to. The boys didn’t appear to 

be part of his usual “crowd.”

She strolled over to Mr. Pence who was also on lunch duty. 

Buttoning up his jacket, he said, “This wind is chilly, don’t 

you think?”

“Yeah, it is a bit cool. Ah, David, I just saw Chris Sorrel and 

two boys go over behind the air conditioner. Could you check 

them out?”

Obliging, Mr. Pence walked to a point where he could see 

behind the large metal box. The boys were leaning up against 

the wall. It was apparent that Chris was watching someone. 

Following his line of sight, Mr. Pence saw Arianna—who 

was walking alone toward the library. When she entered the 

covered library walkway with its brick lattice walls, Chris 

shoved the boys, hoodies pulled over their heads, toward 

her. When they hesitated, he balled up his fist and gestured 

aggressively. Reluctantly, they backed up, and then ran toward 

the defenseless girl.

Realizing that something was about to happen, Mr. Pence 

also began to run toward Arianna. He signaled to Miss Swallow 

to get moving, too. They saw one of the boys dart behind the 

concealing brick lattice, shouting some “dinging” nonsense. 

112
The other boy slipped and fell, but jumped up and started waving 

his arms, hollering “Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong!”

When Mr. Pence and Miss Swallow converged at the 

walkway, they could see the two boys circling a paralyzed 

Arianna, yelling in her face. Caught by the alert teachers, the 

assailants abruptly choked off the dinging and donging. Now 

instead of one frightened student, there were three. Dumptruck 

and Tater Tot backed away from Arianna. Wide-eyed and saying 

nothing, they nodded timidly when Mr. Pence ordered them to 

get to the principal’s office. Both Mr. Pence and the boys flashed 

a look toward Chris’s hiding place, but he was gone. Dumptruck 

and Tater Tot were on their own.

Miss Swallow gently put her arm around Arianna and 

ushered her through the library door. Glancing over her 

shoulder, the stricken girl saw Mr. Pence leading the two culprits 

away. Like many children, Arianna’s first thought was ‘What did 

I do to them?’ Miss Swallow took Arianna to a nearby table. Very 

softly, she said, “Just take a deep breath, sweetie. It’s over.”

Wiping away a tear with the back of her hand, Arianna said, 

“I don’t understand, Miss Swallow. They were making fun of the 

sound my insulin pump makes. It was only a low battery. Why 

are they making such a big deal about it? It’s because I have 

type 1 diabetes, isn’t it?”

“No, Arianna. What just happened didn’t have anything to 

do with your having type 1 diabetes. Thunder Rock has a lot of 

people with the type 2 kind of diabetes—even some very young 

people. We’ll get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, I don’t 

want you to worry.”

113
“Do you think they were picking on me—for the same 

reason they tried to pick on Simon and Boomer?”

“They’ve done things to Simon and Boomer, too?

“Yes, Dumptruck threw a hamburger at Boomer. And they 

called Simon names.”

“Maybe they are picking on you for the same reason. We’ll 

just have to figure out what that reason is,” the teacher said. “Are 

you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Sure, Miss Swallow,” Arianna smiled. “I’m tough. Just 

write me a note to Miss Otter’s class. I’m late.”

114
Chapter 13

115

“I have a theory, Mr. Berry. But first, here is the list of newspaper staff I 

promised. I think there’s only one name of interest.”

Toads and Targets

Miss Swallow left Arianna in Miss Otter’s good hands and 

headed directly to Mrs. Corn’s class. She had heard the rumors 

about the posting on “Apple for the Teacher” and felt that Mrs. 

Corn should hear about the most recent bullying incident.

Miss Swallow knocked on the doorjamb of Mrs. Corn 

classroom. The language teacher was giving a test and motioned 

for her to come in. They went to a corner of the room and talked 

quietly. Miss Swallow described what had just happened in 
front of the library, and Mrs. Corn shared the information she 

had just discovered in her newspaper planner. Satisfied that 

they both had identified the master manipulator behind much 

of the bullying at the school, the two teachers agreed to share 

their conclusions with Mr. Berry.

After the bell rang and she dismissed her class, Mrs. Corn 

shoved her new evidence into a manila folder and dashed to 

the school office. It was her planning period. She had time to 

talk to Mr. Berry and run off the test copies she needed for her 

5th period class. She passed by the usual number of mischiefmakers that sat slumped in plastic office chairs, waiting for their 

turn with the principal. Mrs. Corn spotted Dumptruck and Tater 

Tot, the guilty party in the “ding-ding” attack. She wondered if 

Mr. Berry had talked to them yet.

Eager to find out, she leaned over the counter and asked 

Miss Shield, “Is Mr. Berry free?”

Without interrupting her typing, the secretary said, “Go 

right in, Mrs. Corn. Everybody else has.”

Mrs. Corn poked her head into the principal’s office. 

Mr. Berry, who was on the phone, waved her to a seat. She sat 

down quietly.

“Yes, I understand. Miss Swallow told me about the threat 

Chris made against Hummingbird.”

Mrs. Corn eyes flew open. She scooted to the edge of 

her chair.

As he nodded and “uh-huhed,” the principal noticed Mrs. 

Corn’s agitation. He mouthed, “What is it?”

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Mrs. Corn scribbled on a scratch pad and handed it to the 

principal. He quickly read the note. “Well, I appreciate your 

calling. In fact, I’m glad you did. We’ve...uh... had an incident 

at lunch today. It involved Arianna, but she’s just fine.” Putting 

his hand over the phone, Mr. Berry whispered, “She is okay, 

isn’t she?”

Mrs. Corn nodded. “Yes, Miss Swallow handled it.”

“Mrs. Corn is here now to fill me in. We think it was some 

kind of bullying.” Mr. Berry paused. “I agree. There’s something 

going on.” Sweating, he wiped his forehead with a tissue. “Yes, 

we’ll get to the bottom of it. We want parents and guardians fully 

involved. I’ll keep in touch.” After a few pleasantries and more 

reassurances, the principal rang off.

Mr. Berry gave the teacher a cheerless look. “So what did 

you find out?”

“I have a theory, Mr. Berry. But first, here is the list of 

newspaper staff I promised. I think there’s only one name 

of interest.”

Glancing at the list, the principal saw the name “Chris 

Sorrel” circled in red. Intrigued, he said softly, “Tell me about 

your theory, Mrs. Corn.”

Mrs. Corn explained how she had pulled up her staff 

assignments for the first edition of the school newspaper. Chris 

Sorrel and Hank LaChaise had been assigned to distributing 

The Thunderbird in the lunchroom on the day in question. She 

117
remembered letting them into the newspaper room to pick 

up the stacks. That was when Boomer had showed up claiming 

that he had to round up the papers distributed off-campus. 

Concluding, Mrs. Corn said, “So, as you can see, Mr. Berry, Chris 

was only one of two students who could have heard Boomer say 

that the interview was a fake.”

“But Mrs. Corn,” the principal pointed out, “what if Chris 

or Hank told other students what Boomer said. Any one of them 

could have impersonated you on the ‘Apple for the Teacher’ 

website. I agree, however, that it is very suspicious.”

“Be that as it may, Mr. Berry,” she countered, “there are 

other reasons to suspect Chris. I don’t think the phony blog was 

about me at all—just a way to get at Rain and Simon. Miss Swallow 

told me that Chris had harassed Hummingbird, and that Mr. 

Pence saw him instigating the incident against Arianna.”

Mr. Berry was surprised. “Really? I didn’t realize Chris was 

involved in that.”

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Corn described what Mr. Pence saw and 

gave details about the “dinging” and Arianna’s insulin pump.

“Well, then, I’d better talk to the two young men cooling 

their heels outside my office. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Mr. Berry talked to Dumptruck and Tater Tot for almost 

fifteen minutes. Both boys were scared and clammed up 

almost immediately. The principal was a gentle man—never 

threatening. He could usually win a student’s trust pretty 

quickly. But he wasn’t successful this time. When asked if Chris 

118
had anything to do with their harassing Arianna, the boys just 

looked away and said, “No.” They had no motivation and were 

clueless about the connection to the insulin pump. Mr. Berry 

believed everything they said, except their denial that Chris was 

involved. An astute judge of children’s character and emotions, 

the principal recognized he wasn’t talking to “bad guys,” just 

scared ones. He gave them two days of detention and required 

each of them to write Arianna an apology.

Stepping out to Miss Shield’s desk, he asked her to send a 

message to Miss Swallow and Mr. Pence to come by his office 

after school.

Mr. Berry glanced at the clock. It was after 3:30. Only 

twenty minutes, he thought, before the Tribal council meeting 

starts. He was busy stuffing papers into his briefcase when Miss 

Swallow and Mr. Pence showed up at his door.

“Come on and follow me out to my car,” he said. “I’ve got a 

presentation to make.”

As they walked across the parking lot, Mr. Berry said, 

“So...I’ve been hearing Chris Sorrel’s name a lot lately. First, 

from you, Miss Swallow, about his bullying Hummingbird. 

Then, Mrs. Corn tells me she thinks he was the one pretending 

to be her on the teacher website. In fact, she thinks he has been 

targeting Rain, Simon, and Boomer—and now Arianna.”

Miss Swallow said, “That’s what I think, too. It makes 

sense. Arianna lives with Hummingbird’s family. All this started 

with Hummingbird.”

119
Stopping at his car, Mr. Berry said, “We may not have any 

proof that Chris is behind any of this. Despite what you saw, Mr. 

Pence, the boys making fun of Arianna today wouldn’t admit 

that Chris made them do it.” He looked at the two teachers, “Do 

we have any other evidence?”

“Well, he took a science test of Hummingbird’s,” Miss 

Swallow replied, “and wrote an insult on it— to make it look like 

she wrote it. She saw him take the test, but she didn’t see him 

write on it.”

Mr. Pence’s face flushed a deep red. He looked at Miss 

Swallow. Did she know what was written on the test?

“What did it say—the insult?” Mr. Berry asked.

“Well, um,” Miss Swallow stammered, “it’s not very 

nice. Ah...”

Mr. Pence held up his hand to relieve her discomfort. “I’ll 

tell him, Betty. It said ‘Miss Swallow says Mr. Pence is a dork and 

a loser.’” He explained to the principal that one of his students, 

Mindy, had returned the test to him, thinking that a student had 

lost it.

“David, it was an awful trick!” Miss Swallow said 

indignantly. “Hummingbird was so upset because you thought 

she wrote it.” Miss Swallow smiled sweetly at Mr. Pence. “And, 

just for the record, I don’t think you are a dork or a loser at all.”

“Oh, the trick was on you, too, Betty!” Mr. Pence protested. 

“I hope you weren’t upset, either. I’m just glad Hummingbird 

didn’t write it.”

120
Embarrassed, Mr. Berry interrupted. “Well, ah, this 

is getting a bit complicated and I have to go.” Eager to end 

the awkward conversation, he added, “Glad you two got that 

straightened out.” The principal slid behind the steering wheel 

of his car and started the engine. Backing out of his reserved 

parking space, he poked his head out the car window and gave 

his teachers a hearty assurance that all would be well. “We’ll 

work this out. We’ve got some great kids at Thunder Rock Middle 

School. Tomorrow’s Science Fair awards will be proof of that!”

121

Chapter 14

123

Only the first place trophy remained on the table.

Wins and Losses

Coyote lowered the binoculars and grinned so big his mouth 

hurt. He had taken up his position on the hill overlooking the 

school, eager to observe the fun. The old yellow-eyed cuss 

hadn’t been disappointed. He’d never enjoyed so much “stickysticky” in his entire tricking career. And tomorrow would be 

even better! Yipping in glee, he couldn’t wait to tell Thistle. 

He loved boasting to the rabbit about how easy it was to make 

humans look incredibly silly. Thistle would get huffy trying to 
defend the people—which is why Coyote did it. He liked to get 

her riled up.

The next morning, Mr. Berry pulled into the school an hour 

after Coyote and Thistle did. The principal parked his car and 

walked past the bushes in front of the auditorium, unaware that 

two animals were hiding inside the foliage. Coyote had insisted 

that they arrive before dawn, not because he feared discovery 

(or so he said), but because he wanted a good seat. Thistle tagged 

along to keep an eye on Coyote. After all the bragging he’d done 

the afternoon before, she had to see for herself what he was 

up to.

Coyote watched Mr. Berry hurrying across the parking lot. 

The trickster nudged Thistle and giggled: ‘“Berries are good for 

thickening a stew. Don’t you agree, Rabbit?”

Thistle sighed, “Yeah, the stews you cook up are thick, 

all right.”

The principal rushed into the school office. He immediately 

detoured to the coffee machine. Miss Shield was waiting for 

him. She leaped up from her desk, blocking him before he 

could make another move. Gulping coffee, the principal stated 

the obvious: “Good morning, Miss Shield. I’m late.”

The school secretary got right down to business. “You’ve 

got less than ten minutes before the assembly starts. Here’s the 

124
agenda. Oh, and Mr. Berry, please remember to acknowledge 

the teachers from the high school. They were a bit upset last 

year when you forgot to thank them for judging the science fair.”

“Thank you. I’ll try to remember all that. Ahh, Miss Shield, 

what’s on my schedule this morning...after the assembly?”

“You have a meeting with Hummingbird’s parents.”

“Oh, yes, of course, about the bullying.”

“And this afternoon you have a teacher observation, 

payroll, and a bully prevention meeting with the teachers.” With 

that final bit of information, Miss Shield reached for Mr. Berry’s 

briefcase, handed him his assembly folder, and herded him to 

the door.

Offering a small measure of resistance to her secretarial 

efficiency, Mr. Berry hesitated at the door. He turned and handed 

his empty coffee cup to Miss Shield. “I think it’s about time we 

bought a new ‘Mr. Percolator.’ That coffee was awfully thick.”

The principal headed to the auditorium. He was in a good 

mood. The science fair had proved to be a real success in the 

past few years, getting coverage in the reservation newspaper 

and local radio. He was hoping this year for a spot on the 

Tribe’s website.

He went through the side entrance to the auditorium and 

was greeted with the babbling din of 300 middle schoolers. 

All the homerooms were present. Running up the steps to the 

stage, he spotted the photographer from “Around the Rez.” Mr. 

125
Berry stepped to the edge of the stage and called him over. “Hi, 

Steve. Let’s get a good picture of our first place winner. I want 

this Native Science fair to get some real attention.”

After noting the photographer’s thumbs-up, Mr. Berry 

moved to the podium. He held up his hand. The auditorium fell 

silent as the whole school stood up for the Pledge of Allegiance. At 

its conclusion, the school band played a squeaky, but acceptable 

version of the national anthem, followed by “Thunderbirds 

Forever,” the school song. Mr. Berry always grew a bit misty 

when the kids sang the last refrain, “We will fly higher and 

higher, always together, always forever.”

Following Miss Shield’s instructions, Mr. Berry moved 

smoothly through the assembly program, only glancing once 

or twice at the agenda. He thanked, blessed, and praised all 

those who participated in the science fair so profusely that the 

students began to grow restless.

Taking note of the fidgeting, Mr. Berry got to the point. “Now 

I come to the part that we’ve all been waiting for. The awards for 

this year’s science fair: ‘Native Science: Yesterday, Today, and 

Tomorrow.’” As Mr. Berry called out their names, the “honorable 

mentions” began tromping up the aisles, accompanied by 

polite applause. But when the principal announced Little Deb’s 

name, a shriek went up from her girlfriends. To the sound of 

wild clapping, Little Deb bashfully crossed the stage to receive 

her certificate of merit. Mr. Berry joked, “Wow, I didn’t know 

that “Ash and Corn: Releasing the Nutrition” would be such a 

popular subject!”

126
“I didn’t either,” Little Deb gasped, and ran off the stage.

Mr. Berry reached for the third place plaque on the table 

beside the podium. It was time for the winning entries. He 

paused for dramatic effect and then proclaimed: “For ‘The 

Inuit Kayak: From Hunting Boat to Modern Sport,’ third place 

goes to Hank LaChaise!” After Hank had loped up to receive his 

award, Mr. Berry asked him if there was anything he particularly 

enjoyed about his project. Not one to talk very much, Hank said, 

“I liked learning about the boat design and how you could roll it 

back up if you flipped over in the water. That was cool.”

Moving on after the applause for Hank, Mr. Berry became 

even more expansive. “Our second place prize goes to another 

outstanding student, Mindy Two Horses for her project, “FreezeDried Potatoes: The Inca Way!”

Chris’s head jerked up. Mindy! Totally surprised, he 

whispered to Pooch, one of the boys on the 8th grade basketball 

team: “She entered the science fair?”

“Yeah, she’s been working on it, forever. Man, don’t you 

ever think about anything but your own stuff?” Chris stood up 

and clapped loudly, hoping to get Mindy’s attention. But she 

never looked his way.

Mr. Berry was really getting into it. Smiling, he invited 

Mindy to tell the school about her project: “Well, people in 

the Andes Mountains developed potatoes from these little 

wild tubers about 4,000 years ago. They preserved potatoes by 

freezing them and then adding water to make them soft again. 

They call it ‘choon-yo.’ It would stay good for like ten years.”

127
Thinking, I hope Steve is getting a picture of this, Mr. Berry 

asked, “How did you make the ‘choon-yo,’ Mindy?”

“I froze the potatoes in the freezer because it wasn’t cold 

enough to freeze them outside, and then I stomped them until 

they were mashed to bits.”

“You stomped them?” the principal prompted.

“Yeah, with my feet. But I washed them first.”

“The potatoes?”

“No, my feet. Then I laid them out to dry in the sun. And 

then I did it all over again. It’s just like the instant potatoes at 

the grocery store.”

Mr. Berry laughed and said, “Well, I guess I have the Incas 

to thank for the potatoes we eat at my house. Thank you, Mindy.”

The principal’s attempt at humor created some charitable 

laughter that accompanied Mindy as she walked primly down 

the stage steps. Chris waved to get her attention, but she was 

too busy “high-fiving” her friends as she took her seat. What is 

wrong with her? he thought.

Only the first place trophy remained on the table. It was a 

clear glass oval with the word ‘Science’ etched onto its surface. 

On its base was a small gold plaque where the first place winner’s 

name would later be inscribed by a local crafts shop. Mr. Berry 

picked up the award solemnly and composed his face for his 

predictable “inspirational speech.”

Mr. Berry was a popular and admired principal, but his 

speeches, expected to motivate the student body and honor 

exemplary pupils, usually stimulated exactly the opposite. After 

five minutes of “applying ourselves...building character...good 

128
citizenship and community...the future is ours...and reaching 

for the stars,” the entire assembly was in suspended animation 

on its way to an outer arm of the Milky Way.

Finally, Mr. Berry brought his oration to a merciful end. 

Opening his assembly folder, he continued: “I am pleased 

to announce that the winning exhibit is “The Invention and 

Manufacture of Rubber in Central Mexico.” A small stir erupted. 

Some of the students and teachers knew who was responsible 

for that project. The uninformed students craned their necks 

to catch a first glimpse of the exalted one that would claim the 

trophy. Mr. Berry enjoyed the building excitement. Yes, he 

thought, this is how it should be. These kids were really pumped 

up about the science fair! A big smile on his face, he swept his 

eyes proudly across the assembly.

Suddenly, he noticed that a boy sitting in an aisle seat in 

the third row was beginning to rise. His smile froze. Slowly Mr. 

Berry’s eyes drifted down to Miss Shield’s agenda notes. Visually 

scrolling down the page, he had the most peculiar feeling that 

a big joke was being played. Perhaps Miss Shield had typed 

in “gotcha” or LOL? But no, no smiley face or other “funny” 

preceded the words: First Place Winner: CHRIS SORREL.

The principal looked up. Chris was standing in the aisle, 

waiting for him to read out his name. Did the boy know that he 

had won? Mr. Berry cleared his throat, making the awkward 

silence even more awkward. Forcing a strained grin, he choked 

out, “The first prize goes to Chris Sorrel.”

Chris characteristically swept back his hair with his 

hands and bounded onto the stage. The applause was uneven. 

129
The 8th grade basketball team was enthusiastic and the sixth 

graders were happy to clap for anyone. But Chris’s girl groupies 

were sitting on their hands. When you added some missing 

toadies (who spent a lot of time in in-house suspension) and 

the teachers that were now wise to him, Chris’s fan club had 

apparently shrunk.

Determined to be fair, Mr. Berry congratulated Chris 

and held out the trophy. Smiling brightly, the boy grasped the 

translucent award and pulled it forcefully from Mr. Berry’s hand. 

Holding the prize close to his chest, Chris glanced up at Mr. 

Berry—his eyes betraying a terrible, terrible need for approval. 

The principal was surprised by the boy’s vulnerability. This 

was the villain who had supposedly terrorized Hummingbird, 

maligned Miss Swallow, stolen Mrs. Corn’s identity, spread lies 

about Rain, and instigated the attack on Arianna?

Feeling sorry for him, Mr. Berry asked Chris a few polite 

questions about his project. Unfortunately, the first prize 

winner provided more information about indigenous latex than 

anyone really wanted to know. Thanking Chris for his most 

interesting description of Maya rubber products, Mr. Berry 

signaled for Miss Swallow to bring the Big Foods manager on 

stage. Mr. Standing carried a big replica of a $1,000 check the 

grocery chain had donated to the school for science supplies. 

Making a brief speech, the store manager endorsed the benefits 

of investment in community schools, and reminded everyone 

that green peppers and cucumbers were on sale this week at the 

Big Foods Super.

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Mr. Berry brought the assembly to a close by congratulating 

everyone and asking all the honorable mentions and place 

winners to stay behind for pictures. Standing in front of the big 

check, he stiffly reenacted the presentation of the first place 

trophy to Chris. Blinded by the flash of the photographer’s 

camera, he didn’t see the high school teachers leave in a huff. 

He had forgotten Miss Shield’s last instruction.

Coyote and Thistle vacated their front row seats and slowly 

made their way around to the back of the auditorium—staying 

hidden behind the hedge that bordered the building. Thistle 

had enjoyed the assembly and had shared some chuckles 

with Coyote who had to muffle his ‘yips’ when Mr. Berry had 

announced Chris as the first place winner. But now she wasn’t 

feeling very well. She had some discomfort in her back. As an 

experienced mother, she knew that her bunnies were about to 

be born.

Coyote noticed her slow hopping. “You getting old, Ms. 

Rabbit?” he teased.

“No older than you, Coyote. I just need to get back to my 

nest. The little ones will be here soon—but not right away. I have 

a little time.”

“Ahh, well, then,” said Coyote, understanding the situation.

The trickster and the cotton-tail retraced the path they 

had followed to the school. They didn’t advertise themselves, 

traveling instead in the shadows of the abundant weeds and 

131
shrubs. Occasionally they stopped so that Thistle could rest. 

Before long, Coyote spotted the rabbit’s brush heap. He also saw 

Sky Heart’s shadow cross their path as they climbed the low hill 

to the nest.

“Looks like we made it, Thistle.”

“Yes. And just in time, too.” She wiggled into the security 

of her nest and turned around so that her head poked out of the 

weedy enclosure.

“I have to go. I hope all goes well,” Coyote said. “Sky Heart is 

here,” he added, jerking his nose skyward. “You won’t be alone.”

Now that she was safe in her home, Thistle wasn’t quite 

ready for Coyote to leave so hastily. “I am curious. How did you 

manage to wangle the first place trophy for Chris?”

“I didn’t. He won it fair and square.” Coyote smiled wryly. 

“I don’t meddle in everything.”

“Well, you meddled enough to get Hummingbird kicked 

out of the competition.”

Frowning, Coyote said, “Ahem, well, yes.” He had forgotten 

about that. “But I had my reasons.”

Thistle suspected that the “giant plan” had something to do 

with those reasons, but she said nothing. Instead, she protested, 

“Chris has done a lot of bad things lately.”

“I know, but he has a good mind. His project was a good 

one.” Coyote sighed. “But he only thinks of winning... and that’s 

the twist an old trickster like me can appreciate—winning for 

Chris is really losing.”

132
Chapter 15

133

“Look at this, Arianna. This fertilizer is made of dried blood, and this one is 

seagull guano. Yuk! It sounds terrible.”

Thinking Big

And so it seemed to Mr. Berry, too. Later that day, after his 

meeting with Hummingbird’s mother and father, the principal 

called Chris’s parents. Mr. Berry didn’t expect that they would 

welcome the reason for his call, but he was taken aback by the 

stepfather’s angry refusal to even discuss Chris’s bullying. 

In reply to the principal’s request for a meeting, Hoke Sorrel 

bellowed that Chris was “a star student and athlete, and no 

bunch of loser, jealous kids are gonna dump all over my son’s 

winning the science fair!”
Offering some tactful comments to calm the situation, 

the principal quickly realized he was talking into dead air. Mr. 

Sorrel had hung up on him. Deeply dismayed, Mr. Berry hit the 

‘off’ button on his phone. Frowning, he made a mental note to 

tell Ms. Shield to add another agenda item to tomorrow’s staff 

meeting: how to engage parents of students who bully.

The angry words, however, had a very different effect on 

another listener. Having eavesdropped on the phone call, Chris 

was positively ecstatic! This was the first time the old man had 

ever shown any interest in him. Whether Hoke Sorrel really 

cared about his stepson’s achievements didn’t really matter to 

Chris. It was the attention that the boy craved. Even Melvin and 

Jesse were giving him “high fives!”

Over the next few days, Chris became convinced that life 

couldn’t get any better. His family was backing him up against 

the teachers and kids like Hummingbird. And they were proud 

of his trophy, too. His mom, Althea, even put it on the shelf 

next to the plaque that recognized her mail-order business 

as “Tribal Enterprise of the Year” Not so strangely, the Sorrel 

family’s refusal to recognize Chris’s bad behavior actually 

resulted in a break for the tormented at Thunder Rock Middle 

School. Chris was just feeling too good to worry about being top 

dog. The bullying died down considerably, even though Chris 

and his cronies were by no means the only trouble-makers at 

the school.

In fact, the whole school took a breather. Without 

distractions, Mr. Berry and the teachers were able to complete 

134
the school’s anti-bullying policy which they called “Being a 

Good Relative.” Dumptruck and Tater Tot didn’t get any new 

detentions; and the 6th graders were even leaving school 

with a few quarters in their pockets. As for the Veggie Crowd, 

Hummingbird’s exile ended and Simon’s heels were not trod 

upon. The “insulin pump incident” also receded, but Arianna 

made one request of Boomer—no more “dingfods” please. She’d 

been “dinged” enough. The only real moaning was from Rain 

and Boomer when they kept making mistakes at drum practice.

The health messages in Bird’s science project got a hearing, 

too. Miss Swallow took Bird to present her science project to 

Dr. Bamsey’s freshman biology class at Medicine Cave Tribal 

College. Tom, Darlene, Aunt Chick, Arianna, and Simon had 

front row seats. Even Mr. Pence attended. Dr. Bamsey said 

her project was very important to the Tribal Food Sovereignty 

Program; he would make sure that her findings about land 

stewardship were featured in the College’s newsletter. It was a 

nice moment for Hummingbird and her father.

As for the “Giant Plan” Hummingbird was moving ahead. 

Her imagination was fired up! Hummingbird couldn’t wait to 

get the garden going. Arianna was the first to notice that she was 

making plans.

“What are you reading?”

“One of Aunt Chick’s garden catalogs. I didn’t know 

there were so many varieties of giant veggies.” Banging the 

135
three-inch tome shut, Hummingbird looked up—her eyes full 

of ambition. “Arianna, you’ve got to have nitrogen, potassium, 

and phosphorus to make the plants grow big and fast.” Laughing 

at her own impatience, she said, “But it’s way too early to be 

thinking about that. We have to turn a dirty old shed into our 

experimental laboratory!”

The girls started with their promised partners—Rain, 

Boomer and Simon. The boys helped them scrounge for all the 

goodies they needed—soap, mops and buckets, and a hose for 

cleaning; and all kinds of hardware and attic surplus that would 

make the shed fit for human use. Simon also brought a six-inch 

roll of bubble wrap. Where he got it and what it was for nobody 

knew—but the girls weren’t turning down anything.

Recruiting other allies, Bird and Arianna discovered that 

electricity and mechanical items would not a problem, either. 

Boo volunteered his skills as an electrician as well as the vast 

contents of his junky garage. And Aunt Chick was a gold mine! 

She gave them all kinds of equipment and supplies: flower pots, 

potting soil, garden tools, seeds, and fertilizer. Even better, Tom 

offered to fix the fence and Gerald, Rain’s dad, was bringing his 

tiller. There would be a winter garden!

Everybody assembled early Saturday. The kids took on most 

of the cleaning jobs while Boo, Tom, and Aunt Chick started 

the shed and fence repair. Soon their hammering and banging 

was accompanied by the steady chug of the tiller’s old Briggs 

and Stratton motor. When it jumped out of gear going over a 

hard spot, Gerald would just twist a couple of bolts and fire it 

up again. Nobody stopped except to gulp down some water.

136
By lunchtime, the lights were on in the shed, the fence had 

new boards where there were none before, and dark furrows 

of newly-turned earth waited for spade and seed. The shed 

wasn’t exactly sparkling, but it was swept and mopped, and Boo 

had repaired the collapsed shelving and replaced the broken 

window panes with plywood. A big old table from Aunt Chick’s 

basement now sat under the overhead lamp. On it, the girls had 

assembled most of their garden products and Miss Swallow’s 

contributions: a couple of alcohol lamps, a thermometer, an old 

scale, and an assortment of beakers that had seen better days.

Tired, but proud of their accomplishments, the “Giant Plan” 

work crew convened outside the shed to thank and congratulate 

each other on the morning’s labor. Aunt Chick wanted to get the 

project off to a good start, and had asked Tom to offer a blessing. 

They waited for Boo who was still inside the shed; he was testing 

a space heater to make sure the electrical outlet was working 

safely. Not realizing he was holding things up, Boo apologized 

and hurried to stand respectfully with the others. Tom said:

“First, I want to express my thanks to our children, who 

have gathered us all together to help them do something good 

for the people. And I want to thank the Creator for the food gifts 

we are about to eat. Please watch over our children as they will 

be working hard to plant and grow food that will help our people 

to eat healthier and prevent type 2 diabetes. I ask our Mother 

Earth, and the seeds, sun and rain to work together, so that the 

vegetables for our people can grow in a good way. I ask these 

things on behalf of all our relations.”

137
Everyone smiled. It was a very good day. Aunt Chick looked 

around proudly at her family and friends and announced, 

“Darlene’s got lunch on the table. Let’s eat!” After the morning’s 

hard work, the grilled buffalo on wheat buns didn’t last very 

long.

After lunch, Hummingbird and Arianna thanked everyone 

by promising them a dish from their first giant vegetable (even 

though they knew that would not be possible until next summer). 

Boo said he was looking forward to it—he couldn’t wait to carve 

up that five-foot lima bean!

When everyone left, Hummingbird and Arianna went 

back to the shed. They wanted to “play” in their new lab. Their 

first job was to inventory their materials. Hummingbird was 

interested in the bags of fertilizer (most of which had already 

been opened). Reading the labels, she saw they were either 

composed of inorganic chemicals or organic material that came 

from living things. Bird thought the organic ingredients were 

cool. “Look at this, Arianna. This fertilizer is made of dried 

blood, and this one is seagull guano. And here’s some feather 

meal and fish meal, and a sack of crushed oyster shells. Yuk! It 

sounds terrible!”

“What’s guano?”

“I don’t know. Look it up in Aunt Chick’s garden book,” Bird 

said, pointing to the table where Simon had piled the gardening 

books and a stack of Internet articles on giant vegetables. Excited 

by so many fast-grow ingredients, Bird couldn’t contain herself 

any longer. “Hey, let’s make some fertilizer for the winter 

vegetables!”

138
“I don’t think you’re supposed to plant seeds in a lot 

of fertilizer,” Arianna said. “Simon read that it could burn 

the seedlings.”

“I think you’re right, but it wouldn’t hurt to see what would 

happen if...” Hummingbird argued. She picked up a small 

unopened bag of inorganic fertilizer that said “5-10-5” —5% 

nitrogen, 10% phosphorus and 5% potassium. “That doesn’t 

sound too strong. We don’t have to use much. The directions say 

‘add one tablespoon per gallon of water.’”

Bird sorted through a ‘grab box’ of junk that Simon brought 

over, finding a bunch of plastic measuring spoons. Then, she 

filled a metal pail with water from the outside spigot, measured 

out a tablespoon of fertilizer, and dumped it in the water.

Arianna said, “Is that all there is to it?”

“Why don’t we jazz it up a bit?” Bird giggled. Reaching for 

the organic fertilizers, she measured out a teaspoon of dried 

blood, feathers, fish, and shells—tossing each spoonful into the 

pail. Grabbing the sack of seagull guano, she turned to Arianna 

and asked, “What did the book say it was?”

“I haven’t looked yet.” Arianna opened the book at the 

index and turned the pages until she got to ‘G.’ Flipping to the 

referenced page, she read:

The word “guano” originates from the Quechua language of 

the Andes and means “the droppings of sea birds.” Indigenous 

peoples collected guano from the coast of Peru for use as a soil 

fertilizer. It is high in nitrogen and phosphorus. The Incas 

assigned great value to guano, restricting access to it and 

punishing any disturbance to the birds with death.

139
“Oh, cool! Indigenous fertilizer! We’ve got to have some 

of that!” Hummingbird chucked in a whole tablespoon of the 

guano for good measure.

Now that the fertilizer was mixed, Arianna pulled down a 

sack of fiber peat pots and some potting soil from their newlybuilt shelf, and Bird opened three seed packets—turnips, 

carrots, and cabbages.

“How many should we plant?” Arianna asked.

“Let’s do twenty with fertilizer and twenty without. That 

way, if the fertilizer is too strong, we’ll only lose half of them.”

The girls filled the fiber pots with soil, planted the seeds, 

and added some water to each. Arianna arranged the seeded 

pots in two groups of twenty on the table, and Hummingbird 

squirted a dropper full of fertilizer into only one group. Then 

she set up the plant-grow light and plugged it in. A ghostly 

florescent glow filled the shed.

Arianna said, “Gee, it looks a little spooky.”

“Spooky? It’s not spooky! It’s more like a night light,” Bird 

said whimsically. “When the seeds sprout, they won’t be afraid 

of the dark.”

Satisfied with their first experiment, the girls cleaned up 

the spilled dirt and water splatters from their seed planting. 

They would come back on Monday afternoon to check out the 

seed’s progress. Hummingbird closed the door behind them 

and slipped the latch in place. Unfortunately, she had forgotten 

the old combination lock that Dale, her brother, had given her.

140
“At last! Coyote griped, “I thought they’d never leave!” 

He’d been hanging out at Thistle’s nest all day—waiting to throw 

his whammy.

Thistle had been out of her nest for most of the day and had 

now returned to nurse her new babies. She had given birth to a 

large litter—seven kits, all blind and naked. Tucking her brood 

around her, she gave Coyote an irritated look: “What do you care 

when they leave?”

“It’s not like I don’t have a schedule to keep, you know,” he 

said pompously.

“Schedule? You’ve been lying up there sleeping all day.”

“Not at all. I’ve been observing. Waiting for my moment. I 

have my own plans for the winter vegetables.”

“Like what?”

“Like this,” he said. Coyote stood up and shook himself 

vigorously. Then, he pranced back and forth a few times, 

warming up his magic. When his power was near, he reached 

for it quickly—transforming the girls’ newly planted seeds with 

a little ditty:

Cabbage to Coyote,

Carrot to Coyote,

Turnip to Coyote.

Jinx and stinks!

Make them mine!

Make them mine!

141
Pleased with himself, he said, “Well, Miss Birdie, let’s see 

how your garden grows now.” He reared his head back for a big 

laugh, but stopped. Thistle was giving him a disapproving look. 

“Can’t you leave that poor girl alone?”

“The garden doesn’t have to be all mine,” Coyote joked. 

“Actually, Thistle, you didn’t let me finish. I am a very generous 

fellow. I fully intended to “deed” one of the plants back 

over to Hummingbird. Now pay attention.” He cleared his 

throat, “Ahem...

Scratch a burr in the fur,

Then the burr sticks on her.

Birdie’s wish becomes a dish,

Some say it smells like licorice.

“That’s it, Mr. Big? That’s the magic?” the rabbit said 

not impressed.

Smiling confidently, Coyote replied, “You’ll believe me 

when you see it. And you’ll agree that I’m big—very big.”

Waiting for the school bus the next morning, the girls were 

thinking and talking big, too. Googling “biggest vegetables” 

on Sunday afternoon, they had found a cabbage that was 129 

pounds and a carrot nineteen feet long! Hummingbird boasted, 

“Just wait, Arianna. Next summer we’ll have a crop like that.”

Unfortunately, when the bus came, the girls suddenly had 

to “think small.” It was packed with kids from another bus 

that had broken down. There were only two empty seats left. 

142
Hummingbird squeezed over Little Deb to a window seat at the 

front; and Arianna moved toward an aisle seat at the back.

Arianna plopped down just as the bus lurched forward. 

Her eyes drifted to the window and soon she was not seeing the 

passing landscape. Instead, she was thinking about the shed and 

what was happening to the vegetable seeds they had planted. 

Although the girls didn’t expect much progress, they planned to 

check out their little experiments that afternoon.

Despite the intensity of her thoughts, Arianna’s eyes were 

attracted to the sweeping hand movements of her seat mate. Oh, 

she thought, he’s drawing! Silently, she watched him penciling 

in the reflection of fir branches in a mountain pond. Arianna 

could see that the artist knew how to draw water.

Unable to keep quiet any longer, Arianna said, “That’s 

really good. It almost looks real!”

The artist pushed back the cotton hood that had obscured 

his face and turned to Arianna. “Gee, thanks. I’m trying to get 

the light just right, but...” The rest of the sentence froze in his 

mouth. Recognizing Arianna, his jaw dropped like a stone.

Arianna was equally startled. All she could see was a 

fireworks display of red hair. She almost hollered, “Tater Tot!”

Recoiling from each other, they quickly broke eye contact 

and stared nervously ahead. They sat like two kids on ice for 

several miles—while the bus seemed to crawl slower and slower. 

Arianna looked on ahead and saw that they were behind a truck 

towing the broken down bus. Oh, this is just great, she thought, 

we’ll be on this ride forever!

143
She decided to thaw a little. Glancing out the corner of his 

eye to gauge his reaction, Arianna said shyly, “Well, you don’t 

have to stop your drawing.”

Tater Tot couldn’t stand the strain either. He murmured, 

“No, I guess not.” He made some half-hearted pencil strokes, 

but just wasn’t into it. Sighing, he shoved the colored pencils 

back into their box.

Hearing the sigh, Arianna couldn’t help but respond. It just 

was in her nature. “Why did you stop? You’re a good artist.”

“Not everybody thinks so.”

“Then they must be crazy.”

“Tell that to Chris Sorrel.”

Arianna didn’t know what to say—so she asked 

another question. “Why don’t you draw cartoons for the 

school newspaper?”

“Yeah, well, like I said, tell that to Chris.”

“Well, I’m new here. I don’t really know Chris.” Trying 

to encourage the conversation, she continued, “Umm, my 

parents are moving here after Thanksgiving. But I’m living with 

Hummingbird’s family right now. I came early so I could start 

school here at the beginning of the year.”

Tater Tot didn’t seem to mind being drawn out of his 

shell. “I’m new, too. I moved here last summer. My mom is a 

contractor for the Tribe. It’s just for two projects, but I should 

be here at least this year.” Quietly, he added, “Since my parents 

divorced, we move around a lot.”

144
Feeling self-conscious, Tater Tot broke off the conversation 

and stared out the window. Several minutes went by while he 

struggled with his thoughts. Suddenly, he turned and faced 

Arianna. Biting his lip, he said, “Look, I’m sorry about hollering 

that ‘ding’ stuff at you. The principal said we had to write that 

apology, but I really meant it. I didn’t know about the pump and 

all—not until Mr. Berry told us.”

“You didn’t know I have type 1 diabetes?”

He shook his head. “No, I was just yelling dumb stuff 

because...because somebody told me to.”

“But why?”

Since he had started this, Tater Tot decided to plow on 

ahead even though he wasn’t sure why he was confiding in 

Arianna. “See, I’ve been to a lot of schools. And getting pushed 

around all the time really gets old. I guess I never had time to 

make friends... or something. Anyway, when I got here I knew 

it would be hard to fit in. So I thought I’d join up with the guys 

who do the bullying.”

“That wasn’t very smart.”

“No, I guess not. But it’s better than getting beat up all 

the time.”

“I wouldn’t know about that. I just know it didn’t feel very 

good having everybody gang up on me. I never did anything 

to you.”

As the bus turned into the school driveway, Tater Tot 

realized he needed to hurry up and make his point. “No, you 

didn’t. But, that’s not me, Arianna. I’m not really like that.”

145
The bus pulled into the curb and kids started bunching 

into the aisles, eager to escape the over-crowded seats. Arianna 

grabbed her jacket and picked up her backpack. Frowning a 

little, she fixed her eyes on the red-haired boy and asked very 

simply: “So who are you...really?”

Not expecting an answer to her odd question, Arianna 

turned around and joined the students spilling out the bus 

door. Tater Tot was right behind her. When they came down the 

bus steps, he saw Hummingbird waiting for her friend. Tater 

Tot hesitated when he saw the expression on Bird’s face, but 

answered Arianna’s question: “I’m really...Larry.”

Arianna laughed a little: “Glad to meet you, Larry. I’m really 

Arianna.”

Glancing at Hummingbird, Tater Tot muttered, “Well, I 

gotta go. I guess we’re all pretty late.”

Bird watched the embarrassed boy flee the bus stop. Wideeyed, she turned to Arianna. “You were talking to him? What 

was that all about?”

“Tell you later, Bird. I don’t want to be late either.”

“Oh, come on, Arianna! Tell me now! I won’t be at lunch 

today. I’ve got to...”

Smiling sweetly, Arianna said, “Then you’ll just have to 

wait ’til after school!”

146
Chapter 16

147

Coyote had said “Make them mine” and, indeed, the embryos in the fertilized seeds had become his. 

By late morning the next day, the plants were 12 inches high.

Fast-Grow Formulas

Although Hummingbird was hard put to wait on anything, 

she was a model of patience compared to the seeds that were 

germinating in the shed. Whether it was Hummingbird’s fastgrow formula or Coyote’s whammy, the seeds would have been 

judged “whiz kids” by any measure. As soon as the water the 

girls had poured into their little pots had moistened the soil, 

their seed coats had swelled and split. Eagerly, they pushed 

their baby roots downward and their baby stems upward. As 
soon as the stem’s green bumps emerged from the soil, two 

leaves unfurled and joyously greeted the energy from the plantgrow light above.

Coyote had said “Make them mine” and, indeed, the 

embryos in the fertilized seeds had become his. By late 

morning the next day, the plants were 12 inches high. Feeling 

tall enough, they redirected their energy toward their root 

system. Some roots soon forced their way through the bottom 

of the fiber pots and sent out scouts to capture (some might say 

“steal”) more nutrients from the bag of fertilizer on the work 

table. Other roots encircled their neighboring pots, pulling 

them into a close community of green relatives. By afternoon, 

having worked hard for almost 48 hours, the plants were 

exhausted. Shutting down the phloem and xylem flow, they 

rested before starting their next growth spurt.

After school, the girls hurried to Aunt Chick’s, eager to 

see what their vegetable seeds were doing. As they walked, 

Hummingbird listened avidly to Arianna describe her 

conversation with Tater Tot. They had almost arrived at the 

shed when Hummingbird asked Arianna the question that 

most intrigued her.

“So what did you say that made him apologize?”

“I didn’t make him do anything. I just told him he was a 

good artist.”

“Did he say Chris put him up to calling you 

Miss Ding-Ding?”

148
“No, he just kinda said that Chris didn’t think he could 

draw,” Arianna said. “Like he was standing in his way or 

something. I don’t think he likes Chris.”

“Well, I don’t either!” Hummingbird laughed and playfully 

pushed Arianna through the shed door. Arianna stopped 

suddenly. Puzzled, she said, “What is that, Bird?” pointing to 

a dark mass under the cold blue light of the plant-grow bulb.

When Bird flipped on the switch to the overhead lamp, the 

answer to Arianna’s question prompted the biggest “WOW! the 

girls ever hollered. The prim rows of little pots they had planted 

the evening before had disappeared. In their place was a stand 

of seedlings about 14 inches high. They had tall leggy stems 

that bushed out at the top into a crown of pointy little leaves.

Both girls jumped up and down, shrieking and laughing. “I 

can’t believe it! Look! Look! They just didn’t sprout—they grew! 

They’re so tall! I didn’t think anything could grow that fast.”

Gasping, Arianna said, “The fast-grow formula worked! 

What do you think it was...the feathers or the oyster shells?”

“No, it was the blooood meal...,” said Bird in her best 

Dracula voice.

Hummingbird and Arianna started dancing around the 

table. Finally, they collapsed into a couple of wobbly lawn 

chairs from Boo’s garage. After catching her breath, Bird got 

up and examined the seedlings more carefully. “It must have 

been the fertilizer,” she concluded. “The pots without it have 

hardly done anything at all. There’s a couple with a little green 

nub poking up, but that’s all.”

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“Look,” Arianna said, “the roots burst out of the fiber 

pots. I guess we’ll have to plant them in the garden. They’re too 

big for the cold frames.”

The girls found several cardboard boxes that they used to 

haul the plants outside. Then, Hummingbird got the shovel 

that Aunt Chick donated. She dug out four parallel rows in a far 

corner of the garden. As Bird dug, Arianna followed, inserting 

the plants at eighteen inch intervals and giving each a good 

drink of water. She had to pull apart the roots of some of the 

plants—they were so entangled. Arianna could have sworn the 

roots tightened up and actually resisted her tugging.

After they were finished, the girls stood back and admired 

their work. Realizing that they had forgotten something, 

Arianna picked up a pot that had torn away from one of the 

seedlings. Looking at it, she asked, “Which are the cabbages? 

And which are the carrots and turnips?”

“I don’t know!” Hummingbird giggled. “I forgot to label 

the pots. I guess I’m not a very good scientist.”

Hummingbird was right. She hadn’t been thinking 

scientifically. And she wasn’t thinking that way now. A good 

observer would have noticed that the leaves on the plants were 

identical. But it would have made no difference if Bird had put a 

billboard in each pot that read “cabbage,” “turnip,” or “carrot.” 

They were all “coyotes” now.

150
At supper, Hummingbird and Arianna could talk of 

nothing but their precocious seedlings. Tom and Darlene 

were glad to see Hummingbird so happy; but Dale and Richard 

were especially relieved. She had been no fun at all since the 

‘elephant’s toothpaste’ episode.

Looking around the table at her family, Bird said, “I just 

knew we could grow giant vegetables!”

“I got to give it to you girls,” Tom said, smiling. “It sounds 

like you’ve found the magic formula.”

“Right, Dad! We don’t need those old seeds of yours 

anymore. They’ll never be able to produce as much food as my 

giant vegetables!”

Talking around a spoonful of carrots and celery, Dale said, 

“If they grow as fast as you say, you could grow a pumpkin and 

enter it in the contest at the Harvest Pow-Wow.”

“Oh, my gosh, we could! A pumpkin! Arianna, wait ’til the 

guys hear about this!”

Reaching for another helping of Darlene’s delicious 

chicken chili, Hummingbird’s father smiled and said, “Well, if 

you don’t mind, Birdie, I think I’ll hold onto those old Native 

seeds for a little while longer. You don’t know how nutritious 

your giant vegetables will be or even if they’ll taste very good. 

Right now, I’d say just be proud of your science project. That’s 

gonna help us work out the best way to improve the buffalo 

pasture.”

But Hummingbird wasn’t listening. She was just thinking 

about that big blue ribbon.

151
That night on the phone, before school the next day, 

between classes, and at lunch—all the boys heard about was 

the seedlings. After a whole day of Hummingbird’s babbling, 

enough was enough. They wanted to see them.

Simon arranged to go home with Rain and help him with 

some chores he had to do for his mother. That way Rain could 

cut out faster and make it over to the garden before it got too 

dark. Boomer had no such obligations. He told the girls he was 

going to the garden as soon as he dumped his books.

As eager as Boomer was to see the plants, he was a slowpoke compared to Hummingbird. As soon as she hit the house, 

Bird was in a race to see how fast she could shuck off her school 

clothes and throw on some old jeans and a hand-me-down 

sweater better suited to dirt and shovels.

Arianna heard the back door bang shut before she could 

even take off her new jacket. She fumbled for some old clothes 

in her drawer, but then thought, Oh, forget it. Imitating 

Hummingbird’s fast exit from the house, Arianna raced after 

her sister scientist.

“Wait up!” Arianna cried.

“I can’t! I’ve got to see how big the plants have grown!”

Arianna didn’t catch up with Hummingbird until she 

arrived at the garden gate. The two girls exchanged a look of 

anticipatory glee. Hummingbird flipped up the latch and 

pushed at the heavy slatted gate, which resisted her unbearable 

curiosity by digging deeper into the dry, weedy soil.

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“What’s wrong with this gate?” Hummingbird growled. 

“It’s never stuck this bad before.” When both girls put their 

shoulders to the gate, it surrendered, allowing a narrow 

passage. They squeezed through the splintery gap. The two 

girls stopped abruptly. Hummingbird gasped, but Arianna 

uttered no sound at all. She could only stare at a massive green 

blob lying in a nest of tendrils and floppy vines.

“Oh my gosh...what is it?” Arianna asked.

“Um...I don’t know. The leaves look like squash.”

“But we didn’t plant any squash seeds.”

“I know.” Hummingbird reached down and placed her 

hands on each side of the huge green blob. It was as wide as a 

truck tire.

Arianna waded into the foliage that spread out from 

the four original rows where they had transplanted the 

seedlings. “Hummingbird, over here!” she squealed, “There’s 

another one!”

“And one over there, too!” Hummingbird cried, pointing 

to a monster veggie that blocked part of the gravel pathway that 

encircled the garden.

“Do you think they’re the seedlings?”

“What else could they be?”

“Maybe the fast-grow formula is too fast.”

“Does anything look like cabbage, carrots, and turnips 

to you?”

The girls jumped when the gate tried to block another 

intruder. “Hey, Bird! Arianna! How do you get through 

this thing?”

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“Just squeeze, Boomer!”

Boomer compressed himself and popped through the 

gate. He didn’t expect to see a jungle on the other side. “Holy 

Moly! This is what you’re growing?”

“Yes. Well, no. We didn’t know they’d look like this... or 

grow this fast” Arianna explained.

“What are they?”

“The squash that ate Chicago?” Hummingbird half-joked.

“Well, they must be the ‘body snatchers’ ’cause that one 

over there is moving.”

“Moving?” Bird choked.

A grin began to plump out Boomer’s cheeks: “Yeah.”

The three kids watched intently as the blob blocking the 

pathway began to rock back and forth. Boomer edged up on 

the oversized squash—very slowly. He stopped and cocked 

his head, listening intently. “Shhh, I can hear something,” he 

whispered over his shoulder.

The girls went silent. They could hear a weird blend 

of licking, scratching, and smacking noises. Suddenly, the 

squash’s fat bottom bulged outward and a large piece of the 

outer skin split. Then, the scratching grew louder as the 

occupant began to dig faster from its overgrown interior. A 

hole appeared. “Oh gross! Maybe it’s a giant worm!” Arianna 

cried.

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“Not unless worms have fur!” Boomer shouted. “Look!”

At that moment Coyote’s head popped through the hole. 

He pushed his paws through the small opening and widened 

it, allowing passage for the rest of his body. As he emerged, the 

squash’s skin collapsed into a shapeless green sack. Shocked, 

Hummingbird and Arianna stumbled backwards. But Boomer 

stood his ground.

Coyote staggered as he tried to stand up. Unable to sustain 

his weight, he flopped on his haunches—his belly swollen with 

squash flesh. Glancing with disinterest at the kids, he emitted 

a loud, contented belch.

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Chapter 17

157

.....shredded squash leaves and dirt drifted lazily down upon the scene. Coyote could barely make 

out the soles of three pairs of naked human feet. Obviously, he had burped the kids’ shoes off.

The Big Burp-Off

Boomer laughed at the coyote’s unashamed burp—one that 

was not followed by “excuse me.” A free spirit, he didn’t 

believe in apologies for natural bodily functions either. Then, 

spontaneously, just as he did when his brother, Sam, burped— 

Boomer swallowed some air and burped back.

Coyote’s ears pricked up. Was the boy offering a game? Of 

course he was! The trickster loved burping contests. But which 

belches, he asked himself, would be appropriate for a match with 

a human? Thinking for a moment, he decided to start with The 
Floater—a good choice, since his stomach was overstuffed and 

the burp didn’t require much air. Talking a small gulp, Coyote 

constricted his throat and produced a buoyant, almost silky 

belch that drifted slowly toward Boomer and dispersed politely.

“I can’t believe it,” Boomer whispered. “He burped back at 

me.” Admiringly, he said, “Wow, he’s got control...”

Frightened, Arianna tugged at Bird’s sleeve. “Come on, 

let’s get out of here. He might bite!”

“Boomer,” Hummingbird protested, “Arianna’s 

freaking out...”

The boy turned and put his finger to his lips: 

“Shhhh...not now.”

Boomer and Sam’s burping battles usually involved only 

two performance features: length and loudness. He knew he 

couldn’t match the coyote’s technique, but he could demonstrate 

his longest burp. Sam had timed it at twenty seconds! Certain 

that the coyote would approve, Boomer downed a lungful of 

air and let rip a vibrating rumble that seemed to go on forever. 

Finally, to Hummingbird and Arianna’s great relief, the burp 

crossed the twenty second finish line and stopped. Boomer 

smiled proudly.

Coyote was impressed. The burp had no finesse, but he 

liked the boy’s stamina and determination. However, to show 

the abilities of a true professional, the trickster replied with 

an “eructation”—a belch of interrupted short blasts. Requiring 

superb diaphragm support, each individual discharge of air 

was perfectly bounded; there was no bleeding of one blast into 

another. (Burping judges term this skill “bracketing.”)

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Boomer was blown away. He couldn’t wait to try that one 

on Sam! But, overcome as he was with excitement, he wasn’t 

thinking about who would teach him the burp commonly known 

among non-amateurs as the “Choo-Choo.” Realizing that the 

coyote was waiting for his response, he turned and warned 

the girls to put their hands over their ears. Then, breathing in 

deeply, he prepared for the burp that Sam called “The Howler.” 

Opening his mouth as wide as possible, Boomer emitted a 

guttural roar that would have shamed the male monkey for 

whom it was named. The burp’s only elegance was its very sharp 

and abrupt conclusion.

Coyote broke eye contact with Boomer. He turned his head 

to the side and considered the situation. Boomer had violated 

protocol by escalating the volume too quickly—but the trickster 

liked the boy’s spunk. Nonetheless, the burping code of conduct 

required him to put Boomer in his place. Few people, if any, 

knew that Coyote was responsible for the loudest sound ever 

recorded in human history. He was the source of “The Bloop”—a 

low-frequency sound detected by scientists in 1997. The U. S. 

National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) 

believed it originated in the Pacific Ocean west of the southern 

tip of South America. Most scientists believed The Bloop 

sounded more like an animal than an underwater volcano or 

earthquake, but they never offered any credible theories about 

its origin. In truth, it was the winning burp in Coyote’s contest 

with a Blue Whale.

Glancing at Hummingbird and Arianna whose presence 

complicated things, Coyote weighed his options. Finally, he 

159
settled on a soundless belch called a “Grand Silence” or “GS” 

(pronounced “gas”) that would administer discipline, but not 

punishment. A “Trickster GS” was measured on the Fugita Scale 

like a tornado. Although soundless, it registered a F0 level, the 

equivalent of a forty mile per hour wind.

As Coyote gulped air, the kids began to feel dizzy. He’d 

swallowed so much air that the garden’s barometric pressure 

had suddenly dropped. Already feeling light-headed, Arianna 

totally panicked when the coyote stood up on his back legs. She 

shrieked, “Run! He’s standing up!”

Stupidly, as if it would reassure her new friend, 

Hummingbird smiled and said, “It’s okay. He does that.”

Bird still had the silly smile on her face when they were 

struck by the gale force belch. There was no “It was like a train 

a-coming” warning—just a soundless wall of white wind that 

struck them flat on their backs. With their heads acting as 

plowshares, Hummingbird, Boomer and Arianna were shoved 

along the ground, scraping three straight furrows that halted just 

shy of the fence. The power of the tornadic gust unexpectedly 

did Aunt Chick a favor. It blasted the old paint off the fence—

preparing it for a fresh coat.

Coyote peered through the shredded squash leaves and dirt 

that drifted lazily down upon the scene. He could barely make 

out the soles of three pairs of naked human feet. Obviously, he 

had burped the kids’ shoes off. Concerned that he had used too 

much force, he trotted over to give them a sniff. First he checked 

out Hummingbird and Arianna. They were fine, just a little 

stunned. Then he turned to Boomer. With his muzzle poised 

160
over the boy’s face, Coyote examined him carefully. Apparently 

there was no harm done. Pausing to reflect, Coyote realized there 

were several things he liked about Rain’s oldest friend. Boomer 

was playful, receptive, and he managed his energy expertly. He 

thought the boy had a tendency to rush things, but understood 

that would change with maturity.

When Boomer opened his eyes, Coyote withdrew and 

returned to the squash plants. The boy blinked away the dirt 

and raised himself up on one arm. He reached over and pulled 

Arianna up to a sitting position. She brushed back her hair and 

mumbled, “What happened?”

Hummingbird, who was struggling to stand up, was 

clueless: “Whahhh, we fell down?”

Then, as the kids’ heads began to clear, their eyes focused 

on the coyote. They jumped up and bunched together, staring 

nervously at the scruffy-furred creature. Coyote remained 

standing on four legs. No need to freak them out again, he 

thought, I’m through for today. He signaled his leave-taking with 

a short “Yip!” followed by a deep and very human chuckle. Then, 

the old mischief-maker sailed over the fence and was gone.

Dancing from foot to foot, Boomer jabbed his fist in the air, 

yelling “Yes!”

Arianna stumbled backwards from Boomer. “You’re happy? 

He almost killed us!” Getting angrier, she pointed a finger at 

Bird. “And what did you mean, ‘It’s okay, he does that?’ Does 

what? Huff and puff and blow your house down?”

Boomer corrected her gently. “Uh, that was a wolf that 

huffed and puffed—not a coyote, Arianna.”

161
Arianna stared at Boomer like he was insane. Exasperated, 

she furiously started brushing the dirt off her jacket. That’s when 

she saw the rip. Her new jacket was ruined. Counting to ten, 

Arianna closed her eyes. “I knew I should have changed clothes.”

Hummingbird started to explain, but Arianna cut her off. 

“There’s something going on here you haven’t been telling me.” 

Arianna gestured wildly around the garden. “Coyotes jumping 

out of giant green things! Bur...bur...burping and...” Arianna 

took a deep breath and stopped stammering. Glaring at her 

friends, she added quietly, “And they don’t walk around on two 

legs, either.”

With all the dignity she could muster, Arianna found her 

shoes and stomped off. She hollered over her shoulder, “I’m 

going to find out what going on and I know who’s going to tell 

me! Rain that Dances!”

Boomer and Hummingbird followed her—at a distance. 

When they rounded a slight bend in the road, they saw Arianna, 

hands on hips, standing in front of two very startled young men.

Puzzled, Simon said, “Hi, Arianna, we were just coming 

over to the garden.”

“Well, someone already beat you to it. Like a coyote that 

stands up like a man? Sound familiar?”

Rain glanced at Simon. “A coyote, huh?”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Rain nodded. “Sure, Arianna. We should have told you 

before.” When Boomer and Hummingbird caught up, he added, 

“Come on. Let’s sit down. It’s kind of a long story.”

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Rain told Arianna about the day the eagle showed up at an old 

tree stump near Salt Lick Creek. “I was fishing that afternoon. 

I looked over at the old tree stump and there he was. He looked 

kinda bummed out. I thought there was something wrong—so 

I went over and looked at him up close. That’s when he started 

talking to me. He said lots of things had changed on our rez—like 

people were just sitting around and kids were playing indoors 

too much and eating junk food. All that inactivity can make 

people unhealthy—maybe even get sick with type 2 diabetes. He 

said we needed to go back to our traditions—eating the food our 

ancestors ate and working and playing the way they did. Then, 

he said he had to go, but he would be back the next day to tell me 

more stuff. That’s when I brought Boomer with me.”

“Oh, man,” Boomer said, “I remember it like it was 

yesterday. His wings were so huge! He started right off telling 

us to get moving—so we were running around and leaping and 

jumping all over the place! Remember that, RD?”

Rain laughed. “Oh, yeah. We went totally bonkers.”

“But it made him really happy,” Boomer went on. “Then 

he taught us a song about moving our bodies and played a game 

with us.”

“Didn’t you think a talking eagle was a little strange?” 

Arianna said.

“Not really,” Rain answered. “Maybe because we were little, 

it just seemed normal.”

“The next day,” Hummingbird said, “Rain brought Simon 

and me to meet the eagle. He invited this rabbit to talk to us. 

She was really cute with these big floppy ears. Mostly, she gave 

163
us the low-down on healthy fruits and vegetables.” Looking at 

Boomer, she teased, “She had a hard time with Boomer, but she 

finally convinced him.”

“Vegetables weren’t always my favorites,” Boomer admitted.

“The last day the eagle came,” Rain continued, “he brought 

the rabbit and this coyote, too.”

“Was it the same coyote that we saw today?” Arianna asked. 

Hummingbird and Boomer nodded.

“The coyote tried to trick us into eating some cookies he’d 

stolen,” Simon said. “I think he was trying to teach us about 

“tricky” snacks. Like somebody says they’re good, but they 

really aren’t.” Simon smiled at Hummingbird. “He was warning 

us in a funny way, but Bird told him off anyhow.”

“Yeah,” Bird remembered, “he said he wouldn’t trick 

us again.”

Figuring that everyone had had their say, Rain said, “After 

that, we didn’t see the animals again—not until the beginning of 

this school year.”

No longer angry, Arianna asked, “Rain, have you ever told 

anybody else about the eagle, rabbit, and coyote?”

“When we talked about the animals, our parents just 

thought we were pretending or playing. Then later as we got 

older, we realized that we had been honored by something very 

special. That’s when we stopped talking. So, yes, you’re the first 

person we’ve told.”

“Are you afraid to tell other people?”

“No. It’s not that, Arianna. And, um, it’s not like we’re the 

only ones who have this knowledge. For sure, we’re not afraid to 

164
tell people what the eagle told us.” Looking for support from the 

others, Rain said, “I think we kept it to ourselves because the 

eagle chose us for some important purpose.”

“Yeah, he picked us,” Bird said, “but we’re not really 

sure why.”

Remembering the coyote’s spying on Hummingbird, 

Simon gave Rain and Boomer a guarded look. “What was the 

coyote doing at the garden?”

Boomer couldn’t wait to tell. “Man, I wish you guys could 

have seen him! He’d been eating one of these big squashes. 

Oh, yeah, you gotta see these things. Bird made the mother of 

all fertilizers! They’re huge! Anyway, he did this big burp, so I 

burped back. We were burping back and forth...and then he just 

blew us away. It was the coolest trick in the world! Way better 

than the ‘elephant’s toothpaste!’”

Bird’s antennae went up. She turned on Boomer. “What do 

you mean better than the ‘elephant’s toothpaste?’”

Realizing he’d spilled the beans, Boomer hemmed 

and hawed.

Hummingbird was instantly suspicious. “Did the coyote 

cause the explosion? Was he tricking me into doing that 

stupid stuff?”

Rain spoke up. “The coyote was in the picture that Sammie 

took with her cell phone. He was watching you from the hill 

behind the school. He had a pair of binoculars. We would 

have told you before, but, um, we thought it just might make 

things worse.”

165
“It’s been him all along!” Hummingbird wailed. “He’s been 

tricking me...”

“He’s not always up to something bad,” Rain said, trying to 

reassure her. “He helped us before. He helped Granma. I know 

he did. He tricked the fossil poacher.”

Hummingbird went silent, contemplating her fate as 

the butt of coyote jokes. Obviously, she thought, the coyote’s 

promise not to trick them was limited to preventing diabetes. 

He felt just fine about other kinds of tricks.

Keeping an eye on Bird, Rain turned back to Arianna. 

“Anyway, now you know it all.”

“Wow, no wonder you guys know everything about type 

2 diabetes.”

“And now because of you,” Simon said, “we know about 

type 1 diabetes, too.” Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, 

he pointed toward the garden, “Ah, do you mind if we take a look 

at the plants now? I’d like to see these ‘jolly green giants.’”

166
Chapter 18

167

Thistle stopped her twirling. She fixed her eye on Chris and spoke in a low, menacing growl: 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Guarding Gardens

That night, Hummingbird and Arianna talked late into the night. 

Bird was totally whacked out about the coyote. She suspected that 

the trickster had something to do with the squashes growing so 

fast, but she wasn’t sure. The girls decided that the best thing to 

do was to check it out with Miss Swallow.

The next morning, Hummingbird stopped off at the science 

teacher’s classroom and described the miraculous growth of 

the “jolly green giants” (as Simon was now calling them). Miss 
Swallow said she’d never heard of seeds sprouting and producing 

fruit so quickly. She invited Bird to join her at her computer. 

They went web surfing.

“Well, Hummingbird. This site says giant pumpkins can 

gain thirty pounds in one day.”

“But, Miss Swallow, they were just sprouts the day before. 

Besides, the plants weren’t even from the seeds we planted. I 

don’t know what they were. The leaves looked like a squash”

Miss Swallow frowned and shook her head. She was 

stumped. “Bird, I’d like to visit your garden. I want to see these 

plants for myself.” Hummingbird and Miss Swallow agreed to 

take a trip out to Aunt Chick’s on Thursday afternoon. Miss 

Swallow wanted to photograph the plants and gather samples.

A thorough scientist, she would try to gather as much 

information as she could before the visit—which is what 

prompted her to call Alfred Badger to her desk during first period. 

Miss Swallow knew that Alfred’s father had experimented with 

various fertilizers, trying to speed up the growth of sunflowers 

and other produce that he grew commercially. “Alfred, has 

your dad ever used any fertilizer that could cause cucumbers or 

squashes to double or triple their size in just a few hours?”

Looking surprised, Alfred said, “I don’t think so, Miss 

Swallow. That sounds pretty impossible. But if there’s anything 

you want to know about manure and compost, Dad can fill 

you in.”

Miss Swallow laughed. The growth inducing properties 

of manure really wasn’t her thing. Turning on the overhead 

projector for today’s lesson, she said casually, “Actually, I’m 

168
asking because Hummingbird has been trying to grow some 

super-sized vegetables. She’s had some interesting effects from 

the fertilizer she’s using.”

Chris Sorrel, who was also in the first period science class, 

saw Alfred talking to Miss Swallow. When he returned to his 

seat, Chris leaned across the aisle and asked what the teacher 

wanted. Alfred laughed. For years he had heard his father griping 

about the Sorrels always winning the blue ribbon for the biggest 

pumpkin at the Harvest Pow-Wow. Seizing the opportunity 

to give Chris a jab, he said, “Hey, Chris, tell your dad he’s got 

competition. Hummingbird’s growing some giant pumpkins 

or something. You just might get beat this year.” Alfred smiled 

when he saw Chris’s face darken. His punch had landed.

“So, where’s she growing these pumpkins?”

Alfred decided to draw out the fun. “She and her pals have 

been hanging out at her Aunt Chick’s. They’re probably growing 

’em on her place somewhere.” Smirking, he added, “That’s 

across from our place, you know.”

Chris ignored Alfred. He would deal with him later. He also 

ignored Miss Swallow and the class’s preparation for their seed 

classification lab. All he could think about was Hummingbird. 

What was she up to now? She was like a whack-a-mole 

game. You bang her head down in one hole and she pops up 

through another!

When the bell rang, Chris rushed out into the hallway and 

headed for Tater Tot’s locker. He had a plan. He would round up 

Tater Tot and Dumptruck and they would do a little scouting at 

Aunt Chick’s after school. They’d find out what Hummingbird 

and the “Greenies” were growing.

169
Chris was almost at Tater Tot’s locker when he saw that his 

toadie had a visitor. Was that Arianna? Hummingbird’s friend? 

Chris drew back against the hallway wall and waited for the girl 

to leave. Then he slid up silently behind Tater.

“What are you doing with little Miss Ding-Ding?”

Tater Tot didn’t look at Chris. He finished arranging the 

stuff in his locker. Then he pulled out his lunch bag and slammed 

the door shut. Looking up he said in a quiet voice, “She’s wants 

to show some of my drawings to Mrs. Corn. They’re looking for 

somebody to do cartoons for the Thunderbird.”

“I got something for us to do this afternoon. And it’s not 

any of your cruddy drawing. You better be there.”

“Sorry. My mom’s coming to get me. I won’t be around.”

“Don’t be running out on me again, Tater,” Chris threatened. 

“Not like you did before.”

Chris turned away and tramped to the lunchroom looking 

for Dumptruck. He wasn’t there. For once, his frequent inhouse suspension was not a bad thing. Chris would have to do 

his dirty work on this own.

That afternoon, Chris got off the school bus two stops early. 

He turned down Old Agency Road and headed toward Alfred’s 

house. He passed by a few horses and cows he guessed belonged 

to Aunt Chick. Their pasture showed no evidence of giant 

pumpkins. Nor did the yellowing fields of dried corn stalks 

reveal any garden patches. Puzzled, Chris stopped and looked 

around, waving off swarms of gnats that flitted about in the late 

170
day sun. Where was Hummingbird hiding the pumpkins? That’s 

when he spied the red fence behind Aunt Chick’s old ranch 

house. He headed in that direction.

Sky Heart had been curiously watching Chris from a nearby 

power pole. Being suspicious of the boy, the eagle flapped 

into the still air and flew toward the fence. Circling above, he 

looked down into the garden. Were those big blobs what Chris 

had come to see? Maybe Thistle knew something about them. 

He banked away and flew the short distance to Thistle’s nest. 

Landing in front of her brushy house, the eagle rustled his 

wings, announcing his presence.

Thistle called out to him from inside her enclosure. “Give 

me a moment, Sky Heart.”

“Thistle, please hurry. It’s the boy, Chris. He’s headed 

toward Hummingbird’s garden. I thought you ought to know.”

Thistle’s head popped out from the nest. “You mean 

Coyote’s garden, don’t you? Did you see the big green fruits?” 

When Sky Heart nodded, she went on. “They’re coyote squash. 

He grew them for his own eating. Ohh, he’s up to tricks. You 

should have seen him having fun with Hummingbird and her 

friends yesterday.”

“Something tells me Chris is up to no good.”

“Gardens are my territory, Sky Heart. I’ll go down there and 

see what’s going on. Watch the bunnies—they shouldn’t be much 

trouble. They’re sleeping. Oh, and back me up if I need it.”

By the time Thistle had hopped down the hill, Chris was 

peering in the windows of the shed. Because the small building 

couldn’t be seen from Aunt Chick’s house, Chris had no fear of 

discovery. He pushed open the door and glanced inside. The 

171
work table immediately drew his attention. He made a quick 

inventory of the equipment and plant nutrients. However, it 

was the stack of articles on growing giant vegetables that told 

the tale. Chris rummaged through the photocopies quickly. So, 

he thought, she’s not just interested in pumpkins—she’s trying 

to grow everything big!

Chris stomped out of the shed. This wasn’t turning out the 

way he’d planned. When he put people down, they stayed down! 

Foul as his mood was, it wasn’t as bad as a disgusting smell that 

seemed to be coming from the area enclosed by the red fence. 

Pinching his nostrils, Chris headed for the garden. Tiring 

quickly of the gate’s tug-of war, he kicked it open. At first, all 

he could see was “green.” Then the stink hit him. Chris gagged. 

The plants reeked like a locker room of stinky socks and sewage.

Despite the tangle of pointy triangular leaves that would 

have discouraged most intruders, Chris pushed his way into 

the dense growth. In the 24 hours since “the big burp-off,” the 

plants had taken over the garden. Chris discovered the gravel 

path around the vegetable patch and followed it. He came upon 

some crushed leaves that looked like an animal’s bed and the 

empty skin of the squash Coyote had eaten. Beside it, another 

huge green-striped globe had taken its place. Chris squatted 

down to examine it. It reminded him of a gourd, but its size was 

awesome! But, true to his nature, Chris’s sense of fascination 

and wonder was soon overcome by envy and resentment. The 

gourd (or whatever it was) was twice as big as anything his family 

had grown. Hummingbird, that stupid girl, had discovered a way 

to win every giant pumpkin contest in the world!

172
His heart thumping, Chris crashed about in the jungle 

growth, looking for something that he could use to smash the 

monster fruit/veg. He found an old ax handle leaning up against 

the fence. He picked it up and slapped it against his open palm. 

This would work fine. He would pulverize her giants!

A sudden movement in the undergrowth alerted Chris 

that he wasn’t alone. Watchfully, he made his way back to his 

intended target. He was very surprised, to say the least, to 

discover a rabbit sitting on top of it. Waving his arms, Chris 

yelled, “Shoo!” But Thistle didn’t budge. She just stared at him.

Somewhat unsettled by this unusual behavior, Chris 

hesitated. Chiding himself, he thought, So, you’re afraid of 

rabbit now? Chris sniggered, “Okay, bunny-wabbit. Stay where 

you are and get whacked!” He raised the ax handle.

Thistle stood up on her hind legs and waved her paws 

over her head. Then she began to turn in a circle. The old girl 

hadn’t pulled a trick in many a year. She was rusty, but she still 

had the memory. She just needed a minute to get her trickster 

“groove on.”

Chris’s mouth fell open. Was she dancing?

Thistle stopped her twirling. She fixed her eye on Chris 

and spoke in a low, menacing growl: “I wouldn’t do that if I 

were you.” Scared silly, Chris staggered backwards and fell into 

a dank nest of leaves. Dropping the ax handle, he clutched at a 

mass of tendrils and stems, trying to pull himself up. The hairs 

on the stem’s rough surface chafed against his face and arms, 

already damp with sweat. He began to itch madly.

173
Gaining his feet, Chris bolted for the gate. Once he had 

escaped the garden, he tugged off his shirt and slapped it wildly 

at his arms, trying to remove the prickly hairs. But they only 

burrowed deeper into his skin. Hollering gibberish, Chris 

ran like a crazy man toward the road, wriggling and pawing at 

his face.

Thistle hopped over to the fence post where Sky Heart had 

perched, observing the whole performance. Looking up, she 

said, “Is he gone?”

Sky Heart nodded. “Running like a turkey. Sorry, I left the 

nest. I thought he might hurt you.”

“Oh, Sky Heart,” Thistle said, “you know I have a few tricks 

up my sleeve.”

Still watching Chris, the eagle observed Thistle in his side 

vision. He smiled. “So, you used your power, Thistle. It’s been a 

long time.”

“Yes, I didn’t want him to destroy the squashes. But, 

all I could manage was a scary voice.” “And,” she giggled, “an 

itchy rash.”

“A bad rash?”

“No, it’ll be gone in an hour. My power is weak, Sky Heart. 

Chris ran away, but the effect won’t last. He’ll be back.”

Pointing to her left ear, Sky Heart said, “Your power may be 

stronger than you think.”

Thistle reached up and felt her ear. It was standing up 

straight. Laughing, she said, “Ahh, the old power. I’m a wild 

rabbit now...”

174
Chapter 19

175

Yellow flesh, seeds, and liquid sprayed from the gigantic wounds that Chris inflicted 

on the young behemoth.

Pulp and Seeds

The next morning at school Chris stood staring at his reflection 

in a mirror in the boy’s restroom. He squeezed a small dollop 

of cortisone cream on his finger and dabbed it on the reddened 

skin under each eye. Thankfully, the itching had gone away after 

a shower, but his eyes looked like he’d been crying. Chris tried 

out several tough-guy faces in the mirror. He’d dare anybody to 

say anything about his weepy eyes.
When Thistle’s little whammy had worn off the night 

before, Chris’s bravado had returned. He convinced himself 

that the talking rabbit was the result of a bad bologna sandwich 

he’d eaten for lunch. Determined to smash Hummingbird’s 

garden, he recruited his brother, Melvin, who was only too glad 

to lend a hand. Now he just needed some help from his toadies.

Tater Tot was nowhere to be found, but Chris managed to 

rope in the unlucky Dumptruck. His other recruit was Freddie, 

a sometimes toad that was scared to death of Melvin and Jesse. 

Chris had originally tapped Lester, but he had the misfortune to 

ask “Who died?”—pointing to a tear rolling down Chris’s face.

Immediately after school, Melvin picked up the “demolition” 

crew and they drove out to Aunt Chick’s property. Chris wanted 

to get there first before Hummingbird or any of her friends. 

Melvin parked his truck behind a stand of cottonwoods, and 

gave each boy a baseball bat. The trespassers approached the 

garden along a little rise behind it, rather than from the road. 

They actually passed within ten feet of Thistle’s nest. Chris didn’t 

bother to tell Dump and Freddie why they were destroying the 

plants—only that he wanted them gone. As they drew nearer to 

the garden, Freddie said, “Do you smell something funky?”

Dumptruck laughed and whispered, “I thought it 

was Melvin.”

Freddie started to laugh, but stifled it. Keeping an eye on 

Chris and his brother, he whispered back, “Hey, Big D, I wonder 

what we’re gonna do with these bats. Do you think we could get 

in trouble?”

176
“Yeah, maybe.”

The two reluctant vandals saw Chris up ahead, standing 

beside the garden gate. He waited for them to catch up. “Okay, 

there’s a bunch of super-stinky plants in there. Some kind of 

really big squash or gourd. We’re going to find every one and 

beat ’em to a pulp. Got it?”

Freddie stood up on his toes, trying to see over the fence. 

“Yeah, I guess. What’s Melvin doing at that shed?”

Chris laughed, “Don’t ask.” Just then, the boys heard the 

sound of shattering glass and banging metal.

Freddie asked anyway, “That must be Melvin, huh?” Chris 

ignored him. He was squirting a tube of white cream on his face.

“What are you doing that for?” Dumptruck wanted to know.

Rolling down his sleeves, Chris smirked. “Don’t worry 

about it. Come on.”

The boys followed Chris into the garden. It wasn’t hard to 

spot the squashes. Overnight they had continued to grow. Each 

one must have weighed 300 pounds. Chris began pounding on 

one that was growing near the gate. Its shell was immature and 

still tender. Yellow flesh, seeds, and liquid sprayed from the 

gigantic wounds that Chris inflicted on the young behemoth.

Dumptruck and Freddie followed Chris’s example. Over 

the next thirty minutes, they battered, hammered, and crushed. 

Occasionally they heard loud thumping and what sounded like 

splintering wood coming from the shed.

When they had finished liquefying the squashes, Melvin 

joined them to complete the job. Holding up an ax he found in 

the shed, he said, “Okay, who wants to chop up the vines?”

177
Chris pointed at Dumptruck, “He does.”

Panting and wiping sweat off his forehead, Dumptruck 

reached for the ax. “Okay, give it to me.”

“Say, please,” Melvin grinned.

Dumptruck gritted his teeth. “Please.”

The bigger boy shoved the ax at him. Dumptruck glanced 

away and started chopping at the vines with a vengeance. He 

didn’t want Melvin to see the tears of humiliation in his eyes. 

Then, Chris, Melvin and Freddie provided the final insult by 

stomping the leaves into the ground. An appalling stench rose 

from the crushed greenery. It grabbed the back of the throat like 

something dead.

Dumptruck was still hacking at a couple of vines when 

he realized that the others had stopped. He looked up. “Are 

we done?”

Melvin laughed. “Yeah, we’re done. Hummingbird’s 

squashes won’t be winning any ribbons this year!” The brothers 

gave each other a fist bump. It was a great day for bullies.

The boys rounded up their baseball bats and headed back to 

Melvin’s truck. Dumptruck tramped along with his head down. 

He said nothing, but his mind and spirit were anything but 

quiet. Riding in the back of Melvin’s pick-up, he realized that 

something important had happened back there in the garden. 

A metamorphosis had begun. He didn’t really understand how 

he had become a toadie, but he was sure of one thing. He didn’t 

want to be one anymore.

178
Yesterday, Hummingbird and Arianna had raced to get 

to the garden. But today they weren’t exactly eager —not since 

running into the coyote. However, Bird reminded Arianna they 

should check out the plants since Miss Swallow would be making 

a visit tomorrow.

Leaving the house, Arianna teased Hummingbird. “Yeah, 

Bird, ‘how does your garden grow?’ Did you hear any ‘silver 

bells’ or see some ‘cockle shells?’”

“No, just some burps and blobs!”

Arianna laughed, but got serious. “Will Miss Swallow be 

able to tell if the fertilizer had anything to do with them getting 

so big?”

“Maybe,” Hummingbird said. “But none of our unfertilized 

seeds sprouted overnight. That makes me think it’s all the 

coyote’s work.”

Caught up in their chatter, the girls had not noticed the 

paper that was blowing about in Aunt Chick’s pasture—not until 

a sheet blew up against Arianna’s foot. She picked it up. “Look, 

Bird, this is a page from that article on growing giant carrots.”

“That’s weird. How did it get out here?” Alarmed, the girls 

ran the rest of the way to the shed. The door was standing open. 

Hummingbird glanced at Arianna: “I thought we shut the door.”

They peeked fearfully in the doorway. The destruction was 

almost complete. Windows were broken, the worktable was 

turned over, and bags of soil and fertilizer covered everything 

in white and brown dust. Even Boo’s new shelves were hacked 

off the wall. What really hurt was the pile of debris on the floor 

179
that had once been the equipment that Miss Swallow donated 

and the pots of unfertilized seeds. There was nothing left of 

their laboratory.

Arianna was crushed. “Who could have done this?” She 

crept cautiously into the shed, being careful not to step on any 

broken glass or nails.

Hummingbird didn’t follow; she was already running 

toward the garden. Arianna was tip-toeing out of the shed, 

when she heard Bird crying: “Arianna! Arianna!” She dashed 

to her friend, but staggered to a sudden stop. The sight before 

her eyes was like nothing she’d ever seen before. Nothing was 

recognizable. The mysterious and miraculous squashes were no 

more. The garden looked like a salad that had been through a 

blender. A rotten salad that stunk to high heaven.

Arianna pulled on Hummingbird’s arm. But she didn’t 

move. “Come on, Bird. Let’s get out of here! Whoever did this 

might still be around. Something bad has happened.”

Finally, Hummingbird backed out of the garden. She 

mumbled, “We better tell Aunt Chick.” The girls hurried to the 

ranch house, but no one was home. Obviously, Chick hadn’t 

been around to notice any trespassers.

The girls slowly walked home, totally depressed. At one 

point, Hummingbird started crying—which made Arianna start 

crying, too. When they got to the house, Bird told her mother 

and father what had happened. Tom immediately phoned 

the Tribal police to report the vandalism. When he hung up, 

Arianna called Rain, Boomer and Simon. She told them that the 

laboratory and the squashes were history.

180
Sky Heart, of course, saw the attack and had flown 

immediately to alert Coyote.

The eagle searched for him in his usual hangouts, but he 

wasn’t anywhere to be found. Sky Heart abandoned the hills 

and began looking closer to town. He finally found the trickster 

mouse-hunting near a dumpster in back of the Tribal college.

“Thanks, Sky Heart, that wing-flapping scared off 

my snack.”

“Sorry, but I thought you would want to know. Melvin and 

Chris just wiped out your big squashes.”

Without even a “What?” the joking rodent hunter suddenly 

transformed before Sky Heart’s eyes. Furious that his squashes 

had been so insulted, he bristled into a spikey hair ball. (For 

a moment, the eagle thought that Coyote had turned into a 

porcupine.) Then, ears flattened and eyes burning, he reached 

for his power and disappeared in a blinding streak of light...

Following a furry bullet isn’t that simple. Sky Heart had to 

gain some altitude before he could make out the trickster’s path. 

In places, it actually smoked! However, when the eagle arrived 

at the garden, he found Coyote quietly squatting in the middle 

of the green chaos.

Watching the eagle find a perch, Coyote laughed. “What 

took you so long?”

“I didn’t think I’d find you laughing, Trickster.”

“I don’t like humans interfering with my business. But 

when they do mess with me, I find that I do my best work.” Very 

181
slowly, he added: “That makes me very happy.” Coyote sniffed 

the air. “Somebody has played a little joke here, and it wasn’t 

me.” He looked at Sky Heart quizzically.

“You mean the stink?” the eagle asked.

“Stink? You offend me, Eagle. I invented that perfume. It’s 

why the plant bears my name. I prefer coyote squash, but you 

may have heard it called coyote gourd—or maybe even stinking 

buffalo gourd. It’s all the same. I wanted something that would 

draw flies, but repel grasshoppers.” He sniffed again. “But I’m 

getting off the point. No, I was talking about a trickster joke.”

“Oh, that was Thistle. She tried to drive off Chris yesterday 

when he tried to smash a squash. It worked—but only for a short 

time. He came back with his brother and two other boys.”

“I’ll stop by and thank her before I leave. Now I must begin. 

Good thing I didn’t eat that mouse.”

Sky Heart didn’t know what Coyote meant—not until he 

waded into the lagoon of what looked like baby food spinach, and 

began his meal. The trickster stuck his nose into the glop that 

had once been his beautiful garden and began to eat the squash 

roots still anchored in the ground. He also snuffled around for 

any seeds he could find. He didn’t want to miss any of those.

Sky Heart watched him slurping along for several minutes. 

But Coyote’s lip-smacking and burps (and other noises we 

won’t mention) proved to be too revolting for the bird. He soon 

retreated to Thistle’s nest.

Before long, Sky Heart and Thistle heard a sloshing, 

gurgling rumble that sounded like a waterbed in an earthquake. 

It was Coyote dragging his swollen body up the hill. Even though 

182
the noise he made was disgusting, it was his appearance that 

made their eyes pop. He looked like a big undulating tick.

“Need any help?” Sky Heart offered.

“No, I got it,” Coyote panted. “I just need to lie down a bit. 

So I can digest.” Flopping down with a groan, he turned over on 

his back, breathing laboriously. Thistle hopped over to assist. 

“Here, sit up, Coyote.” He raised himself up and she patted him 

on the back until he rewarded her with two mega-burps.

Lying back down, he thanked her. “Ahh, that was a serious 

burp—not recreational. I feel much better.” Breathing more 

easily, he said proudly, “I got it all: roots, vines, pulp and seeds.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Thistle wanted to know.

Holding his gut, he grinned and said, “Make a mountain 

for Hummingbird. I’ll plant the seeds with my own fertilizer.”

Thistle screwed up her nose. “Eewww, that’s gross.”

Sky Heart jumped in. “No, it isn’t Thistle. My bird relatives, 

the seed-eaters, do it all the time. Some plants depend on us to 

spread their seeds that way.”

Coyote’s gut suddenly emitted a high-pitched whine that 

caused them all to stop talking. Looking down at his stomach 

with satisfaction, the trickster said, “We do what we have to.” 

Then he added, “Besides, Thistle, rabbits re-cycle nutrients 

from their pellets all the time. You shouldn’t be criticizing....”

Thistle cut him off sharply. “Let’s not go there, please! 

That’s private rabbit business.”

Coyote started to get irritated, but Sky Heart intervened. 

“She’s just prissy sometimes, Coyote. Forget it.”

183
The trickster’s annoyance passed and he said. “Thank you, 

Thistle, for trying to protect the garden. Teasing a bit, he added, 

“I noticed that you used your power.”

“Well, it wasn’t much,” she said, blushing under her fur. 

Then recovering herself, she said loudly, “I don’t know what 

your game is, Coyote, but I know you do things for a reason. 

Those boys had no right to mess with that squash!”

“I agree. Chris and Melvin made a big mistake,” Coyote 

smiled toothily.

Noticing that the sun was going down, Sky Heart said, “You 

better get going if you are going to do any planting this evening.”

Coyote said, “So true, my friend.” He hiccupped and 

burped one more time; then whispered, “Later!” and was 

gone. A bit wobbly at first, he soon found his legs. He swung 

into an awkward, but steady gait that put him at the foothills to 

Shell Ridge in no time. He headed to an area he knew had tree 

cover and water. It wasn’t difficult to find a concealed spot that 

provided at least six hours of sunshine every day.

Coyote began to scratch up the ground cover. He loosened 

the soil to at least four inches and then began to make his deposits. 

He pooped out the seeds at one foot intervals, making sure they 

would not crowd each other. Satisfied with the precision of his 

scat, Coyote raked dirt over the fertilized seeds with his paw. 

Remembering his promise to share with Hummingbird, he 

scratched “a burr from his fur” and planted it with one of the 

seeds. Now, it would sprout as “Hummingbird’s Squash.”

184
He sat down next to the neat rows of freshly mounded soil. 

Now that his gut was empty, Coyote felt revitalized. In fact, he felt 

like singing. He warmed up with a few yips and howls. Finding 

his voice, he sang and sang coyote songs long into the night. 

Growing tired, he stopped and took a short snooze. Waking 

refreshed, he started singing again and was still singing when 

the sun came up the next morning.

The seeds heard him.

185

“Need any help?” Sky Heart offered. “No, I got it,” Coyote panted. “I just need 

to lie down a bit. So I can digest.”

Chapter 20

189

Coyote had become a buzzing cloud in which it was impossible to predict where or when he was. 

From inside the swirling uncertainty came the sound of wild cackling and the trickster’s conjure, 

“put everything back the way it was.”

Back the Way it Was

Wednesday started out weird and it kept getting weirder as the 

day went on. Not long after the first bell, an unusual morning 

storm rolled through Thunder Rock that shorted out the school’s 

electrical system. The sky grew so black that the hallways were 

almost completely dark. For safety’s sake, the teachers were told 

to keep the kids in homeroom until the storm passed.
Dumptruck sat in his desk, only half conscious of the 

downpour hammering the roof. He vaguely noticed that Mr. 

Braun was lowering the blinds, but paid no mind until he heard 

hailstones crashing against the windows. Now, the gray light 

that edged the blinds barely illuminated the classroom. Gee, he 

thought, it’s really dark in here. Taking advantage of the extra 

time in homeroom, Dumptruck slipped over to an empty desk 

beside Tater Tot. As usual, the red-headed boy was drawing—

even in the dark.

“Hey, Tater. Where ya been?”

“Around. Staying out of Chris’s way mostly.”

“Yeah, I figured. I heard he gave you a hard time ’bout 

talking to that Arianna girl.”

“Word gets around.”

“Look, ah, I’ve been thinking. About this stuff we’ve been 

doing for Chris.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “I 

wanna get out of it.”

Tater Tot stopped his doodling. Dumptruck had got his 

attention. “How?”

“I don’t know yet. But something tells me you don’t like 

it either...I thought maybe we could work on it together. You 

know, two heads better than one?”

Tater Tot nodded. He was interested.

“Um, so what is Arianna like? I mean, after you apologized 

and all?”

Tater Tot was puzzled by Dumptruck’s questions, but he 

answered anyway. “I just talked to her a couple of times. She’s 

was pretty nice to me. She lives with Hummingbird.”

190
At the mention of Hummingbird’s name, Dumptruck 

looked away. “You know, Chris has really got it in for Bird...and 

Simon. But, I don’t think he’ll tangle with RD and Boomer. So, 

I’m thinking tha...”

A crack of lighting and thunder boomed right over the 

school. Mr. Braun looked up nervously at the rattling ceiling 

tiles. He directed the kids sitting near the windows to move to 

the other side of the room.

Tater Tot didn’t have to be convinced. “Man, that lightning 

was close.” He followed Dumptruck back to his desk and took 

the empty seat next to him.

Dumptruck lowered his voice even further. “So, like I was 

saying, I’m thinking maybe we should team up with RD and 

his friends.”

“But, man, we’ve been messin’ with those guys. They don’t 

want anything to do with us.”

“Tater, I know everybody thinks I’m dumb. But I’m gettin’ 

smarter all the time. Look, who do we know that didn’t bow 

down to Chris...and lived?”

Tater Tot didn’t have to think about it. He replied 

immediately, “RD, Boomer, and Simon.”

“Right. They kept their cool. Acted like he was being funny. 

It made Chris nervous, didn’t it? They didn’t run either. And no 

matter how much we dog Simon, he doesn’t freak out.” Leaning 

in closer to Tater Tot, Dumptruck added, “Besides, they’re best 

friends with Hummingbird.”

191
“So?”

“So like...” Dumptruck took in a deep breath and blew it 

forcibly out his nose— like he was purging a bad thought from 

his head. “I’ve done something really bad to Bird. If I can square 

things with her—then maybe we can make friends with the guys. 

She might even help us.”

Tater frowned. “Like what? What have you done?”

Dumptruck confessed his part in the attack on the garden. 

He gave Tater Tot the lowdown on Melvin breaking up the shed 

and Chris getting him and Freddie to help him destroy the giant 

squashes. Finishing his tale, Big D said, “Man, you never seen a 

bigger mess...or smelled anything so bad!”

Tater Tot had listened avidly, his eyes getting bigger as the 

story went on. He even made Dumptruck tell him about the 

giant squashes again—they were cool. But the story made him 

uneasy. What if somebody called the police? Knowing that Chris 

had been looking for him the day before, Tater panicked, “Oh 

man, if this gets out, I hope nobody thinks I did it!”

Trying to assure his friend, Dumptruck said, “Don’t worry, 

Tater, I’d tell’em you’re innocent.”

Suddenly the lights came back on. The class whistled and 

clapped their hands. Kids started stirring about, gathering up 

their things. Dumptruck hurried to get his point across to Tater 

Tot before the bell rang. “Tater, we got to change sides on this 

thing. I want it to be the way it used to be—before we were doing 

all this bully stuff. I got to make this up to Bird... somehow. So, 

you think Arianna could help me?”

192
“What do you want her to do? Besides, you did that “dingding” thing on her.”

“Well, you did it, too! Anyway...I want her to get 

Hummingbird to talk to me.”

Tater’s mouth fell open. “You’re not gonna tell Bird what 

you did, are you?”

“Yeah, I am. I know it’s crazy.”

Tater Tot thought about it, but only for a second. “Well, 

okay. I guess we’re both crazy. I don’t wanna take orders from 

Chris anymore, either. I’ll find Arianna.”

Dumptruck pointed to the window. “Hey, look, Tater. The 

sun’s out.”

It Tater Tot had gone looking for Arianna when the storm 

hit, he would have found her in Miss Swallow’s room—with 

Hummingbird. When the lights went out, Miss Swallow told 

everyone to just sit tight. Going on with business as usual, she 

called the roll and filled out the absentee slips. Writing in the 

dark wasn’t easy, but she was reasonably sure she hadn’t botched 

it too badly. Certain that Hummingbird and Arianna had come 

to give her an update on their plants, Miss Swallow made her 

way toward them in the darkened room. “So, tell me about your 

fast growing veggies, girls...how big are they now?”

When there was no reply, Miss Swallow strained her eyes 

toward the dim outline of the two girls. “Bird, did you hear me? 

Is there something wrong?”

193
A small voice answered: “Everything’s wrong, Miss Swallow. 

Somebody smashed them. The garden is ruined.”

“Yeah, and they tore up the shed, too,” Arianna added. 

“We’d set up the lab already. They broke everything—even the 

stuff you gave us.”

Miss Swallow’s attempt to ask more questions was lost in 

a crash of thunder and the continuous rumbling that followed. 

Whether it was because of the darkness or her inability to get 

more information (if only temporarily), Miss Swallow felt totally 

frustrated, even disoriented, by what she’d heard. Thinking 

about the bully attack on Arianna, she felt certain that the girls 

were being targeted again.

When the lights came back on, Miss Swallow tried to offer 

a more positive face to the girls. “Bird, I was hoping that I could 

get some photos of your squashes, but now that they’re gone, 

let’s see what we can re-grow from what’s left. There must be 

some roots or seeds. We’ll go to the garden tomorrow and see 

what we can find.”

Miss Swallow’s words, however, offered no comfort to 

Hummingbird. She was ready to hang it up. That afternoon, 

when she and Arianna returned to the scene of the crime, 

Hummingbird started chucking everything in the shed into a big 

pile. She refused to consider anything that could be salvaged. 

Although Arianna agreed that they should clean up the mess, 

she didn’t agree that they should abandon the project.

194
“Please, Bird, at least wait until Miss Swallow checks it out. 

You shouldn’t throw away stuff that’s still good. She said there 

might be some roots or seeds that could be saved.”

Handing Arianna a dust mask like the one she was wearing, 

Hummingbird said, “Look, Arianna, this was probably all some 

big trick of the coyote’s. He’s probably laughing his tail off right 

now. This was all a big mistake.”

Arianna slipped the mask over her face. Now both girls 

sounded like they were talking from the bottom of a paper sack. 

“But Rain said that the coyote doesn’t always pull bad tricks. 

Sometimes he helps.”

“Like he helped me blow up Mr. Pence, get suspended, and 

kicked out of the science fair? He wasn’t staring at me through 

those binoculars for nothing, you know!”

“But, Bird, that’s when you thought of the giant vegetables. 

You might not have ever thought of growing them if he hadn’t...”

Hummingbird interrupted. “Sure, he made me do that, 

too! Just so he could eat them. For Pete’s sake, Arianna, the 

coyote probably tore up the big squashes himself!

“If he wanted to eat the squashes,” Arianna said logically, 

“why would he destroy them?”

Hummingbird shrugged. “Well...I guess you’re right. That 

doesn’t make sense.”

Suddenly, Arianna made a discovery. “Look over here, 

Bird, under Simon’s bubble wrap. It’s some of the pots you 

didn’t fertilize. They’ve sprouted! See their little leaves. Come 

on, Bird. Let’s plant them in the cold frames!”

195
Hummingbird paused to think. Maybe Arianna was right. 

They shouldn’t totally abandon the seedlings or the idea of the 

giant vegetables. Giving in a little bit, she said, “Sure. We might 

as well give the seedlings a chance. But I’m not starting any 

more giant vegetables—not this season anyway.” To make her 

point, she emptied the remains of her fast-grow formula behind 

the shed. “If there are some seeds left, fine. Miss Swallow can 

collect them. Right now, let’s just clean up and put everything 

back the way it was.”

Arianna rescued eight seedlings that had managed to 

survive Melvin’s wreckage. A couple of the little plants had 

spilled out onto the floor, but she tenderly pressed them back 

into their fiber pots. While Hummingbird continued her 

sweeping, Arianna transplanted the little cabbages, turnips, 

and carrots into the cold frames. When she returned to the 

shed, Hummingbird had bagged most of the rubble. The place 

looked better, but not good.

Hummingbird switched off the light (at least something 

still worked) and the girls went outside to wash their hands. 

They didn’t know that the spigot was one of Coyote’s watering 

holes. He had been drinking from the hose when they had 

arrived at the shed. Coyote had heard everything they said.

196
The trickster watched the girls wash up and brush off each 

other’s clothes. When they left, he waited impatiently as their 

silhouettes disappeared across the pasture. The sun was going 

down and twilight was fast approaching. The trickster trotted 

over to the cold frames and lifted the lid from one of them. 

Although he had excellent night vision, he was glad there was 

still some remaining light in the day. He wanted to make his 

selection carefully. After examining the characteristics of each 

seedling in detail, he chose a turnip. He pulled the seedling 

from its fiber pot and carried it into the shed. There he found 

one of the half-filled bags of dirt that Arianna saved from the 

garbage pile. Nestling the seedling into it, Coyote shaped the 

plastic bagging around it like a pot. Then, he placed it on the 

work table.

Coyote sat down on his haunches and considered what 

the girls had said. So, he thought, Hummingbird knows I had 

something to do with the ‘elephant’s toothpaste’ explosion. 

Hmmm, someone is clever. He scowled. It annoyed him when 

humans figured out what he was doing.

However, his irritation passed when he reflected on what 

Thistle had said. Maybe he was being too tough on Hummingbird. 

Too many “tricks” and not enough “treats?” Well, he would give 

her a treat (a tricky treat, of course). Yes, a great understanding 

that would put her ambitions and the giant vegetables in perfect 

perspective. And he would use her own words to do it.

197
Coyote got up and trotted to the work table. He stared at 

the little turnip. Although its origins were far from this land, it 

would do fine for his purposes. Coyote’s powers were great.

He took a deep breath and began to walk slowly backwards 

around the table. After four rounds, he picked up the pace—

and the walk became a run. After sixteen rounds, the run had 

become a blur. After that, there was no counting. Coyote had 

become a buzzing cloud in which it was impossible to predict 

where or when he was. From inside the swirling uncertainty 

came the sound of wild cackling and the trickster’s conjure, 

“put everything back the way it was.”

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Chapter 21

199

Scooping up a small amount of soil, she examined it carefully, looking for evidence of animal 

or plant life. Strangely, she didn’t see any fungus filaments, insect debris, or even the casting 

of an earthworm.

Green Ancestors

Ms. Swallow came running up the hall. “Sorry, girls. I hope you 

haven’t been waiting long.”

The science teacher unlocked the door to her classroom. 

“Come on in. I’ll be just a minute.” The last hour of the school 

day was Miss Swallow’s planning period. As chair of the new 

Anti-Bullying Committee, she had set up some time with Mr. 

Berry to discuss the training for teachers scheduled next week. 
They had gotten into the details about teacher responsibilities 

and lost track of time.

Miss Swallow disappeared into the lab storeroom; when 

she emerged she had a botany field kit tucked under her arm. 

Grabbing her sweater and purse, she announced, “Okay, let’s 

go see what kind of plants you were growing...and collect 

some seeds.”

On the way over to Aunt Chick’s in her old station wagon, 

Miss Swallow quizzed the girls about who might have vandalized 

the garden. Naturally, Hummingbird thought of Chris, but she 

didn’t say anything. How could she prove it? Turning up the 

road to the old ranch house, they saw Aunt Chick pulling some 

sheets off the clothesline in the backyard.

Miss Swallow pulled the car over and leaned her head out 

the driver’s window. “Hi, Chick! We’re going to take a look at 

what’s left of the garden.”

Hummingbird’s aunt stuffed the sheets in a laundry basket, 

and walked over to the car. She leaned down and greeted Miss 

Swallow and the girls. “Go on up and check it out. I haven’t 

been to the garden myself, but I did see the shed. I can’t believe 

somebody would do that.” Looking at Hummingbird, she said, 

“An officer from the Neighborhood Watch came out. He said 

your dad called. I think he took some pictures.” Turning back to 

Miss Swallow, she said, “Come by and visit when you’re done.”

Miss Swallow parked the car in back of the house and they 

walked the quarter mile to the garden. As they drew near the 

red fence, Arianna warned Miss Swallow about the smell: “The 

200
whole place stinks really bad—like somebody who never takes 

a bath.”

Miss Swallow took out her notebook and wrote a note about 

the odor. “Sounds like a stinking buffalo gourd.” Looking over 

at Hummingbird, she asked, “You didn’t plant any gourd seeds, 

did you?”

“No, just turnips, carrots, and cabbage.”

Sniffing the air, she said, “Well, I don’t smell anything now.”

“Don’t worry. You will!”

The girls dramatically pulled open the gate as if to say, 

‘Okay! Get Ready!’ Miss Swallow stepped inside. What she saw 

produced no gasp of dismay or even a minor “Yuk.” Her reaction 

was a flat “I don’t understand.”

The girls stepped around Miss Swallow. Bewilderment 

couldn’t describe their expressions. Arianna mumbled, 

“Where’s the green stuff?” The garden looked like a parking 

lot on the moon. The dirt was so smooth it must have been 

vacuumed—or better yet, buffed with a floor sander. Surely, 

nothing had grown here in a hundred years.

Hummingbird recovered first. She raised her eyebrows 

and silently mouthed one word at Arianna: coyote.

Miss Swallow turned and asked, “Did somebody clean up 

the garden?”

Hummingbird said, “We didn’t hear about it if they did.”

“I’m sorry, girls. It will be really hard to prove that this 

garden was vandalized...or that anything grew here at all. Let 

me see what I can find.” Miss Swallow walked slowly toward 

the center of the garden, carefully scanning the surface for any 

201
remnants of crushed leaves, stems, roots, or seeds. She saw 

nothing. Next, she took her field kit off her shoulder and squatted 

down. She removed a small leather case from the kit and pulled 

out a loupe. Scooping up a small amount of soil, she examined it 

carefully, looking for evidence of animal or plant life. Strangely, 

she didn’t see any fungus filaments, insect debris, or even the 

casting of an earthworm. Miss Swallow stood up and called the 

girls over. Shaking her head, she said, “I’ve never seen anything 

like this. This soil looks completely dead.”

“It sure wasn’t dead day before yesterday,” Arianna said.

Baffled, Miss Swallow sighed, “Sorry, I don’t have any 

answers to this. Why don’t you show me the shed?”

Hummingbird nodded and led the way. As they walked 

the short distance to the little building, Miss Swallow began to 

speculate about the destruction of the garden. “Girls, my biggest 

question is why anybody would be interested in destroying the 

giant squashes. I’m just disappointed I didn’t get to see them. 

I’m going to call the Neighborhood Watch and ask that officer to 

email me his photos.”

Miss Swallow chattered on, talking about possible ways 

soil can be sterilized. But Hummingbird wasn’t listening. She 

knew of only one person who would be mean enough to destroy 

the giant squashes—Chris. But Chris couldn’t have turned the 

garden into a desert. Only the coyote could have pulled off that 

stunt. Lost in these thoughts, Bird led the little party to the shed 

door and started to push it open. But she suddenly stopped.

Miss Swallow said, “Bird? Is something wrong?”

202
“Yes...well, no, not wrong. It’s just...” Turning to look at 

the teacher, Hummingbird said, “Miss Swallow, it’s just that 

every time we open this door or go through the garden gate, it’s 

like there’s something on the other side that’s jumping out at us. 

Like a jack-in-the-box.”

Understanding how the vandalism had shocked the girls, 

Miss Swallow said, “Do you want me to go in first?”

Both Hummingbird and Arianna said, “Yes.”

Confidently pushing open the door, Miss Swallow 

continued her absorbed discussion. “What did you use in your 

fertilizer, Bird? I’m curious about your formula. We need to get 

a sample of that.”

But Hummingbird never had a chance to tell Miss Swallow 

that she had poured out the fertilizer. The beautiful science 

teacher, usually so smart, self-possessed and cool, was making 

an odd gasping sound. Oh, no! Bird thought, glancing at Arianna. 

What has the coyote done now?

Hummingbird reached in and flipped on the light switch. 

An oddly-shaped tree about five feet tall was standing in the 

middle of the work table. The tin lamp above it directed its rays 

of light downward like a star in the heavens. In the darkness of 

the shed, only the tree benefited from the light.

Wide-eyed, but making no sound, the girls stared at the 

strange plant. Their “surprise buttons” had been hit one too 

many times. But Miss Swallow was another story. She continued 

to make funny little noises as she pointed to the pineapple that 

was “blooming” from the top of the tree. Finally, finding her 

voice, Miss Swallow whispered, “Have you seen this...before?”

203
Arianna shook her head and Hummingbird said, “No.”

Miss Swallow walked slowly toward the work table. She 

started to say something about pineapples, but stopped when 

she saw a vanilla bean and a pawpaw on two nearby twigs. She 

quickly realized that she was in uncharted territory. She didn’t 

know what she was looking at. Circling the table, she began to 

count the different vegetables, fruits, nuts, pods, and flowers 

that dangled or blossomed from the tree.

Miss Swallow was having a hard time figuring out something 

else. Were the different plants attached like ornaments or did 

they grow from the tree? She leaned over the table and parted 

several limbs which bushed out into shaggy grasses, clumps of 

differently lobed leaves, and tangles of vines.

Hmmm, she thought, they look like they’re growing from 

a funny-looking stalk. A stalk? That’s not very tree-like! Then, 

running her eyes downward, Miss Swallow saw why. The tree 

was emerging from what appeared to be a large white turnip 

root. She laughed uneasily. In a low voice, she asked, “Do you 

know anyone that does grafting?”

“No,” Hummingbird replied. “What’s grafting?”

Miss Swallow didn’t answer. “Do you know anyone that 

keeps very, very old varieties of native seeds?”

“My dad has some. He’s always talking about them 

getting contami...”

Miss Swallow gasped. She put her hands on the table and 

leaned in to look at a spray of bumpy spikes growing from a 

long-leaved grass on a lower limb of the tree.

“Oh my...I don’t believe it!”

204
“What is it, Miss Swallow?” Arianna asked.

“Come over here, girls. You’ve got to see this. First, she 

pointed to a grass clump with a spray of little feathery cobs with 

only one row of kernels. “That’s teosinte. See how each of its 

kernels is inside a husk? It’s the ancestor of corn that still grows 

in the wild today.” Then, pointing to the spray that drew her 

attention, she said, “Now look at this one. The little cobs have 

four rows of kernels. I think this is a very early stage of maize 

domestication—what corn looked like 4,000 years ago when our 

ancestors were first growing it.”

Miss Swallow had seen photos of these tiny cobs before. 

Several had been found in Mexican caves. But no one to Miss 

Swallow’s knowledge had ever seen a living, growing specimen.

Not until now, that is.

205

Miss Swallow...leaned in to look at a spray of bumpy spikes 

growing from a long-leaved grass on a lower limb of the tree. “Oh 

my...I don’t believe it!”

Chapter 22

209

By 1:00 a.m. Miss Swallow was staring at a pile of papers that documented 

the history of horticulture in the Americas.

The Miraculous Tree

Regaining some composure, Miss Swallow said, “I’d like to look 

at this plant more carefully. We’ll have to carry it to the car.” 

Hummingbird emptied a cardboard box where she and Arianna 

had stored some of the undamaged garden tools. Then, the three 

of them carefully picked up the miraculous tree and placed it in 

the box. With Hummingbird on one side and Miss Swallow on 

the other, they carried it down the hill to the car.
“Where are you going to take it?” Arianna asked.

“To my classroom. I want to examine it there.” To herself, 

she mumbled, “I wonder if Dr. Bamsey is around tonight.”

Miss Swallow opened the back hatch and lowered the 

backseats, making room for the tree which they laid gently on 

its side. Passing up Aunt Chick’s invitation to stop in, Miss 

Swallow drove the girls home. She told them to meet her in 

the lab before homeroom the next morning. Her intention had 

been to stop at Hummingbird’s and talk to her parents about the 

vandalism. But vandals and bullies had suddenly taken a back 

seat to the mystery that was on her backseat.

As she drove to the school, Miss Swallow called and left a 

message for Dr. Bamsey. Unfortunately, her call went into his 

voice mail. He was out of town. She left a message, asking him 

to come by the school in the morning.

Realizing that she was in for a long night, Miss Swallow 

stopped off at Boo’s. She told him she had a lot of work ahead 

of her and needed some big-time energy. Boo knew just what 

to do. He dispensed a large cup of coffee and wrapped up some 

fresh bean bread. He also insisted that she take the rest of a 

plastic container of thick vegetable soup his mom had brought 

by for his supper. Despite her protests, he added in a thermos of 

coffee and some extra cups and napkins.

210
With Boo’s admonition not to work too hard still in her ears, 

Miss Swallow drove to the back of the school. She parked as close 

as possible to the side entrance near her classroom. Luckily, 

this was the door Floyd usually left unlocked until he was ready 

to leave. She could hear his vacuum cleaner in a nearby hallway. 

She followed the sound and asked the janitor for the key to the 

utility room. She wanted to borrow the hand truck.

As usual Floyd was accommodating. He got the hand truck 

for her and wheeled it out to her car. Helping Miss Swallow 

load the tree on the truck, he tried to be extra careful. The 

teacher seemed mighty skittish about the funny-looking bush. 

Carefully secured, Floyd pushed the precious cargo to the lab. 

As the teacher nervously watched, he gently picked up the tree 

and placed it on the lab table she indicated. Curious, he asked, 

“This one of your experiments, Miss Swallow?”

“No, not one of mine,” she said, with a smile. “Thanks for 

helping me. I’m going to be here late tonight. So, don’t worry if 

you see the lights on in here when you lock up.”

Pushing the hand truck to the door, the janitor said, “Don’t 

work too hard now.”

Betty Swallow had no intention of listening to Boo or Floyd. 

She got to work right away. First, she shot photos of the tree and 

each of its edible products. Satisfied that she had made a good 

visual record, she rewarded herself by popping off the lid of 

the still-steaming cup of coffee. One swig and she was wired! 

Powering up her laptop, she logged onto her accounts with 

several online science journals.

211
Over the next few hours she managed to identify a good 

number of the specimens. Her list of plants included the wild 

and domesticated teosinte, knotweed, goosefoot, sumpweed, 

maypop or passion flower, pawpaw, sunflower, wild potato, wild 

bean, wild rice, wild barley, primitive squashes and tomatoes, 

pumpkins, gourds, hickory nuts, cacao, and vanilla. After 

stretching her legs and getting a drink from the water fountain 

in the hall, she was able to add amaranth, chili peppers, cayenne 

peppers, jicama, manioc, papayas, peanuts, pecans, quinoa, 

persimmon, sweet potatoes, and, of course, the pineapple. 

There was only one fruit on the tree that did not appear to be a 

food. It was the coyote gourd or stinking buffalo gourd she had 

mentioned to the girls earlier.

She thought some of the tree products were possibly 

ancestors of today’s domesticated species. These were usually 

the small, hard, or bitter fruits and tubers like primitive 

squashes, beans, tomatoes, and potatoes; and seeds from 

primitive sunflowers or grasses like teosinte. Others were on 

their way to becoming domesticated (like the primitive maize), 

and still others appeared to have been formerly domesticated 

species that had reverted to their wild state (like knotweed 

and sumpweed). Those she immediately recognized looked 

very similar to foods and spices grown today like cacao beans 

(chocolate) and vanilla beans.

212
Miss Swallow printed off as much information as she could 

find on the various foods and their origins. By 1:00 a.m. she 

was staring at a pile of papers that documented the history of 

horticulture in the Americas. There was no way she could plow 

through all the archeological sites, theories, and migrations of 

plant foods in one night. But she had a good start.

Flipping through the journal articles, she found the one 

that would help her classify the foods into their areas of origin: 

the Andes, the Amazon, the lowlands of Mexico, and the Eastern 

United States. Although the coffee was gone, there was a cup 

of soup left. Maybe she could squeeze in another hour of work 

before hanging it up.

Miss Swallow, however, worked longer than she meant to. 

At 4:00 a.m., she laid her head down on the lab table just to 

rest her eyes for a few minutes. When she woke up, the glare 

from the bright overhead lights was almost painful. She wiped 

her eyes with the backs of her hands. Ohhh, she thought, I must 

have dozed off. Sitting up, her shoulder muscles were so stiff she 

could hardly move her head. Rubbing the back of her neck, she 

murmured, “What time is it?” She glanced at the schoolroom 

clock. Six-thirty!

213
Jumping up, Miss Swallow thought, I’ve got to get this place 

cleaned up! She grabbed the food wrappers, napkins, and empty 

coffee cups from last night’s marathon and chucked them in the 

garbage. Then, she raked her research papers and notes together 

into an untidy pile. She would have to organize them later. It was 

the tree that presented the real problem. Dismissing the idea 

of putting a trash bag over it, she decided, instead, to lock it in 

the supply closet. She dragged the tree across the classroom and 

into the small room where hazardous chemicals and breakable 

glassware were stored. Before locking the door, she gave the 

tree one last look. Only then did she ask herself the questions 

that she had been too excited (or reluctant) to ask before: Who 

did this? Where did the tree come from?

With her head spinning, the science teacher grabbed her 

purse, cell phone, and laptop. She exited the lab and headed for 

her car. Maybe after a shower and a change of clothes she would 

be able to think more clearly. Please, Dr. Bamsey, she thought, 

be back in town today!

214
Coyote turned over and snuggled into the pointy leaves 

of his namesake. Ahh, I’m comfortable—too comfortable, he 

thought. Why is that? Feeling the delicious warmth on his back, 

he murmured in recognition, “The sun.” He yawned and sat up. 

He made a quick perusal of his garden. Because of his excellent 

guardianship, there were no grazers about—no big ones, that is. 

However, he knew the little nibblers would be busy. No aphids, 

beetles, slugs, or grubs would make breakfast of his beauties. 

Rather, they would be his breakfast.

Coyote began grooming the squash fruits that were in all 

stages of development. He picked, plucked, and licked up all the 

pests that would dare to eat the green-striped globes. He paid 

special attention to the young giant-to-be that he had named 

Hummingbird’s Squash.

His belly full, Coyote lay back down. Noting the time of 

morning, he thought, well, it must have happened by now. 

Closing his eyes, he imagined himself spinning again in the 

wormhole that had turned back time. He smiled. Yes, the 

backward spiral could be slowed for a while, but once started, 

it couldn’t be stopped. Miss Betty Swallow was about to find 

that out.

215
The kids arrived at the lab only seconds before Miss 

Swallow did. She was walking at a fast clip down the hall, talking 

on her cell phone. Arriving at the door, she said good-bye to 

Dr. Bamsey and rang off. Looking at Hummingbird, she said 

breathlessly, “Dr. Bamsey is coming over at noon.” Noticing the 

boys, she seemed surprised. “Oh, we have a crowd. I guess you 

told them about the tree?”

While she was rummaging in her bag for the room key, 

Hummingbird explained. “Yes, Miss Swallow, they helped 

Arianna and me set up the shed and the garden. And they saw 

the giant squashes—before they were destroyed. I thought you 

might want to talk to them, too.”

Miss Swallow stopped fumbling for the key. “Oh, of course. 

Sorry, boys, I’m just a little frazzled this morning” It wasn’t like 

the kids hadn’t noticed. Miss Swallow had big dark circles under 

her eyes; and her hair, which was still wet from a shower, had 

been hastily pulled back into a lop-sided pony tail. Nervously, 

she kept pushing down her shirt collar which stuck up on the 

side of her neck.

“It’s just that last night was the most momentous of my 

entire life. I researched all night long. I didn’t leave the school 

until after 6:30 this morning. It was just as I expected, but had to 

prove to myself. That tree holds the whole evolutionary history 

of plant domestication in the Americas! The sweat and intellect 

of Native people over thousands of years!” She laughed giddily, 

“It’s like someone created it for our Science Fair!”

216
Miss Swallow leaned up against the classroom door 

and closed her eyes. “Maize, beans, sunflowers, squashes, 

pumpkins, peppers, chocolate. I can see the grandmothers and 

grandfathers, generation after generation—selecting, growing, 

tending, trading...” Suddenly blinking open her eyes, she 

grabbed Boomer’s shoulder (because he was standing nearest 

to her) and cried, “Oh my gosh, kids! What gifts our ancestors 

left to us! Gifts that now feed the whole world!”

As if coming out of a dream, Miss Swallow released Boomer’s 

shoulder. Getting hold of herself, she said more rationally, 

“We better hurry if you want to see the tree. Homeroom will be 

starting soon.” She found her key chain, unlocked the door, and 

led the little group to the supply closet.

While Miss Swallow shakily shuffled through her keys 

again, the kids became aware of dozens of photos of flowers, 

fruits, and seeds scattered across one of the lab tables (Miss 

Swallow had overlooked those in her attempt to tidy up). They 

also couldn’t help but notice the stacks of Googled articles and 

handwritten notes that were piled up everywhere. Simon turned 

and looked at a bunch of hastily scribbled charts and diagrams 

that were taped haphazardly on the blackboard. Under his 

breath, he said, “Boy, she’s been busy.”

Stepping over a splatter of coffee on the floor, Rain 

whispered back, “Maybe that’s why she’s so whacked out...”

“Yeah,” Boomer agreed too loudly, “she’s acts like she gonna 

faint or somethin’.”

“Keep it down, man,” Simon warned. “She’ll hear you.”

217
However, Boomer’s usual overstatement proved to be an 

understatement. When Miss Swallow opened the supply room 

door and turned on the light, she almost did faint. Her eyes 

grew wide and her mouth fell open. She stopped breathing. If 

she’d had anything in her stomach, it would have come back up. 

Trying to steady herself, she dropped her purse and clutched 

at the edge of a storage cabinet. Suddenly, she went down on 

a plastic box of chemistry equipment. Apparently, her legs had 

failed, too.

The boys, in back of Hummingbird and Arianna, 

immediately knew something was wrong. “What’s going on? 

What happened?”

Miss Swallow stammered, “My purse. Quick! My phone 

... photos...”

Hummingbird picked up the purse and put it in her lap. Miss 

Swallow snatched it open and pulled out the phone. Fumbling 

frantically, she retrieved her photo album and scrolled down to 

the folder where she had stored almost thirty photos of the tree. 

It was empty...

When Simon demanded again to know what was happening, 

Arianna answered, “I don’t know, I think Miss Swallow is sick.” 

But, Hummingbird looking around the supply closet began to 

understand. “Where’s the tree?” she cried.

“Over there!” Arianna said. “Isn’t that the sack it was in?”

The plastic sack was sitting on a piece of newspaper at 

the back of the closet. Rain, craning his neck over Boomer’s 

shoulder, said, “There’s something in it.”

218
Consumed by curiosity, the kids edged respectfully around 

Miss Swallow and approached the sack. A spindly stalk lay 

crumpled over its folded plastic rim—like a dead white worm. 

The worm was sprinkled by copious amounts of a powdery black 

dust that radiated outward in a star shape.

Looking at the others, Boomer asked, “What’s that 

black stuff?”

Simon turned to Miss Swallow. “Um, Miss Swallow, do you 

know what it might be?”

When she didn’t answer, Arianna said, “Maybe we ought to 

get somebody.”

“I’ll go get Mr. Pence,” Rain volunteered, “and tell him she’s 

not feeling very well.” As he was leaving, he whispered to the 

stricken teacher, “I’m really sorry about the tree, Miss Swallow.”

Simon heard voices in the classroom. “Pssst. Hey, some 

kids are starting to come in.”

“You guys go on to homeroom,” Hummingbird said. “I’ll 

stay until Mr. Pence gets here.”

Arianna pulled the door to, leaving it cracked. Noticing 

some more papers lying about on the classroom floor, she picked 

them up and put them on the lab bench. She thought they must 

be important because there were scrawls of hand-written notes 

with big exclamation points in the margins. She really felt sorry 

for poor Miss Swallow.

219
Hummingbird did, too. She was also feeling a little guilty 

because if it were not for her, Miss Swallow wouldn’t have been 

pulled into the coyote’s tricks. She scooted over an old lab stool 

and sat down next to her favorite teacher. They sat in silence for 

a while. Finally, Miss Swallow stirred. She looked as if she was 

waking from a long sleep. Relieved, Hummingbird asked, “Miss 

Swallow, are you feeling better?”

Miss Swallow turned her head slowly toward Hummingbird. 

Smiling, she reached out and took the young girl’s hand. Very 

quietly, she said, “One day you and I are going to have a long 

talk, aren’t we?

Hummingbird sighed and said quietly, “Yes, m’am, I’m 

afraid we are.”

220
Chapter 23

221

With Joe’s help, Miss Swallow realized that the tree was a metaphor for the wonderful story of the 

people and their remarkable use of gifts from the natural world.

Lessons and Confessions

After Miss Swallow went home that morning, Mr. Pence called 

Dr. Bamsey and told him that she’d had a shock and needed a 

couple of days off. He asked the biology professor to come by the 

school the next day. A substitute was called in to take over the 

8th grade science classes and everything went on as if nothing 

had happened.
But something had happened. After getting a few hours 

of sleep, Miss Swallow went to see Joe Red Crane. They sat 

together on the bleachers at the school’s baseball field and 

talked for a long time. Miss Swallow knew better than try to 

explain her experience with the tree rationally, but she would 

try to understand it. With Joe’s help, she realized that the tree 

was a metaphor for the wonderful story of the people and their 

remarkable use of gifts from the natural world. There was 

no uncertainty about that. The true mystery was the identity 

of the storyteller. Miss Swallow told Joe that she believed 

Hummingbird had the answer to that mystery. Looking kindly 

at Miss Swallow, Joe gave her his simple advice. “Hummingbird 

will tell you about it when the time is right—if ever. Until then, 

Betty, just appreciate what the story has taught you and share it 

with others.”

The next day Mr. Pence met Dr. Bamsey during his planning 

period and took him to the see the black dust in the supply closet. 

Unlocking the door, he lowered his voice so the students in the 

lab couldn’t hear: “I’ve never seen her like that, Dr. Bamsey. You 

know, Betty. She doesn’t get rattled easily.”

Mr. Pence stood aside, shivering as usual. Dr. Bamsey went 

in to take a good look at the bag of soil and the fine powdery 

substance on the floor. Even though he was on the hefty side, 

he tiptoed delicately around the tree’s remains, careful not to 

create any movement of air (the dust was very fine).

222
“This looks like carbon to me,” the professor said. “But 

not like the burned ash from wood. It’s more elemental like 

a mixture of coal and graphite.” Coyote would have agreed 

with Dr. Bamsey. Indeed, the tree (except for the turnip) had 

disassociated into molecules of carbon and a dozen other 

trace minerals—just as they had existed on the primitive earth 

millions of years ago. Turning back time, it seemed, just may 

have been the oldest trick Coyote had ever played!

Continuing his observations, Dr. Bamsey said, “Betty asked 

me if I knew of any research about reverting plants back to their 

ancestral forms. I don’t know of anything like that around here, 

but I’ll check it out.” Squatting down so he could get a better 

look at the wilted stalk, Dr. Bamsey added, “She said it looked 

like someone had grafted some ancient species onto a turnip.” 

He shook his head and chuckled. “That looks like a turnip root 

to me...”

Hearing the bell, Mr. Pence said, “The class is leaving for 

lunch. Let me show you some of Betty’s work from the other 

night.” Mr. Pence had gathered all of Miss Swallow’s work and 

carefully arranged it in a set of folders. He spread them out for 

Dr. Bamsey’s to examine. Almost immediately, the biologist 

recognized that most of the papers referred to domesticated 

plants native to North, Central and South America. He was most 

interested in one of the drawings (Luckily, Miss Swallow had 

made a sketch of a few of the fruits and vegetables). “Hmm, 

this looks like an intermediary stage between a wild and a 

domesticated tomato. I don’t recall seeing that before.” (Coyote 

would have laughed. Dr. Bamsey had never seen it because it 

223
had disappeared thousands of years ago.) The professor took 

off his glasses and started polishing them with a handkerchief. 

Squinting at Mr. Pence, he asked, “Did anybody else see 

this tree?”

“Yes, two of our students helped her bring it to the school.”

One of those students was staring at her uneaten lunch. 

Poking at her salad, Hummingbird sighed. “I should never have 

started the giant vegetable thing. The coyote’s made that pretty 

clear. It was all right there...like Miss Swallow said ‘the gifts our 

ancestors gave us.’ But I wanted to change everything—I wasn’t 

satisfied with those gifts.”

Rain didn’t agree. “There’s nothing wrong with 

experimenting—trying to make something better. We wouldn’t 

have those gifts if the people hadn’t experimented.”

“Rain’s right,” Simon said. “They never quit trying to grow 

different kinds of corn. Blue corn, red corn, yellow corn—corn 

that grows where it’s cold.”

“I wish you guys had seen that tiny corncob Miss Swallow 

showed us,” Arianna said. “It was like a baby step toward making 

big corn. I kept thinking about the first people who grew it—the 

people who took those baby steps.”

“Yeah,” Boomer said, getting into it. “Who grew the first 

popcorn? Who grew the first chili beans?”

“No,” Hummingbird said, shaking her head. “RD was right 

the first time. I was just trying to impress Miss Swallow and 

Mr. Pence.”

224
“Maybe that’s how it started out,” Arianna said, “but we all 

thought it was a good thing. Didn’t we?”

But, not to be consoled, Hummingbird let out a long 

“Ohhhh” and slumped in her chair.

“What now?” Arianna cried. Boy! she thought, Bird sure is 

a drama queen sometimes.

“You should have heard the way I talked to my dad! He was 

trying to tell me about his Native seeds...but, noooo, I didn’t 

have time for that. That was too slow—I had to do it all my way.”

Simon laughed. “Come on, Bird. Your dad will get over it. 

You can apologize.”

Rain looked around the table at his friends. “I know the 

coyote jerks us around sometimes. And he’s been playing lots 

of tricks on you, Bird. But how else would you—we—really get it? 

The point is—there aren’t any short-cuts, no miracle pills. It’s 

simple: we honor the foods that feed us and keep us healthy. We 

do that by growing and eating them.” Glancing at Arianna, he 

said wistfully, and not without a little envy, “I just wish I’d seen 

that tree.”

“The tree is one thing,” Simon said, “but what happened to 

the garden? That had to be the coyote too.”

“Sure, it was. It was his garden,” Boomer said. “Sorry, 

Bird, but I don’t think your fast-grow formula did the trick. The 

coyote did the trick. I think he was really mad that somebody 

tore up the squashes and left that big mess. So he cleaned it up.” 

Boomer wadded up a napkin and expertly tossed it into the trash 

bag Arianna held open. “I just know I wouldn’t want to be one of 

the guys that did it.”

225
Dumptruck stood at the cash register buying an extra 

milk. He was watching Arianna head to the garbage bin next 

to the window where students dropped off their dirty trays. He 

nudged Tater Tot who was in line behind him. “There she is, 

Tater. She’s alone.”

When Tater Tot hesitated, Dumptruck said, “Go on! Talk 

to her.”

The red-headed boy saw Arianna dump some trash and 

then hurry toward the courtyard exit. He changed direction and 

fast-walked toward her, catching her just before she went out 

the door. Not too loudly, he called her name. “Arianna!” She 

turned. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Tater Tot led Arianna outside. “Look. Um, I know you’ve 

only talked to me a couple of times. But I have a favor to ask. 

You know Dumptruck—the guy that threw the hamburger at 

Boomer? Well, he wants to talk to Hummingbird. Would she go 

to the library right now? That’s where he is. It’s important...real

important. Please?”

The “please” got to Arianna. “Well, okay. But I can’t promise 

she’ll come.”

“I’ll tell him you’ll try.” While Tater Tot ran off to get 

Dumptruck, Arianna looked around for Hummingbird. She was 

sitting alone on the bench by the gym.

226
Crossing the courtyard, Arianna tried to think of what she 

would say. Chris’s toadies want to have a little chat with you? 

Yeah, that sounded convincing! By the time she was standing 

in front of Hummingbird (who was still stuck in “I’m so bad” 

mode), Arianna had just decided to spit it out: “Dumptruck 

wants to talk to you in the library.”

Hummingbird rolled her eyes and gave Arianna the biggest 

“Oh, please” look ever. Quietly and rationally, she started 

counting on her fingers: “After the ‘elephant’s toothpaste,’ it 

was the giant squashes, and then the garden and then the tree. 

And yesterday it was the black dust.” Looking up at Arianna, she 

yelled, “Every time we turn around, our eyeballs are bugging 

out of our heads and we’re hollering ‘What! What?!’” Folding 

her arms on her chest (Hummingbird’s favorite grumpymood gesture), she said, “And now the biggest surprise of all; 

Dumptruck wants me to help him check out a library book!”

“I didn’t make it up,” Arianna giggled. “Maybe it’s another 

coyote trick.”

“I’m sure it is! What does he want?”

“I don’t know. It seemed awfully important.”

Hummingbird gave in. “Well, come on. The day couldn’t 

get any worse.”

Dumptruck and Tater Tot were sitting at the same table 

where Rain had told Hummingbird about his dream of the eagle. 

The boys had wanted a private place to talk. They were lucky. 

The library was almost deserted.

227
Tater Tot waved. Hummingbird glanced at Arianna and 

whispered, “This is so weird.” She half-expected the boys to 

start flailing their arms and yelling, “Ding-Ding!”

Arianna smiled and waved back. “Come on, Bird. Be nice.”

Hummingbird hated to admit it, but she was curious. Why 

would the boy they called “Big D” want to talk to her? Arianna 

walked on ahead and sat down. Bird followed reluctantly. Trying 

to “be nice,” she arranged a more pleasant look on her face. 

Apparently, it didn’t work. Dumptruck looked petrified.

Hummingbird stood awkwardly. Finally, Tater Tot said, 

“Why don’t you sit down?” He nudged his friend. “Dumptruck 

has something to say. Don’t ya, Big D?”

Hummingbird perched on the side of a chair and waited.

Dumptruck said, “Hum...,” then broke down before he’d 

even begun his apology. After several false starts, he revved up 

his nerve and finally succeeded. “Hummingbird, I...I’m sorry.” 

Trusting a girl he hardly knew, Dumptruck blurted it out: “I tore 

up your garden!”

Once he’d started, the rest of it rolled out like a flood: “And 

I’m sorry about throwing the hamburger at Boomer, and trying 

to trip Simon, and yelling ‘ding-ding.’” He looked at Arianna. 

“I feel really bad about that. And...” Dumptruck didn’t finish 

his “ands”—there were some other things he decided not to 

bring up.

Tater Tot filled in. “I’m sorry, too. I was doing that stuff 

with him.”

228
Dumptruck looked at the two girls sitting across from him. 

“Honest. I just want to stop before my mom finds out. She’s got 

enough to worry about.”

Hummingbird wasn’t interested in Dumptruck’s other 

offenses—only the squashes. “You didn’t tear up the garden by 

yourself, did you?”

“No. It was Chris’s idea. Him and his brother. He’s pushed 

us into doing other stuff, too.”

Hummingbird muttered to Arianna, “I knew it was Chris.”

“We just want Chris off our backs,” Tater Tot said earnestly. 

“That’s the real reason we’re telling you all this.”

Dumptruck nodded, “Yeah, before we get in real trouble.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Dumptruck took a deep breath. “Talk to your friends—Rain, 

Simon, and Boomer. See if they’ll help us.”

229

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231

Simon started snorting. “Man! What a great trick! They jump out of a hat like 

a rabbit—right in front of the captain of the basketball team!”

Rabbits in a Hat

That afternoon, Hummingbird and Arianna waited for the 

boys at the bus pickup. The girls told them briefly about 

their meeting with Dumptruck and Tater Tot. Hummingbird 

informed everyone that they needed a “tree stump meeting.” 

They all agreed to meet in the meadow, before doing homework 

or anything else. This was top priority.

Later that afternoon, Rain and Boomer were the first to 

arrive at the tree stump. They sat down in the grass, now crinkly 
and brown. It was early October and the days were growing 

shorter. Rain laid back, staring at the autumn sky, and began 

thinking about Miss Swallow and the coyote’s tree. But it was too 

complicated. He moved on to a less difficult subject. Glancing at 

Boomer, he said, “I can’t wait for the Harvest Pow-Wow.”

“Me neither.” Boomer started beating on the ground, 

singing a Round Dance song under his breath. Rain joined him.

“I know that one!” a voice shouted. “It’s a Two Step song!” It 

was Simon. He was running across the meadow; Hummingbird 

and Arianna were close behind.

Rain and Boomer stood up and waited for the others to take 

their places around the old tree stump where the eagle had given 

them his healthy wisdom. Arianna positioned herself next to 

Hummingbird. This was her first meeting. Hummingbird told 

Arianna that they always took a few moments to think about the 

eagle’s messages before talking. Arianna thought about what the 

eagle meant to her. Because she had type 1 diabetes, he would 

want her to work hard at preventing damage to her body caused 

by imbalances in her blood sugar levels. She thought about 

her responsibility to eat healthy and be active every single day. 

Arianna knew that what she did today determined her health in 

the future. She felt sure that the eagle would want people with 

type 2 diabetes and other diseases to think this way, too. Yes, the 

great bird made her feel strong—strong enough to keep doing 

whatever she had to do to keep her body well.

Boomer voice broke into her thoughts. “Okay, what exactly 

did Dumptruck and Tater Tot say?”

232
Hummingbird cut to the chase. “They’re asking us for 

help—especially you guys.”

“From us?” the boys cried. “To do what?”

“To get Chris Sorrel off their backs.” Explaining, 

Hummingbird repeated most of the library conversation point 

for point—with the highlight being Dumptruck’s admission that 

he’d had helped Chris destroy the garden.

“You mean he actually told on himself?” Simon 

asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” Arianna said. “He apologized for messing with you 

guys and making fun of me, too. Tater told me that they didn’t 

know “ding-ding” was about my insulin pump.”

Simon wasn’t convinced. “How do you know they weren’t 

jerking you around?”

“Yeah,” Boomer said, “They could be playing us for chumps.”

Hummingbird said, “I don’t think so. I’m sure they’re 

afraid of Chris—I think it’s because of his brothers.”

Arianna backed up Hummingbird. “Bird’s right. Chris 

bosses them around all the time, and puts them down. Tater 

told me as much.”

Rain had been quiet for most of the meeting. Finally, 

he spoke. “So what are we gonna do? Turn in Dumptruck 

for vandalism?”

Hummingbird was shocked. “Huh? Turn him in? You mean 

like to Mr. Berry or to the police?” It was obvious that Bird didn’t 

want to do that.

“Mr. Berry’s says to tell our parents or report it to a teacher 

if a bully is bothering us. Well, that was some bad bullying 

233
Dumptruck did—smashing the squashes. Didn’t your dad call the 

Neighborhood Watch to report vandalism? Didn’t a policeman 

come out and take pictures?”

“I bet his photos disappeared like Miss Swallow’s did.” 

Hummingbird grumbled.

“You know it. The coyote doesn’t like to leave evidence of 

his tricks,” said Boomer—now the big expert on coyotes.

Rain was persistent. “Pictures don’t matter. Dumptruck 

said he did it.”

Starting to get upset, Arianna cried, “But then we would get 

him in trouble when he’s trying to do what’s right.”

Hummingbird shook her head. “This is complicated. What 

should we do?”

Rain was ready with the answer. “Think like the eagle and 

the coyote.”

“How’s that, RD?” Simon asked.

“Actually, I don’t want to get ’em in trouble, either. I say 

let’s help the guys. Remember what the eagle said about keeping 

our traditions? Everybody working together, playing together. 

Dumptruck is a member of our Tribe. We should remember 

that. Tater’s not a member, but he goes to our school. That’s 

good enough for me. Besides, we shouldn’t push away anybody 

wanting to be friends with us.”

Everybody nodded. Boomer said, “I think the eagle would 

go for it.”

“So, how are we going to help them?” Simon asked again.

Rain smiled devilishly. “That’s where the coyote part 

comes in.”

234
Hummingbird laughed, “So you got it all worked out, 

Mr. Smarty-Pants?”

“Maybe not everything, but here’s my idea. Coach Brown is 

holding tryouts next month for two positions on the 8th grade 

boys’ basketball team. What if they get on the team? We could 

get Boo to coach them, and Boomer and I can show ’em what we 

know. Even if they don’t make the team, they’ll get in good shape 

and be a lot healthier. That should pump up their confidence.”

Arianna brightened. ‘Yes! That’s what Tater needs—

confidence! Like with his drawing. He just needs a chance.”

“They’re not exactly buffed up,” Boomer said. “They’ll 

really have to train.”

“Don’t forget the food,” Arianna said. “They’ll have to eat 

healthy food.”

Rain agreed it would be a lot of work. Then, he grinned. 

“But, here’s the kicker. We keep it all under wraps. Chris doesn’t 

know anything about it until the tryouts!”

Simon started snorting. “Man! “What a great trick! They 

jump out of a hat like a rabbit—right in front of the captain of the 

basketball team!”

“Chris will have a cow!” Hummingbird giggled.

Simon choked back a snort. “I just thought of something. 

We might be keeping too many secrets. We’re keeping it a secret 

that Dumptruck tore up the garden and we’re not telling anybody 

that Chris was behind it. Should we do that? Remember how you 

guys promised not to tell anybody that Vernon Smeed was after 

Jimmy? That didn’t turn out too great, did it?”

Rain sighed, “Simon’s right about that.”

235
“But RD!” Hummingbird said. “The coyote fixed it so 

it looks like there never was a garden! How do we say Chris 

destroyed something that was never there?” Hummingbird was 

just beginning to appreciate how tricky the coyote really was. He 

sure made it hard figuring out the right thing to do.

Boomer, boy of a thousand defenses and brilliant appeals 

(usually made to his mother) put on his best lawyer face. Hands 

behind his back, he began to walk back and forth, pretending 

to be in deep thought. (Boom watched lots of old Perry Mason 

reruns on TV Land and Judge Judy, too.) He halted dramatically. 

“Let’s forget Chris—for now. So, Mr. Berry says bullying should 

be reported. And it has been. Dumptruck reported his bullying 

to us. End of story. Besides, we accept his apology for all the 

crummy things he did, don’t we?”

A chorus of “yeses” answered his question.

Simon wasn’t giving up. “I still think Dumptruck should do 

more than just say he’s sorry.”

Turning to the girls, Boomer said, “You planted the garden. 

And he did the ‘ding-ding’ thing on you, Arianna. So, how does 

he make it up to you?”

Hummingbird didn’t hesitate. “That’s easy. Just 

stop bullying.”

“And be real friends—if that’s what they want to be.” 

Arianna added.

Boomer shrugged at Simon: “I rest my case.”

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237

He could see that his work was cut out for him. These guys had never seen a 

potato chip they didn’t like.

Healthy Secrets

Sky Heart watched the kids at the tree stump. He was always 

happy to see them continue the tradition of remembering his 

messages about diabetes prevention. Arianna was there, too. 

The eagle noticed how respectfully she stood with her friends. 

Thistle would want to know that their little posse had officially 

added another member. As he flew toward her nest, Sky Heart 

saw Thistle trying to round up her bunnies. Several had broken 

away from their mother’s supervision and had scattered down 

the hill.
“Need some help?” he called out.

Thistle looked up, “Yes, could you herd those two down 

there toward me? And I’ll grab this one.” Sky Heart landed and 

flapped the two escapees toward their mother. She safely stuffed 

them back into safety of their brushy home.

Out of breath, Thistle gasped. “Thanks? What brings you 

this way, Sky Heart?”

“Rain and his friends were meeting at the tree stump today. 

They included the girl, Arianna.”

“Oh, I’m not surprised. Coyote showed his power in front 

of her.” She laughed. “The burps, you know. I thought my 

eardrums would burst.” Nibbling on a bit of grass, she said, 

“They probably had to tell her about us. I’m glad. She teaches 

them about the other kind of diabetes.”

“So what is Coyote up to? Have you seen him?”

“He’s come by several times. All he talks about is his garden. 

Have you seen what he’s growing?”

“I’ve spotted his work. His squashes are getting big—very 

big. I don’t suppose he’s said what he’s going to do with them, 

has he?”

“No, nothing about the squashes. He was just going on 

about that thunderstorm earlier this week. Said he summoned 

it. He started yipping and yapping—you know how he does—

about Rain that Dances being the hail and Boomer, the thunder. 

Something about lightning shaking things up. I just couldn’t 

follow him—he’s so crazy sometimes.” Thistle closed her eyes. 

She suddenly looked very tired.

238
“Do you think the storm had anything to do with 

Hummingbird? Is he still playing tricks on her?”

Thistle opened her eyes. “I don’t think he’s through playing 

tricks on anybody.” Turning to go into her nest, she said wearily, 

“I’m just too busy with my babies right now to worry about 

Coyote. But I’d say he’s planning more tricks. This game isn’t 

just about Hummingbird.”

Thistle could usually read Coyote pretty well. His storm had 

blown the kids right where he wanted them—playing a joke or 

two that would teach plenty of lessons and bringing new players 

into his fun and games.

One of those new players was Boo. Dumptruck and Tater 

Tot were already at Boo’s Gas ’n Grocery the next afternoon when 

Rain and Boomer got there. They were pretty excited about the 

basketball idea. They almost couldn’t believe that Rain, Boomer, 

and Simon had agreed to help them unload Chris.

The boys huddled together to make sure that everybody 

understood the plan. Boomer laid out the details. “You guys wait 

out here while RD and I talk to Boo. If he says he’ll coach you, 

come on in and talk to him yourselves. Okay?” Dumptruck and 

Tater Tot looked a little nervous, but they nodded.

Rain and Boomer casually walked into the store and went 

to the counter. They asked Boo if they could talk to him after he 

was through with his customers. Then, they drifted over to the 

239
comics and pretended to be looking at the new arrivals. They 

had bought this month’s Mammoth Boy, their favorite comic, 

last week; nothing else of interest was on the shelf. Keeping an 

eye out, Boomer saw Boo coming over and nudged Rain. “Here 

he comes.”

Boo was smiling. He was always happy to see the kids who 

had given him the idea to sell healthy Native foods in his store. 

“What’s up, guys?”

Rain took a stab at it first. “Um, well, we know you’re a really 

good basketball player and um...well, have you ever thought 

about coaching, Boo?”

“Coach basketball? Noooo. I play on the men’s team at the 

rec center, but that’s all.”

Boomer decided to pour it on a bit. “Well, everybody knows 

you’re really good, and uh, were like a big star in high school.”

Uh-oh, Boo thought. I’m getting the Boomer treatment. 

His radar went up. “I thought you fellas got enough coaching at 

the school.”

“Yeah, we do. Boomer and I are on the 7th grade team,” 

Rain said, “but there’s these guys we know that would like to 

try out for the 8th grade team. They don’t exactly play a lot. Not 

right now, that is.”

Boo asked, “Can’t Coach Brown help out?”

“Well, not really,” Boomer explained. “Because, see, it’s a 

secret that they want to tryout.”

“A secret? Who exactly are these guys?”

240
“They’re outside in the parking lot.” Rain answered.

Boo walked over to the front window and peered over the top 

of the “everyday snack” shelves. Two boys were standing by the 

gas pumps. Hands in their pockets, they kept glancing anxiously 

in the direction of the store. Boo recognized Dumptruck, but 

didn’t know the red-headed boy.

“He’s new,” Rain said. “His mother’s doing some contract 

work for the Tribe.”

Boo frowned. “They don’t look very athletic.”

Thinking Boo was going to say “no,” Boomer panicked and 

went for the “big beg” too early. “Boo, you gotta help them learn 

to play basketball! Please!?”

“When are the tryouts?”

Rain smiled sheepishly. “Um, in six weeks?”

“Six weeks! Give me a break, guys! I’m not a miracle 

worker!” The crushed look of disappointment on the boy’s faces 

told Boo that there was more to their pleas than just basketball.

“Okay, hold on. I’ll talk to them. But, you’ve got to fill me in 

on this big secret before we go any further. Deal?”

“Deal, Boo!” Rain cried. “I’ll get ’em.”

Rain charged to the front door and waved excitedly for 

the boys to come in. Dumptruck gave Tater Tot’s arm a playful 

punch. “He’s gonna help us!” The two would-be athletes skirted 

around a car pulling in to pump gas and hurried to meet their 

new coach.

241
Boo watched as the boys followed Rain to the counter. He 

could see his work was cut out for him. These guys had never 

seen a potato chip they didn’t like. Trying to put them at ease, 

he smiled and said, “Come on in, fellas. I hear you want to be 

basketball players.”

Dumptruck was eager to convince Boo they were serious. 

“We don’t expect anything for free. We promise to work 

real hard!”

Boo got right to the point. “RD says you want to keep it a 

secret. Why is that?”

Dumptruck tried to explain. “Well, ah, see there’s this 

guy, Chris Sorrel, that’s been makin’ us back him up when 

he’s bullying people. ...and we don’t wanna do it anymore. 

He’s captain of the basketball team. He’d give us a lot of grief 

if he thought we were trying out. He likes to call the shots on 

everything.”

Tater Tot chimed in. “Chris says we’re a couple of losers. 

But I don’t think Dumptruck and I are losers. We just want to do 

something right for a change—like play basketball.”

“Yeah, kids on the same team don’t think about who’s 

popular or who’s different. But, mostly, we need to get some 

new friends,” Dumptruck added.

Boo said he knew who Chris Sorrel was and asked the boys 

to go on. Tater Tot swallowed uneasily and went first. “I’m new 

here and thought that if I joined up with the bullies, they’d leave 

me alone. But I was wrong. I know that good basketball players 

242
get respect around here. I’m not saying I want to be a big hotshot or anything. We just thought Chris would back off if...” 

Tater had been doing pretty well up to this point, but now he 

stumbled. “You know, if we were...” He stopped, at a loss for 

words. Looking desperately at Boo, he suddenly burst out. “I 

just don’t want to be ‘Tater Tot’ anymore!”

Boo looked confused. “Tater Tot?”

“That’s the name Chris gave me when my mom and I moved 

here last year. He says I look like an overblown french fry! I hate 

it! Everybody calls me that!” Rain, Boomer, and Dumptruck 

were surprised at Tater’s outburst. They didn’t realize how much 

he disliked the nickname.

Dumptruck jumped in. “Yeah, he calls me Dumptruck 

because he says I’m a ‘big load.’ I don’t mind the ‘truck’ part. 

That sounds kinda cool. But ‘Dump’ really stinks.”

The boys burst out laughing. Boomer roared, “That’s a good 

one, man!”

Boo walked around from behind the counter. He put a hand 

on each of the boy’s shoulders. “All right, ‘Dumptruck’ is out 

from now on, Walter. And ‘Tater Tot’ is gone, too. I’m sorry, son, 

what’s your real name?”

Self-consciously, the former “french fry” said, “I’m Larry.”

Boo could understand why Rain and Boomer wanted to 

help these guys. They were in a tight spot. Boo sighed—he was a 

hooked fish. Looking at the boys, he said, “So how are we gonna 

keep this big secret?”

Rain and Boomer smiled at each other. Boo was in.

243

Chapter 26

245

Boo got the boys comfortable on the court—skipping, running backwards, 

hopping and landing, and moving laterally.

De-Bullification

Over the next few weeks, Boo supervised the transformation of 

‘Dumptruck’ and ‘Tater Tot’ into Walter and Larry. Everybody 

had a role. Simon volunteered to help Boo with strategies for 

physical conditioning and the girls took over the “training 

table”—nutrition was critical. Rain and Boomer’s job was on 

the court.
As coach, Boo took his job seriously. He arranged for his 

buddies to take Walter and Larry out every morning before 

school for a half mile of running. After that, they’d do push-ups, 

sit-ups, and jump rope. He was working them up to running a 

seven-minute mile.

For two hours every afternoon, Boo turned over the store 

to his sister, Kitty. Then he’d pick up the kids and they’d go 

over to the old school building used to house canned goods and 

produce for the Tribe’s food distribution program. The gym still 

had a pretty serviceable basketball court and middle schoolers 

never hung out there. It was the perfect hideout.

Boo got the boys comfortable on the court—skipping, 

running backwards, hopping and landing, and moving laterally. 

Only after they showed him they could move, did he advance 

to the basketball basics: shooting, dribbling, jumping, and 

passing. Boo pulled everybody into running drills with the boys. 

Interestingly, Simon, Hummingbird, and Arianna proved to 

have a real talent for agility drills.

Some days Boo ran the boys up and down the court doing 

layups until they were ready to drop. His favorite exercise was 

“the weave.” Later, when they had built some power into their 

action, he taught them some strategy fundamentals and how 

to improve essential skills like dunks and good jump shots. He 

knew they couldn’t possibly be expert at any “smooth moves” 

in just six weeks, but he wanted them to be familiar with a few 

of his favorite “fakes.” Mostly, he just wanted them to start 

thinking like basketball players.

246
Watching the boys play two-on-two against Rain and 

Boomer, Boo could see that the hard work was starting to pay 

off. However, physical training was only half the story. It took 

a lot of coordination to get the boys eating right in such a short 

time. The boys’ moms were thrilled that their sons had become 

so motivated to get healthy (although they were in the dark about 

their reasons). However, they weren’t sure about the nutrition 

the boys needed. After doing some Internet research at reliable 

websites, Hummingbird and Arianna learned that young 

athletes engaged in high levels of activity needed lots of protein 

and complex carbohydrates to sustain their energy. Because she 

was a community health representative for the Tribe, Roberta 

was able to offer some excellent advice about nutritional 

requirements. With her help, the girls carefully planned Walter 

and Larry’s meals and snacks. Then they copied out the recipes 

and shopping lists and gave them to the boys to take home.

Leona, Walter’s mother, was especially appreciative. She 

had been diagnosed with pre-diabetes; the glucose in her blood 

was higher than normal but not high enough to be diagnosed as 

diabetes. Worried that she might develop type 2 diabetes, Leona 

was happy to get information that would help her stay healthy, 

too. To show Walter that she was serious, she’d even taken the 

advice of the Tribe’s diabetes health educator and enrolled in 

the “Stop Smoking” program. As for Marge, Larry’s mom, the 

fresh vegetables from Aunt Chick’s garden were helping her to 

keep down the grocery bills. But mostly, she was just glad that 

her son was making friends.

247
Soon, Walter and Larry were talking a new language. No one 

could remember who started calling a breakfast of whole grain 

cereals, fruits, and low-fat milk the “the starting lineup,” but 

it stuck. However, Boomer claimed he was the first to think of 

“MVP: Most Valuable Players” for lean meat, fish, poultry, eggs, 

beans, peas, nuts, and seeds (proteins for building muscle, of 

course); and Simon made up “dribbling,” to mean drinking 

enough water. Hummingbird and Arianna’s snack motto was 

“bench the empty calories.” Walter and Larry really took that one 

to heart. They had dropped sodas, chips, and candy from their 

snack list. Hummingbird and Arianna also advised the boys to 

make whole grains half of all the grains they ate. The complex 

carbohydrates in the whole grain foods burned slowly and gave 

them energy for a long time. Now their favorite snack was whole 

wheat waffles with peanut butter. To keep the message going 

strong, Hummingbird and Arianna made a sign that they hung 

on the gym wall: Complex carbs rule!

Because the boys were frequently invited to eat at Rain’s 

house, supper began to look like an NBA training table. Before 

long, the program began to pay off. It was Rain that noticed first.

248
 “See, what’d I tell ya? You guys are looking good.”

Walter and Larry stood in front of the full-length mirror 

that hung on the door of Roberta’s closet. Lying across his 

parent’s bed, Rain pointed out one of Walter’s more noticeable 

achievements. “Your stomach’s not sticking out, Walter.” (The 

kids no longer forgot and called the boys Dumptruck and Tater 

Tot. The nicknames had become ancient history.)

The big eighth grader pulled up his T-shirt. “Hey, yeah. It 

doesn’t look like a doughnut anymore.”

Larry was sucking in his breath and turning from side to 

side admiring his abdomen. “That’s because we’re not eating

doughnuts, man.” Feeling happy about his healthy lifestyle, he 

added, “Good thing we didn’t start smoking like Chris wanted 

us to.”

“Aw, man,” Walter said, “Chris wasn’t smoking. He was 

just showing off with those cigarettes. He thought it made him 

look tough.”

Impressed by his emerging physique, Larry started flexing 

his biceps, too. He’d never had muscles before. Taking a cue 

from Larry, Walter inflated himself into a quivering crab pose 

like the “Hulk.” Rain laughed and jumped off the bed. “Hey, let’s 

do the Incredible Hulk!” The three boys were in various stages 

of transforming themselves into the green muscle-bound 

humanoid, when Roberta rapped on the door.

249
“Sorry to interrupt, guys, but supper is in ten minutes. 

We’re having Granma’s venison and corn stew.” Doing a double 

take at Larry who had taken off his shirt, she cried, “Wow! You’re 

getting ripped!” Larry’s blush, the color of strawberries, set off 

his red hair rather nicely. He mumbled, “Thanks,” and smiled.

When Roberta left to round up Margie and the twins, Rain 

said, “Seriously, guys, people are going to start noticing. You 

were just lucky you had health class instead of P.E. this quarter. 

It’s time to cover up if you don’t want Chris to figure out you’re 

up to something.”

Walter replied, “I got some loose jeans and a real baggy 

hoodie I can wear. But I don’t think we can fool him much longer. 

We’re avoiding him and he wants us to do stuff. He’ll figure out 

something’s going down.”

Suddenly, Larry announced. “One of my aunts gave me this 

dorky fleece sweater for Christmas.” Quickly trying to erase the 

“huh?” look on Rain’s face, he explained, “Uh, you know, under 

a jacket it would puff me out—cover up the bod?”

Politely, Rain said, “Sure, Larry, that’d work.” But Rain 

was now curious about how the guys were avoiding Chris. “So, 

Walter, what does he think you’re doing every afternoon?”

“I’ve told him I’ve got detention and stuff, and uh, I told 

one of his stuck-up friends that my mom said I gotta look after 

my little brother after school. I figured it would get back to him.”

Larry had laid some false trails, too. “I spread it around that 

we signed up for tutoring. But who would believe we’d do that?”

250
Turning to his best friend, Walter objected proudly, “We 

don’t need tutoring. My grades have come up since we’ve been 

doing homework with these guys. Yours, too, Larry.”

Larry smiled. (He was smiling a lot these days.) “Yeah, just 

doing the homework kinda helps.”

Rain heard the scraping of chairs being pulled back from the 

kitchen table. “Come on, guys, they’re gonna start without us.”

Granma was sitting at the table ready to give her blessing 

when the boys sat down. Larry took a seat beside Granma and 

Walter sat next to Rain. As Roberta put the big pot of stew on 

the table, Granma leaned over to Larry. “Rain tells me you 

participate when Joe teaches Native language.”

“Yes, ma‘am,” Larry replied. “Not everybody gets a chance to 

learn the stuff Joe teaches. Anybody can take French or Spanish 

at school. But a Tribal language is special. When we move away, 

it’s a way I’ll be able to remember everybody here.”

Suddenly, Larry realized that the whole table was listening—

including Walter, who had a troubled look on his face. “What do 

you mean ‘when you move away?’” he asked.

“You know, when my mom gets a job somewhere else.” 

Looking back at Granma, Larry said sheepishly, “I like trying to 

learn the language, but I have trouble pronouncing the words.”

Granma smiled at her great-grandson. “Rain, these are 

some fine young men you’ve brought home.” To Larry, she said: 

“After we eat, you come with me. I’m going to teach you to say the 

prayer I say every night before we eat. You might not pronounce 

all the words just right. But you’ll remember it for a long time—

and know what it means—that’s even more important.”

251

Chapter 27

253

Arrogantly ignoring the coach’s warning, Chris dug an elbow into Larry’s ribs.

Drills and Thrills

Larry must have said Granma’s prayer a hundred times over the 

next two weeks—especially the part she’d added about asking for 

strength because he and Walter were trying so hard to become 

good relatives. He now understood what it meant to have friends 

that were really like your family. Larry wanted to make them 

proud. Finally, the fateful day of the tryouts arrived. Everybody 

was jumpy. The boys’ plan was to get to the locker room early 

that afternoon and dress out before anyone else. They wanted 

no premature run-ins with Chris and his buddies.
They ate a high-protein lunch of grilled chicken sandwiches 

at lunch, and then went over to the music room where they met 

up with their new friends. Instead of best wishes, they got some 

of Boomer’s best jokes and teacher imitations. Walter and Larry 

(who had never seen his Mrs. Biddy) were rolling on the floor. 

The kids blew out the jitters like bad exhaust. Before going back 

to class, Hummingbird, still giggling, slipped them a whole 

grain snack bar to eat thirty minutes before the tryout.

The rest of the school day was no problem. They had a quiz 

in health class, the last period of the day. It was a snap—true or 

false questions about “The Food Pyramid.” They’d been living it 

for six weeks.

As soon as the dismissal bell rang, they headed to the 

locker room. The boys were surprised when Rain, Boomer, and 

Simon showed up a few minutes later. They said they wouldn’t 

be able to watch the tryouts. Coach Brown had closed the gym 

to spectators; only teachers were allowed. The guys wished 

them luck and said they would be waiting outside the gym with 

Hummingbird and Arianna.

It was time to dress out. Walter changed into a new LeBron 

James T-shirt and baggies his mom bought him. Larry took off 

his shirt to reveal a “shooter shirt” that he’d borrowed from Boo. 

The boys ate their snack and put back on their hoodies. Then 

they gave each other a wordless fist bump, and strolled slowly 

down the hall to the big double doors that opened into the gym. 

The gymnasium never looked so big. Walter swallowed hard and 

glanced at Larry. He saw a flicker of nerves pass over his friend’s 

face. Walter did a Mrs. Biddy “squawk” and gave Larry his usual 

254
punch on the arm. They laughed nervously at each other and 

stood up a little straighter.

Several basketball players from the high school were laying 

out markers for the drill stations. They would be assisting the 

coaches today. One of the bigger guys saw them and hollered, “If 

you’re trying out, sit over there!”—indicating the bleacher seats 

where the team candidates would assemble. Pulling their hoods 

down over their heads, Walter and Larry sat down and waited. 

The eighth grade Thunderbirds team soon began to drift 

in. Chris and his friends Pooch and Cruiser sauntered into the 

gym last, laughing over a private joke. Following them was a 

clump of seven boys who huddled together like a small bevy of 

quail. A high school assistant pointed to Walter and Larry and 

they quickly scurried to join the other members of their flock. 

A door banged open on the other side of the gym. All 

heads turned to see Coach Brown and his assistant, Coach 

Horn, striding across the court. Both men were in their middle 

thirties, tall, and broad-shouldered. They looked impressive in 

their dark blue Thunderbirds jackets. 

Halting in front of the assembled students, Coach Brown 

waved the current 8th grade team members to the bleacher 

seats behind the boys who were trying out. He smiled kindly and 

thanked the boys who were coming out for the team. He said he 

was sorry that there wasn’t a spot on the team for everyone, but he 

knew he could count on their good sportsmanship. Then he got 

down to business. Addressing himself to the team hopefuls, he 

said, “Okay, listen up. When I call out your names, come up and 

get a number from Coach Horn.” Reading from his clipboard, 

255
the coach quickly ran down the roster. When he called the last 

two names, Walter and Larry took off their hoodies and jogged 

over to the assistant coach.

The gym went silent. Coach Horn pinned on the boy’s 

numbers and glanced over at Coach Brown. The head coach 

was staring point blank at Walter and Larry’s miraculous 

transformation. A small buzz started to waft down from the 

upper bleachers where a group of teachers had gathered to 

watch the tryouts.

Chris slowly stood up. The expression on his face was a 

strange mixture of stunned surprise, sideshow gawking, and 

fury. Finally, a voice that came from one of the Thunderbirds 

asked the obvious. “Who are those guys?”

“Dumptruck and Tater Tot.” Chris’s reply, whispered 

quietly between clenched teeth, was more like a conviction for 

high treason than an answer. He sat down heavily.

Pooch leaned over and said, “So, now you know what they’ve 

been up to.” Cruiser laughed and shook his head. No way would 

he want to be in Dump and Tater’s shoes right now.

When the boys returned to their seats, the coach finished 

up by explaining the tryout routine and how they would be 

judged. Smiling, he wished everyone good luck and promised 

not to keep them guessing too long. “The names of the three 

players chosen for the two team positions and one alternate will 

be posted by noon tomorrow.”

256
The tryout started with drills. The coaches and their 

high school assistants took the candidates through dribbling, 

shooting, passing, and layups. There were also two agility drills 

laid out on the court—the Box and the Zigzag. Walter and Larry 

were the first ones lined up for agility. Larry turned around and 

gave Walter a confident thumbs-up. They had done these drills 

with Simon and the girls a hundred times. When it came their 

turn, the boys sprinted, sidestepped, and shuffled backwards 

with ease. Walter even showed a certain grace that didn’t go 

unnoticed. Coach Brown wrote “Excellent” beside both boys’ 

names on his checklist.

Several Thunderbird players murmured their approval. 

“Dumptruck’s okay.” “Yeah, he moves pretty good.” Chris 

whipped around to see who was talking, but his teammates had 

gone silent. His scowl elicited a couple of snickers, but nobody 

had much to say after that. They were too busy watching the 

performance on the court.

The two coaches scribbled away on their clipboards as the 

boys dribbled around cone obstacles, passed at targets on the 

wall, demonstrated layups with the left and right hand, and did 

their best to land a ball in the basket. When the coach called up 

two Thunderbirds, Robbie and Cruiser, to throw passes to the 

contenders, Chris snarled, “Make’em look bad.” They followed 

orders once it was Walter’s and Larry’s turn—making sure to 

mix in balls that were too short, too high, or off to one side. The 

harassment only put a spotlight on the abilities of the newly 

trained athletes as they dove, leaped, and did everything but 

somersault for the ball.

257
Chris stood with his arms folded across his chest, glowering 

at Robbie and Cruiser as they ran off the court. Plopping down 

next to Pooch (who thought it was pretty funny), Robbie took a 

swig of water and shrugged. “Man, they were just too...” Chris 

cut him off with a short and snappy message, “Shut up or I’ll 

bust your nose.”

Coach Brown blew his whistle and waved everyone off to 

the sidelines. Joining him at midcourt, Coach Horn said, “You 

ready to watch’em play some B-ball?” The head coach nodded. 

“Yep. I think we know who’s strong, but let’s go three-on-three, 

10 minutes each. We should be done in a half hour.”

Coach Horn randomly called out three sets of numbers 

assigned to the nine boys. By chance, Larry and Walter were two 

of the three selected for the first scrimmage. Dexter, a tall, thin 

boy was the third man. Coach Brown called out the numbers of 

the Thunderbirds who would play their opposition. Chris was 

ecstatic when the numbers for himself, Cruiser and Pooch were 

called. As he led his players onto the court, Chris whispered to 

Pooch, “This is gonna be sweet.”

Coach Brown motioned to Chris and then to Walter to join 

him at center court for the jump ball. Tasting revenge, Chris 

whispered, “You’re history, Dumptruck.” Walter ignored him. 

His concentration paid off. When Coach Brown tossed the ball 

into the air, Walter was a little quicker. He tipped the ball toward 

Larry and the game was on. Larry dribbled toward the basket, 

trying to get around Cruiser who was a good defender. When 

Cruiser proved to be too good, he passed the ball to Walter. 

258
Chris moved aggressively to block Walter, forcing him to pass 

off the ball to Dexter. Then Walter turned quickly to screen out 

Pooch who was guarding Dexter. The screen would have freed 

Dexter to pass to Larry. He was in a good position for a shot. But 

instead of initiating the pass, the tall boy crumpled forward on 

his skinny knees and crashed to the boards.

“Phweeeeeet!” Coach Brown stared at Chris, his whistle 

hanging in his mouth. Did he see what he thought he saw? Ready 

to chew nails, he marched angrily over to the captain of his 8th 

grade team.

“Chris? Do you mind telling me what that was about?”

Turning on his biggest “suck up” smile, Chris said, “Ahh, 

sorry, Coach. I guess I’m just too pumped or something. I didn’t 

mean to hit him.”

Coach Brown looked around for his assistant coach. 

“Coach Horn!”

“Right here. Behind you.”

The coach spun around. “Oh, there you are...did you 

see that?”

“Who didn’t?” Coach Horn and everybody else in the gym 

had seen Chris violently shove his left shoulder into the back 

of Dexter’s right shoulder blade. The assistant coach couldn’t 

believe it. Surely, there was some explanation.

 Turning back to Chris, Coach Brown said, “I’m calling 

that a flagrant foul, Mr. Sorrel. What do you think this is? An 

NBA final?”

Widening his eyes innocently, Chris protested in his most 

ingratiating voice: “No sir. Really it was just a mistake.”

259
In his firmest voice, the coach said, “I’m watching 

you Chris.” Turning away from Chris, he called out, 

“Where’s Dexter!?”

 The injured party said, “Over here, Coach.”

“You okay?” When Dexter nodded, Coach Brown signaled 

to resume the scrimmage. Coach Horn announced the penalty. 

“Two free throws and the tryout team keeps possession of the 

ball.” Holding the basketball out from his body like it was a 

bomb, Dexter walked slowly to the penalty free-throw line.

Walter gave him an encouraging smile and Larry murmured, 

“Just relax, man.”

Dexter could feel every eye in the gym on him. He shrugged 

and said, “Well, here goes.” He shot two air balls.

The ball went back into play. Chris and Pooch traded a 

triumphant grin as they moved in aggressively to box out the tryout 

team. In the confusion of the hustle, Chris saw an opportunity 

for a sneak hit. Arrogantly ignoring the coach’s warning, he dug 

an elbow into Larry’s ribs. When Larry dropped the ball, Chris 

hissed gleefully, “Can’t ya take it, Tater?” Dexter saw the foul 

and glanced toward the coaches, but they hadn’t seen it. They 

were watching Pooch who had possession and was passing the 

ball to Cruiser. Walter, Larry, and Dexter chased Cruiser down 

the court. They were unable to head him off. The Thunderbirds 

scored on an easy dunk. The points were rewarded by a few 

whistles and isolated claps from the Thunderbirds, but one look 

from Coach Brown quickly squelched the poor sportsmanship. 

260
Back at their goal, the tryout boys scrambled for a shot at 

the basket. Pressured by Cruiser and Pooch, Larry threw a quick 

pass to Dexter who surprised everybody by scoring two points. 

The Thunderbirds were so overfocused on Walter and Larry 

that they made a common error. Don’t ignore any player on the 

court. Heading to the opposition goal, Walter jogged by Larry 

and puffed, “You okay?”

Larry rubbed his side and gasped, “Yeah. I’ll live.”

Grinning, Walter streaked by his buddy, mouthing silently, 

“Fake Layup.”

Larry slipped back for the break the way Boo had taught them. 

He wondered how Walter was so sure he could get possession of 

the ball. But as promised, the big boy got a rebound. He hurled 

the ball to where Larry was waiting. Larry took off, but not so 

fast that Walter couldn’t catch up with him as he headed for 

the basket. That slight slowing put the Thunderbirds, all fast 

runners, right on his heels.

At the net, Larry launched his jump and pretended to go 

for a layup on the right. Chris and his teammates rushed in to 

pick off the shot. They were so fooled they didn’t see Walter 

move in on the left. Larry knew this was his moment! He pulled 

back the fake and sailed the ball to Walter who snatched it and 

rammed it through the hoop. Coach Brown jotted something on 

his clipboard. Keeping an eye on the players, he walked slowly 

over to Coach Horn. “Calvin, that play look familiar?”

The assistant coach shook his head and laughed. “Yeah, it’s 

got Boo all over it.”

261
The coach blew his whistle to stop the play. “That’s fine, 

boys. Okay, next group!”

Dexter headed back to the locker room, but Walter and 

Larry ran for the hallway where their friends would be waiting 

to hear the news. They shoved open the gym doors, momentarily 

making their fan club visible before the tension on the door 

closer cut off any further observation. But Chris and Pooch had 

glimpsed just enough to see Rain and Simon pumping their fists 

in the air. Pooch hooted, “Looks like the jokes on us, man...and 

the Veggie Crowd thinks that’s just fine.”

Chris stopped and glared at Pooch. “Nobody jumps my 

‘team’ and gets away with it!”

The intensity of his fury took Pooch by surprise, although 

he was used to Chris’s moods. “Oh, come on, man. Let it go... ” 

But Chris spun on his heels and stomped after the coach. 

“Hey! You stopped the game. That’s not fair. We didn’t get to....”

Coach Brown looked up from his clipboard. Was this kid 

yelling at him? In a commanding voice, over-enunciated but 

perfectly under control, the coach said, “You better check 

it, Chris.”

“No!” Chris grabbed at the coach’s jacket. “You played 

favorites! You didn’t give us a chance to score again! No fair!” 

Coach Brown shook the boy off. “That’s enough. Get 

dressed and wait for me in my office. Now!”

262
Chapter 28

263

Not understanding, the boy stood up and slipped off his school jacket. The 

coach took it and hung it up on a coat rack in the narrow hallway.

Harvest Time

Chris sat slumped on a couch outside the coach’s office. He 

was enjoying himself. He’d come up with some great schemes 

for getting even with Dumptruck and Tater Tot. Chewing at a 

nail, he smiled when he thought about what Melvin and Jesse 

had in store for them. Confident that his stepbrothers were the 

ultimate weapon, Chris boasted to himself, “They’re gonna wish 

they’d never been born.” When he heard Coach Brown coming 

down the hall, he straightened up. Chris had rehearsed several 
“lines” that he’d used on teachers before. He had no reason to 

think they wouldn’t work on the coach, too.

Coach Brown walked by Chris, ignoring him. He shut his 

door and called Chris’s mother. The conversation was short, but 

his mom understood that this was very serious. She told the coach 

she was worried about her son. She promised that the family 

wouldn’t shrug off the school the way they did the last time. The 

coach’s next call was to Mr. Berry. He gave a short summary of 

the situation and said he would come by the office shortly.

Coach Brown stepped outside his office. To Chris he said 

quietly, “Chris, give me your school jacket, please.”

Not understanding, the boy stood up and slipped off his 

jacket. The coach took it and hung it up on a coat rack in the 

narrow hallway.

Chris eagerly opened his mouth, ready to let fly with a variety 

pack of prepared excuses and scams: “Nobody understands me, 

but I can trust you, Coach Brown;” “I’m just studying so hard 

that I’m tired and strung out;” and a new one he thought was 

brilliant, “I think I’m going through puberty.”

The coach just walked past him. “Go home, Chris.”

Coach Brown walked unhurriedly to Mr. Berry’s office. 

When he got there, a group of sixth graders and their parents 

were just filing out of the office. Mr. Berry opened his door 

and ushered out two sixth-grade teachers. To the teachers he 

said, “I think this shows just how important bystanders are in 

preventing bullying. I’m proud of you. You handled it just right.”

264
The principal saw the coach and asked him to come in and 

sit down.

As he passed by Miss Shield’s desk, she looked up and said in 

her world-weary way, “Welcome to the Fun House, Mr. Brown.”

The coach parked himself in one of the armless guest chairs 

opposite the principal’s desk. Mr. Berry looked over his glasses 

at his athletic director. “So, you think he should be dismissed 

from the basketball team?”

“Yes, I do.”

The principal rummaged in his desk drawer for an aspirin, 

but only found an empty bottle. Closing the drawer, he sighed, 

“It seems Chris is a very busy boy.”

“What do you mean ‘busy boy?’” 

 “Our anti-bullying policy is paying off, Coach. We’ve got 

kids reporting that older boys are threatening sixth graders and 

stealing their lunch money. Several children in Mrs. Davis’s 

and Mrs. Freneau’s class confirmed it. They pointed a finger 

at Freddie. But he said Chris Sorrel made him do it. Chris 

threatened him—saying his brothers would beat him up if he 

didn’t deliver.”

Not completely surprised (not after Chris’s behavior today), 

the coach asked, “What are you going to do?”

“Suspension. Counseling, I suppose. It’s sad because he’s 

intelligent. Chris is smart and finds ways to get other kids to 

do his bullying for him. We thought he might be behind several 

incidents, but it was hard to prove. His father flat-out refused 

to hear anything about it. I’ll recommend family counseling. I 

hope the parents cooperate.”

265
“Chris’s mother listened to what I had to say. She seemed 

very concerned. Anybody else involved?”

The principal frowned. “Yes. You know Walter and Larry—

the guys they call Dumptruck and Tater Tot?”

The coach suddenly felt the floor drop. “Yeah? What 

about them?”

“Well, Freddie said Walter and Larry had been doing the 

shakedown for Chris. He got roped in because they just weren’t 

around the last few weeks to do the collecting.”

The coach stood up. “You’re kidding! They tried out for the 

team. Walter and Larry were my top choices. They outperformed 

everybody else on the court. It was like the Pillsbury Dough boys 

turned into the Transformers!”

Suddenly things were getting very unpredictable. The coach 

thought, the captain of the basketball team is a mugger and the 

“good guys” he saw today are his goons? (Gee, can anybody say 

Coyote?) He sat back down. “How can I kick Chris off the team 

and put them on the team?” He looked up at the principal. “Miss 

Shield is right. It’s like a Fun House around here.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Mr. Berry thought about 

telling the coach that a scientist from the state university was 

coming to the school. Supposedly, he was going to investigate 

some strange black stuff that Mr. Pence claimed had been a 

tree until it collapsed into a heap of dust. But he decided not 

to. No reason to start rumors. Maybe the seventh-grade science 

teacher just needed to go to Florida at Christmas and get warm.

266
The coach stood up and pulled on his jacket. “I’m gonna go 

see somebody.”

“Who?”

“Boo.”

Coach Brown decided that he would walk over to Boo’s 

Gas ’n Grocery. He needed a few minutes to think. Smiling to 

himself, the coach was remembering that game Sky Bluff High 

had played against Thunder Rock back in February 1992. He was 

playing point guard for Sky Bluff when Boo had pulled that fake 

layup and Thunder Rock won 45–43. Boy! The rivalry between 

the schools was crazy after that game!

Pushing open the double doors to the store, Coach Brown 

looked around for Boo. Kitty was at the register. “Your brother 

around?” She pointed to the back of the store.

Down on one knee, Boo was stocking the lower shelf of baby 

foods and diapers. He looked up to see Coach Brown, hands in 

pockets, standing at the end of the aisle.

“What are you grinning at?”

“Got time for a cup of coffee?”

Boo stood up. “Sure. That’s about it for the strained prunes.”

Boo went over to his big Roastmaster coffee urn and pulled 

down the lever for two cups. Coach Brown added a squirt of milk 

and asked Boo the burning question: “So what do you know 

about Walter and Larry?”

267
Now Boo was grinning. “You figured it out?”

Taking a sip from his steaming cup, the coach smiled, “The 

fake layup. It was perfect.”

Boo laughed. “I’ve never seen kids work so hard.”

Then the coach dropped the bomb. “I hear they hang out 

with Chris Sorrel.”

Boo stopped smiling. “Not anymore.” He told the coach 

about Rain and his friends coming to him about the boys. 

“Walter and Larry want to get away from Chris. I think they can 

handle it if he comes after them again.”

“I hope they can. But, we still have a problem. I was going 

to put them on the team, Boo. But I can’t now. They stole money 

from sixth graders for Chris.”

“I know,” Boo said casually. “But that shouldn’t keep them 

off the team.”

The coach’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Why not?”

“Because they paid it back. All $65 of it. They did odd jobs 

for me—when I wasn’t running their butts off.”

Coach Brown was back in the Fun House. He went sliding 

and twirling across a spinning floor. Wheeee! “You know, Boo, 

this is gonna be all right!” Swigging down the last drops in his 

cup, he smacked his lips and said, “Thanks. That’s the best 

coffee I ever tasted!”

The coach charged back across the road to the school. Mr. 

Berry was still in his office. They struck a deal. Walter and Larry 

would do community service as part of the school’s contribution 

to the Harvest Pow-Wow. That should set everything square.

268
The weekend before Thanksgiving was the start of the 

Harvest Pow-Wow and Fair on the Medicine Cave Indian 

Reservation. Planning a pow-wow was no small job. The whole 

community was involved. The pow-wow committee had been 

working for months raising prize money, inviting drums, 

choosing head men and women dancers, screening traders and 

vendors, organizing the dance competitions, and debating the 

selection of a carnival company for the midway. In the week 

before opening day, the biggest challenge was organizing the 

volunteers who would set up and manage the pow-wow grounds.

Coach Brown made sure Walter and Larry got in their 

basketball practice and had time to make signs, deliver trash 

barrels, and help set up the kitchen and tent where dancers 

would be fed. The boys would have been lying to say they were 

happy about being “kitchen helpers” and “trash pick-uppers” 

on the opening weekend, but “working the gates” and “parking/

traffic” sounded like fun.

All the kids were incredibly busy. But, unlike the basketball 

tryouts, nobody was suffering from butterflies. Although they 

would be entering drum and dance competitions, this wasn’t 

about winning—just fun. Rain and Boomer went into high gear 

with drum practice and everyone (except Simon) was trying to 

get down their dance moves.

269
Today the boys were practicing for the grass dance 

competition in their age category. Rain liked to wear the deeply 

fringed apron that was part of his regalia. He said that he 

needed the swirling yarn and ribbons to give him the right feel 

of the “grass” swaying in the wind. As the grass dance song was 

ending, he repeated his last dance step on the right side of his 

body, and then tried to bring both feet down simultaneously on 

the ground.

Frowning, Rain looked over at Simon who was holding an 

MP3 player. “You better replay that, Simon.”

Protesting, Boomer cried, “Why? We’ve done it five times. 

I’m thirsty!”

“’Cause we’re ragged on the stop. You gotta stop right on 

the beat, man.”

“I thought I did.”

“No, you didn’t, Boomer,” Hummingbird said. “Good thing 

today is a teacher planning day. Without it, you guys wouldn’t 

be ready.” She was sitting in one of the lawn chairs the kids had 

set up in her backyard. In between playing “judge” for the boy’s 

rehearsal, she was repairing some loose threads on her pink 

dance shawl.

Simon started up the MP3 player again. Nodding his head 

up and down and bending his knees in a deep whirl to the left, 

Rain hollered, “Simon, you watching? You’re gonna enter 

next year!”

“Yeah, I guess,” Simon said without much enthusiasm.

Hummingbird looked up. “Come on, Simon. At least come 

with us on Grand Entry. Arianna is.”

270
“She is?” he said brightly. Then he thought about the 

teasing. “Oh...nah, I’ll look like a goof.”

“You gotta get over your cousins!” Hummingbird cried. 

“They’ll never stop making fun if you don’t get out there and 

show ’em you don’t care what they say.”

A soft metallic thrumming/tinkling sound distracted 

Simon before he could think of a reply. It sounded like millions 

of little raindrops coming. Bird turned around, a big smile 

on her face. Arianna was running across the yard followed by 

Darlene and Aunt Chick.

“Bird! Bird! Look!”

“Oh! Arianna!” Hummingbird cried. “I knew it would fit!”

Arianna twirled and jumped up and down, the hundreds 

of small tin cones on the jingle dress beating out a unified 

percussion. “Listen! I’m an instrument!” In the middle of her 

impromptu dance, she puffed: “Your mom told me the story 

about how the first jingle dress healed someone who was sick!” 

Finally coming to a stop, she looked down at the rows of jingles 

on the yellow satin dress: “It makes me feel good just wearing it. 

Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I‘m glad you outgrew it!”

“I just told Simon you’d be in the Grand Entry with us,” 

Hummingbird said. “You’re going to look just beautiful.”

Arianna sneaked a glance at Aunt Chick. “You will, 

too, Bird.”

Darlene said, “Honey, Aunt Chick has a present for you.”

Aunt Chick held out a small paper shopping bag to her 

niece. “Keeping this secret wasn’t easy, Miss Birdie.”

271
Bird accepted the bag and peeked inside. She gasped. She 

reached in and lifted out the most beautiful pair of beaded 

leggings she had ever seen. She ran her fingers over the smooth 

background of pink seed beads, so expertly applied that no 

glimpse of buckskin backing was visible. Blue stars edged the 

tops and bottoms, and fluttering down the leggings, Aunt Chick 

had sewn rows of lavender, blue, and deep purple triangles. They 

looked just like butterfly wings. Hummingbird could imagine 

the hours of labor and love that had been put into each stitch. 

Tears clouded her eyes. Hugging her aunt, she whispered, “Oh, 

Aunt Chick, you’re just the best.”

Arianna ran jingling over to Simon. “You’ll be in the Grand 

Entry, too, won’t you, Simon?

Looking for an excuse to bow out, Simon said, “But I don’t 

have any regalia.”

“Come on. At least a friendship dance, for Pete’s sake!” 

Boomer shouted.

Simon smiled. “Okay, okay. But only if Arianna dances next 

to me.”

Sky Heart perched in a tall pine and watched the dancing. 

He had been observing the intense physical training that had 

been going on in recent weeks and was glad to see the kids just 

having a good time. When Simon started up the drum music 

again, the bird bobbed his head in time with the steady beat of 

the song.

272
“Hey! You sleeping on the job up there?”

Sky Heart looked down. Coyote was sitting at the base of 

the tree. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Trickster.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You’ve been talking to Thistle,” Coyote said matter-offactly. He shifted to a spot where he could see Sky Heart better. 

“I need you, Eagle. Bring the young humans to my garden. I 

have a gift for Hummingbird. A little coyote—a coyote squash, 

that is.” Batting his eyes at the bird, he pretended a pitiful 

plea: “Pleeeese?”

“And just how am I going to get Rain, Hummingbird and 

their friends to your garden? It’s a long way from here.”

Coyote ignored the question. His attention had already 

gone elsewhere. “I feel like a little dumpster-diving tonight. 

Care to join me?”

The eagle looked away. “Stale hamburger buns? No thanks.”

Coyote yipped at the eagle’s disdain for his appetites. “You 

eat carrion, Sky Heart. Give me a break!”

“Maybe so. But it’s not pizza garbage!” Sky Heart was rarely 

irritated, but Coyote had dumped a real problem on him. He 

was the messenger, but how did he become responsible for this 

part of Coyote’s plan? Would it backfire on him like most of the 

trickster’s crazy schemes?

Coyote trotted off. “I’ll be at the Trading Post Diner,” he 

sniffed. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

273
Sky Heart looked at the sun. It was time for his midday flight 

around the reservation anyway. He took off and flew toward the 

foothills to chart the shortest distance to the garden by road. As 

he soared above he saw a truck climbing steadily toward the area 

where Coyote had planted his seeds. A truck! Of course, the bird 

thought, why didn’t I think of Boo before?

274
Chapter 29

275

Boomer started running toward the clearing and disappeared into the trees. 

Within seconds, the shockwave hit. “Hey! You’re not going to believe this!!”

Coyote’s Garden

The next afternoon, Sky Heart was waiting on a nearby telephone 

pole at Boo’s Gas ’n Grocery. With great relief he saw Rain, 

Boomer and Simon dashing over to Boo’s before their bus came. 

Launching his plan, the eagle fluttered down and landed on the 

roof of Boo’s big wide-bodied truck. Lowering his head so he 

could see thorough the store’s glass double doors, Sky Heart 

spied the boys at the comic books. Boo, he saw, was filling the 

coffee urns.
When the two customers in the store left, the eagle went 

into his act. He flew to a pile of sticks he had deposited behind 

Boo’s garage the night before. He swooped low and picked up 

a big stick with the talons of his left foot. Then flapping above 

the truck, he dropped it on the cab! Bang! Before the noise had 

stopped echoing, he did it again—only with a bigger stick. BANG!

By the time Boo got to the window, Sky Heart was dropping 

a bundle of sticks. Some of them hit the cab roof and others 

clinked and clanged in the bed of the truck. Boo hollered, “Hey, 

guys. Get over here!”

The boys hustled to see what was going on. Boo said, “Look.” 

Sky Heart was perched on the rim of the truck bed—an extended 

foot firmly grasping another stick.

Rain yelled, “It’s him!”

Simon and Boomer simultaneously gasped, “The eagle!”

The boys flung open the glass doors and ran outside. Rain 

stopped suddenly, causing the other boys to skid to a halt. Rain 

whispered, “We should show respect.” They walked slowly and 

quietly toward the eagle. The three boys were standing before 

the great bird when Boo came up behind them. Astounded, 

he watched as the eagle let Boomer gently take the stick from 

his talons.

“You remember me, don’t you, Mr. Eagle? I’m Thunder 

Cloud. You don’t need this stick anymore. We’re here.”

Boo knew he was witnessing something extraordinary. 

Unsure that he should even be there, he started slowly to back 

away. Rain and Simon heard him and turned around. Rain 

smiled. “Mr. Eagle, that’s our friend, Boo.”

276
Sky Heart shifted his gaze to the man. Ahh, yes, the eagle 

thought, the one who will take us. Boo locked eyes with the 

Great Messenger. For a moment he felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

Finally, he managed to draw in a raggedy mouthful of air. At 

the sound of Boo’s gasp, Sky Heart emitted a shrill whistle: 

“Eeeeeeeee!”

Everybody jumped. The boys had never been this close to 

the eagle when he called out. Rain knew that the eagle wanted 

something from the man—right now. “Boo, we’ve got to go 

somewhere. The eagle will show us the way.”

Boo cleared his head and nodded. “Get in the truck. I’ll 

lock up.” Reaching into his pocket for his keys, he thought, Just 

follow the kids on this one. Just follow RD. As he was turning the 

door sign from “Open” to “Closed,” he saw the boy looking out 

the window of the truck. He whispered to himself, “Déjà vu. Just 

like Granma and Shell Ridge. Here we go again...” Boo climbed 

in the truck and said, “Where to?”

It was Simon who replied. “I think this is about 

Hummingbird. We should pick her up at school—and Arianna, 

too. Their bus hasn’t come yet.”

Rain added: “Even if it isn’t about her—she’d really be upset 

if we went off and left her.”

“Is she in trouble?” Boo asked.

“No, Boo. Nothing like that.”

Trying to understand, Boo said, “But the eagle is trying to 

help her?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Rain answered. He had never talked to an 

adult about the eagle before. He was afraid to say too much.

277
Boo pulled the truck in front of the school gym and Boomer 

hopped out to get the girls. They were sitting on a bench in the 

courtyard. Boo watched Boomer pull up Hummingbird by her 

arm and gesture toward the truck. She took off running.

Simon opened the cab door and Hummingbird jumped in, 

followed by Boomer and Arianna. Out of breath, she gasped, 

“Where is he?”

Rain pointed to the eagle. He was perched on the roof of 

the gym. When Boo pulled out onto Old Schoolhouse Road, 

Sky Heart flew out in front of the truck and set a course for 

the foothills.

Sitting in the front seat next to the window, Rain acted as 

the spotter, keeping them on the right path behind the eagle. 

As they drove out of Thunder Rock, Boo reminded everybody 

to call home on his cell phone and to keep buckled up. He was 

always super safety conscious when he was driving the kids.

When he reached the state highway, Rain directed Boo to go 

left. Then, they drove fifteen miles before the eagle took them 

onto a two lane road that meandered up into a line of evergreen 

trees that bordered the northern foothills of Shell Ridge. Boo 

cut his speed. As the trees got denser, Rain was having a hard 

time keeping the eagle in view. When he completely lost sight of 

the bird, Boo pulled over.

Nobody had spoken for a while. Boo looked back at 

Hummingbird and said, “Hummingbird, the boys thought you 

might have some idea what this is about.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know where he’s taking 

us, Boo.”

278
Rain interrupted. “There he is! He’s come back for us.”

Sky Heart was circling over the truck. Boo started up the 

engine and continued up the road. Then, Rain saw the eagle 

perched in a tree next to a fire road that led into denser tree 

cover. As directed, Boo bumped off onto the unpaved gravel 

road and drove slowly. Rain couldn’t see the eagle now, but 

everybody could hear him calling. They kept driving. Suddenly, 

Boo jammed on the brakes. The eagle was standing in the middle 

of the road.

Everybody got out of the truck. The bird flapped over to a 

tree about 20 yards to their left. The trees seemed to be thinner 

in that direction. Arianna walked to the side of the road and 

peered through the undergrowth. “I think there’s a clearing 

over there.”

Boomer started running toward the clearing and 

disappeared into the trees. Within seconds, the shockwave hit. 

“HEY! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS!!”

Boo and the kids took off. When they caught up with Boomer 

he was pointing toward a huge mass of tangled triangular leaves 

that entirely filled the highland clearing. “It’s just like the garden 

at Aunt Chick’s, but bigger than...I can see this big...maybe it’s 

a...giant, uh...” He didn’t need to point— everyone could see 

it! “It” was the top of a golden dome that seemed to be floating 

on the surrounding greenery. Reflecting rays of late afternoon 

sun, the perfectly round object glowed against a background of 

cascading leaves, waving tendrils, and ornate curlicues of yellow 

tubular flowers that drooped dreamily into the green lushness. 

It was exotic and beautiful!

279
Boomer yelled, “Come on!” and invaded the choking 

growth that surrounded the mysterious orb. Rain and Simon 

followed, helping him pull aside handfuls of leaves and vines. 

Here and there they discovered some green-striped squashes 

like those that had grown in Aunt Chick’s garden—and the 

remains of those the coyote had eaten. Finally, tugging aside 

a very dense cluster of obstructing vegetation, the boys saw 

daylight. The small party stepped through the opening into a 

sunny arena.

Neither man nor child said anything. Lying there on its 

side, still connected to its umbilical stem was a vegetal wonder 

as formidable and bold as any geological formation. Unlike 

the green and white stripes of its juvenile stage, the fruit in its 

maturity had turned a deep golden yellow. But it was the size 

that was beyond words! King-sized, titan, behemoth, colossal, 

mammoth, or even gargantuan did not begin to describe it. 

Coyote had, indeed, grown a food mountain.

After a few moments, Rain broke the silence. “Where’s 

the eagle?”

Boomer yelled, “Up there!” Everyone looked up to see Sky 

Heart circling in the clouds far above. He called out to them 

once and then flew away to the south.

Simon said, “I guess this (nodding toward the plant) is why 

he brought us here.”

Hummingbird looked jubilantly at Arianna. “Obviously.”

Arianna asked, “How big is the squash?”

Rain walked around the massive yellow fruit. “I’d say nine 

feet. And about the same across.”

280
Boo was flabbergasted at the level-headedness of Arianna’s 

question and Rain’s response. Strangely, the kids seemed to be 

getting over their shock rather quickly. Frowning, Boo asked, 

“How do you know it’s a squash?”

Bird replied instantly. “It’s a coyote squash.” Remembering 

Miss Swallow’s identification, she added, “But some call it a 

coyote gourd or buffalo gourd.”

Boo glanced at Bird. These kids knew a lot about this thing. 

“Well,” Boo said, “someone’s been sleeping here. See? There’s 

the impression of a body.”

Boomer stooped over where Boo was pointing and picked 

up a clump of dead grass and crumpled leaves. A gray fuzzy wad 

was stuck on it. Boo said, “Let me see that—it looks like hair.” 

Boomer stretched up his arm and handed him the clump. 

Suddenly, Boo recoiled, almost gagging. “Good grief, Boom, 

don’t you use deodorant?”

“It’s not me! Honest! I took a shower this morning.”

Simon started laugh-snorting.

“No, no, Boo. It’s the squash leaves,” Hummingbird 

explained. “When you step on them, they smell like 

(giggling) armpits!”

 “You got that right!” Teasing some hairs from the fur wad, 

Boo said, “This looks like dog or maybe coyote.” He sniffed it. 

“Boy, that’s bad.” Flicking the fur bits off his fingers, he added, 

“You ought to call it stinking coyote squash.”

“Actually, I think that is one of its names,” Bird admitted.

Suddenly, Boo’s face lit up. “Hey! Do you know what this 

could be? Global warming!”

281
Hummingbird decided to come clean—at least a little bit. 

“Actually, this squash probably grew from some seeds I started 

in my Aunt Chick’s garden. I’m not exactly sure how a seedling 

got up here or how it got so big...but I did use a lot of fertilizer.”

Suspicious, Boo said, “You’ve seen one of these before?” 

The kids said that they had not seen a yellow squash, but they 

were familiar with the smaller green ones. Hands on hips, Boo 

turned around and looked at the squash. “Fertilizer. Hmm, so 

that’s what this is...”

Rain added some details. “Bird had the idea to grow some 

giant vegetables so everybody on the rez could have fresh food. 

Arianna was helping her. We were thinking of entering one in 

the pumpkin growing contest at the pow-wow.”

Boo laughed. “Well, I’d say Hummingbird’s squash would 

win hands down!”

Rain looked at Bird. “Boo’s right! We could enter it in 

the competition!”

Everybody began to talk at once. “Where would we take it?” 

“When does it have to get there?” “Can we move it?”

Boo walked over to the squash and started rapping on it 

with his fist. The reflected sound was dull and heavy. “It feels 

pretty solid to me. I think we could move it.”

“How?” The kids cried.

“You know your friend, Jimmy? Well, his Uncle Luther runs 

a small moving business. Maybe he’d know where to get a truck 

with a crane.”

Arianna asked, “How much can a crane lift?”

282
“Depends on the weight,” Boo said. “How much do you 

think this thing weighs?”

Hummingbird smiled, “Ask Simon.”

Simon always loved it when his friends said “ask Simon.” 

Thinking for a few seconds, he said, “Boo, do you have a rope or 

some cord in your truck?” Boo nodded. “Okay, somebody find 

me a stick about a foot long. I’ll be right back.”

Boo was impressed. “Wow. Simon can really think on 

his feet.”

Rain laughed. “Simon’s a smart guy. When we teach him how 

to grass dance, you’re gonna really see some fancy footwork!”

283

Neither man nor child said anything. Lying there on its side, still connected 

to its umbilical stem was a vegetal wonder as formidable and bold as any 

geological formation.

Chapter 30

287

Somebody says a truck down there is hauling the biggest pumpkin you ever 

saw. They’re gonna enter it in the contest.

Moving Mountains

Simon hurried to the truck and found a big coil of rope and a 

metal tape measure in Boo’s toolbox. When he returned, he 

tied the rope onto a stick that Arianna found. Then he gave the 

stick to Rain and told him to put it on the widest part of the 

squash—about 4.5 feet from the bottom. Simon ran around the 

giant with the rope until he reached the stick, measuring its 

circumference. He marked his end of the rope. Laying out the 

rope on the ground, he used the metal tape measure to measure 

the distance from the stick to the mark.
Looking up, Simon announced the result. “It’s a little more 

than 28 feet around.” Then he explained his thinking. “When 

we were looking up stuff on the Internet about growing giant 

vegetables, there were lots of sites about giant pumpkins. 

We saw a picture of one that was about 15 feet around, and it 

weighed between 1,700 and 1,800 pounds. You remember that 

one, Arianna?”

“Yeah, it was like the biggest one ever grown.”

“So we’re looking at something double that weight?” 

Boo said.

Simon turned around and looked at the giant squash. 

“Maybe. Pumpkins are mostly water. I don’t know how much 

water is in a coyote squash.”

Boo dropped off the kids and drove back to his store. He had 

Luther’s phone number somewhere in his an old customer list. 

He reached him on his cell. Jimmy’s uncle listened patiently to 

Boo’s problem. When he started to explain that he was moving 

the big squash for Rain, Hummingbird and their friends, 

Luther interrupted. “Why didn’t you say so? I’d do anything for 

those kids! RD saved Jimmy from Vernon Smeed—that fossil 

poacher!”

Uncle Luther offered to bring his flatbed truck or something 

better. He’d figure out the best way to move it. “We don’t want to 

drop the sucker,” he said. He suggested they meet at Boo’s Gas ’n 

Grocery no later than 8:00 a.m. They’d need an early start.

288
The next morning all the kids were at the store except for 

Simon. He had planned to bring his dad, Henry, to help since he 

knew all about hauling heavy loads. Unfortunately, Henry got a 

late assignment to drive an oil tanker to California. So, Simon 

went on ahead with Hummingbird’s father, Tom, and her two 

brothers to show them where the giant squash was located. 

They would be clearing a path into the clearing for Uncle 

Luther’s truck.

Hummingbird was so excited she couldn’t stand it. She and 

Arianna started jumping up and down when they saw a truck 

pulling a funny-looking trailer into the store parking lot. It was 

big enough to haul a small house. Uncle Ralph leaned out the 

cab window. “Everybody ready to do some movin’?”

The girls shouted, “We are!”

Looking down the road, Rain asked, “Where’s Dad?”

“Right behind me.” Just then, Gerald came into sight, 

pulling a trailer with a loader on it.

Boo appeared in the open door of his garage. “Wow, 

man. Look at that elevating platform trailer. You must have 

some friends!”

“Well, if the equipment they use to lift the pumpkins for 

weighing isn’t strong enough, we can use this trailer.”

Boomer came out of the garage wiping his hands on a rag. 

“Anything else, Boo?”

289
“Nope. We’re ready.” Rummaging through his garage, 

Boo had drug out every conceivable tool that might be useful 

in transporting a giant coyote squash. The only thing missing 

was the food—but it wasn’t missing for long. Nadine, Boomer’s 

mom, drove up with her backseat and trunk loaded with high 

nutrition snacks, coffee for the adults, and lots of water.

Going over the last details, Hummingbird announced to 

everybody that the squash had to be delivered to the farm pavilion 

at the fairgrounds no later than noon. Her mom, Darlene, had 

already filled out the entry papers. She would take them to the 

judge’s tent by 10:00 a.m, the deadline for registration.

With that, everybody was ready to go. Boo revved up his 

truck and led out the convoy. As drivers passed the tight group 

of vehicles heading out of Thunder Rock, several waved. Others 

looked in their rearview mirrors, probably curious about where 

that bunch was going. They’d find out soon enough if they were 

going to the pow-wow.

The procession made good time on the highway, but slowed 

down considerably on the roads leading into the foothills. When 

they reached the fire road, Boo pulled in beside Tom’s truck, 

which was parked on the shoulder. With some help from Boo, 

Uncle Ralph expertly turned the platform trailer onto the gravel 

road. He didn’t do much damage except for some smashed 

undergrowth and a couple of unfortunate saplings. Gerald 

followed easily.

290
They drove very slowly to the clearing. Ralph stopped when 

he saw Simon and Tom signaling to him from an opening in 

the trees. Tom yelled that the ground was firm—the vehicles 

wouldn’t bog down. Then, walking on ahead, Bird’s dad guided 

the trailers to the giant coyote squash.

Dale and Richard had stopped cutting back the squash 

plants when they’d heard the roar of the truck engines. Standing 

aside, they watched the trucks pull up as close as possible to 

the “Big Stinker” (that’s what Hummingbird’s brothers started 

calling the squash after they’d chopped a few of its vines and 

leaves). Shutting down their engines, the two men got out of 

their vehicles for a good look at the nine foot tall yellow ball they 

were supposed to move. All Uncle Luther could say was, “Well, 

Gerry, paint me purple! I’ve seen it all now...”

Everybody gathered around and strategized how to move 

the squash onto the trailer. Their solution was to lower the trailer 

to ground level, push the squash with the loader up the trailer’s 

ramp, fit blocks around it once it was centered on the trailer, 

and then tie it down. Because it was perfectly round and tended 

to roll, they secured it with a chain, pulled a cargo net over it, 

and strapped it to six tie-downs. As an extra measure, Uncle 

Ralph attached the trailer’s cargo winch line onto the chain.

With the squash lashed down securely (and some fortitude 

provided by a snack break), everybody pulled out of the clearing 

and headed back to the two-lane road. Once Uncle Luther was 

on the highway he accelerated somewhat, but was afraid to go 

too fast. Soon drivers started noticing the truck’s big yellow 

291
cargo; some were honking their horns. The more curious turned 

around and started following. It was 11:00.

By the time that the trailer arrived at Jim Thorpe Road, 

Uncle Luther was leading a parade—which made the congested 

traffic near the fair grounds even worse. Old Mr. Curley, who 

lived in a house next to the industrial park, had been sitting on 

his front porch waving at the creeping cars. But when he saw the 

approaching trailer, he hollered to his granddaughter: “Suze, 

come out here! What’s that thing?”

Suzanne opened the screen door and looked up the road. 

Standing on tip-toe, she was barely able to make out the top of 

the yellow squash. “It’s, uh, one those parade balloons. I think 

its Bart Simpson, Granddad.”

As the mysterious yellow ball got closer to the pow-wow 

gate, people began to tag along beside the truck. “Say, what is 

that? Where’d it come from” “Where you taking it?” Uncle 

Luther leaned out the cab window and pointed to Nadine’s car: 

“Belongs to a kid named Hummingbird. It’s a squash. Gonna 

enter it in the big pumpkin competition.”

The word began to spread along the road. Melvin and Jesse, 

Chris’s brothers, had been hanging out at the gas station across 

from the fair grounds when they heard the hubbub. Mildly 

curious, Melvin moseyed over to a bunch of rubber-neckers. 

“What’s going on?”

“Somebody says a truck down there is hauling the biggest 

pumpkin you ever saw. They’re gonna enter it in the contest.”

292
Melvin didn’t believe it. No way. Dad’s pumpkin last year 

weighed in at 1,500 pounds. Nobody could grow pumpkins 

bigger than Dad! He started jogging toward the truck. As he 

came up on the giant squash, he started laughing. People are so 

stupid! No pumpkin’s that big. It was probably a plastic container 

of corn oil or something. Melvin stopped and let the truck catch 

up with him. Walking alongside the cab, Melvin sneered, “Hey, 

that ain’t no pumpkin you’re hauling, Mister.”

Uncle Luther wasn’t easy to rile. “Little girl back there says 

it’s a coyote squash. Some kinda gourd.”

The cocky went out of Melvin. “What little girl?”

“Name’s Hummingbird. Says she started the squash down 

here in her aunt’s garden.” Melvin didn’t bother to say ‘goodbye.’ 

He started running to the farm pavilion where the Sorrel Family 

had just unloaded their pumpkin.

Finally, the parade made it to the gate entrance. Walter 

was taking tickets. He had been watching for Hummingbird all 

morning. She’d called the night before and told him they had 

an entry for the pumpkin competition. Chris hadn’t destroyed 

all the giant squashes after all! But now Walter was on pins and 

needles. The deadline was 12:00 p.m. and the clock was ticking.

293
When he saw Hummingbird’s head sticking out the back 

window of Nadine’s car, he hollered frantically, “You better 

hurry! You only got 30 minutes!” At that moment, however, 

Uncle Luther wasn’t as concerned about time as he was about 

the turn. He was going to have to back up and make a sharp left 

to get inside the gate. He signaled to the four vehicles in their 

party that they would have to back up. Tom yelled back, “We 

can’t! There’s too many cars behind us!”

Watching from the parking area, Larry could also see that the 

big yellow thing wasn’t going anywhere. He figured it had to be 

the squash. When Larry saw that it was Gerald towing the loader, 

he temporarily abandoned his community service. Running 

across parking lots A and B, and jumping a roadside ditch, he 

landed next to Gerald’s truck. Frustrated, Rain hopped out on the 

passenger side. “Man, where did all these people come from?”

“Yeah, there must be a billion of ‘em. I gotta get back in 

a minute. I’m parking cars.” Gesturing up ahead, Larry said, 

“Man, that pumpkin’s awesome!”

Gerald checked his watch and slumped further down in his 

seat. “Well, it doesn’t matter how wonderful it is if we don’t find 

a traffic cop.”

Larry nudged Rain. “Hey! I know where the police chief is. 

I saw him writing a traffic ticket.”

Rain perked up. “Don’t worry, Dad, we’ll get Willard.”

Willard Fox Chief was cousin to Rain’s mother, Roberta. 

He’d come to Rain’s aid at Shell Ridge when Vernon Smeed 

had kidnapped Granma. Dodging cars, pow-wow dancers, and 

tourists, the boys found the police chief making assignments 

294
to a group of volunteers working “security.” Safety and moving 

cars efficiently were the chief’s top priority. When Willard 

saw the anxious look on Rain’s face, he asked, “What’s wrong, 

RD?” Rain wasted no time summarizing the situation. The chief 

told the boys to jump in his squad car. “Sounds like we got a 

traffic problem.”

By the time they got back to the gate, the watching crowd had 

doubled in size. Jingling bells, waving plumes, and the flashing 

colors of brilliant pow-wow regalia created a riotous reception 

for the giant squash. Coyote would have been very pleased.

Hummingbird, Arianna, Boomer and Simon had become 

tired of sitting in Nadine’s car and had joined Walter at the 

gatehouse. Miss Swallow was with them. Sammie and Star were 

there, too. They had grabbed Miss Swallow from the dance 

arena to come see “Hummingbird’s Squash”—the tag that was 

quickly replacing “the big yellow thing” among the chattering 

on-lookers. Hummingbird and Arianna were beaming. Now 

Miss Swallow would know that the big squashes had been real!

When the squad car pulled up, the science teacher leaned 

down to the girls. “Don’t you worry. Willard will get it through.” 

And she was right. With whistle blasts, well-aimed pointing, 

and a commanding palm, Willard pushed back the cars to allow 

the trailer’s passage through the gate. Unfortunately, Miss 

Swallow was only half right. When Uncle Luther started his turn, 

the trailer’s left back wheel bumped into a pothole. Suddenly, 

the truck lurched and jolted the blocks loose. Hummingbird’s 

Squash tilted backwards, the cargo net split, and the big ball 

began to roll. Someone yelled, “It’s going in the ditch!”

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With horror, everyone watched as the weight of the squash 

unbalanced the trailer, lifting its front wheels off the ground. 

Only the chain and straps held the squash on the trailer. Then, 

one by one the straps began to pop as the weight of Coyote’s 

child strained them beyond their capacity. Hummingbird and 

Arianna screamed, and a loud “Ohhhh” went up from the crowd.

Clinching his teeth, Uncle Luther growled, “Hold onnn...” 

He reached for the power switch to the cargo winch—the last 

trick up his sleeve. He prayed the winch would hold the chain. 

He knew he would have to reel in the line tight enough to support 

the remaining straps. The crowd watched anxiously as the winch 

whirred and then abruptly stopped. The straps held. The pull on 

the chain even rolled the squash slightly back toward the center 

of the trailer. The front wheels returned to earth.

Willard gave the signal and Uncle Luther drove the truck 

slowly forward, unblocking the gate entrance. The crowd erupted 

into cheers, high-pitched trilling, and booms of approval from 

a drum group that had been stranded on the road.

Tom and Boo jumped up on the trailer and replaced the 

blocks. Hopping down, they returned to their vehicles and 

followed Uncle Luther. When they pulled in front of the farm 

pavilion it was one minute before noon.

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A northern traditional dancer, Betty Swallow was nothing less than stunning in her white 

buckskin dress, its heavily beaded yoke seeming to fall weightlessly from her shoulders.

A Grand Entry

The squash convoy drove to a large open area that doubled as 

a parking lot and site for various contests and other events. It 

was big enough for the Tribe to host a tractor pull, horseshoe 

and archery tournaments, a kite flying contest, and a little 

kid’s parade. Bordered by the open-sided farm pavilion and 

the home arts building, it attracted a large number of visitors 

who came to see the livestock judging and crafts displays. Uncle 

Luther’s destination was a large tent, commonly called the 
“judge’s tent,” that served as the headquarters for all the fair 

and pow-wow operations.

Uncle Luther parked the trailer and everybody jumped out 

of the cars. A tall, sandy-haired man came running from the 

entrance to the judge’s tent. It was Les Johnson, director of the 

local county extension service and a popular official at the annual 

fair. He called out, “Boy, you guys cut it close!” He shook hands 

with all the adults, greeting Tom and Gerald by name. They had 

served with Les on various agricultural business committees 

over the years. Turning to the kids, he asked, “Which one of you 

girls is Hummingbird?”

Bird smiled and held up her hand. “That’s me.”

“You’re famous, honey! The radio station’s got a reporter 

out here that’s been talking about nothing but ‘Hummingbird’s 

Squash’ for the last hour.” Looking around at the rest of the 

group, he said, “Don’t be surprised if he wants an interview.”

“Well,” Darlene cut in, “he’ll have to wait until after Grand 

Entry. These kids have got to get dressed and over to the arena 

by 1:00.” 

Les’s cell phone rang. He excused himself and answered. 

“Johnson. Yeah? A protest?” After a long pause, he said, “Okay. 

I’ll bring’em over.” Frowning, he re-pocketed his phone 

and said, “That was one of the pumpkin judges. He said that 

somebody’s filed a complaint against your entry. They say it 

shouldn’t be allowed in the competition.”

Simon spoke up quickly. “Wait! That’s not right! It’s okay to 

enter a squash in a pumpkin contest. I read it on the Internet!” 

All the kids began to protest loudly. 

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Tom motioned for everyone to pipe down. “Look, the judges 

will have to decide what’s fair. We’ll find out what the rules are. 

There must be some rules. Right, Les?”

“Yep, we generally follow the policies set up by the 

International Pumpkin Federation.” 

A car horn interrupted any further discussion of pumpkin 

policy. Roberta was pulling in next to Nadine’s car. She’d been 

delayed waiting at the gate for a golf cart to take Granma over 

to the Senior Center booth. Leaning out the car window, she 

called, “Come on, kids! We’re going over to Joe’s camper to 

change clothes.” 

Rain ran up to the car. “Mom, you won’t believe it. We might 

get kicked out of the pumpkin contest!” 

“Well, you guys won’t be in the Grand Entry either, if you 

don’t get a move on.” 

Boomer grabbed a suit bag from his mom’s car and laid it 

on top of the other regalia that filled Roberta’s trunk. Jumping 

in the back seat next to Simon and Rain, he wasn’t surprised 

to hear Simon worry-warting. “Guys, I’ve got to do something 

to keep Bird from being disqualified!” Rain and Boomer just 

looked at him... what could he possibly do? 

Following Darlene to her car, Hummingbird was still 

making a big noise, too. “It’s gotta be Chris, Mom! That’s why he 

destroyed the squash at Aunt Chick’s. He wanted to keep us out 

of the contest!”

Darlene turned around and gave her daughter a funny look. 

“What are you talking about, Bird?” 

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Realizing she’d said too much, Hummingbird said, “Oh, 

nothing, Mom.” Getting in the car, she glanced at Arianna and 

whispered, “Me and my big mouth.” Arianna warned, “Yeah, 

you’re gonna get Walter in trouble.”

Darlene lowered her head down to the car window. “Girls, 

I’ve packed everything in the trunk.” Handing the car keys 

to Dale, she said, “Just follow Roberta, we’ll meet you at the 

arena.” Before Hummingbird could protest again, she smiled 

sweetly: “Calm down, Bird. Just remember, whether you stay 

in the contest or not—you and Arianna got that giant vegetable 

you wanted...”

As the cars pulled out with their disgruntled passengers, 

Darlene and Nadine headed over to the judge’s tent. Entering 

its dim interior, they saw that only a few people were about. Tom 

and Gerald were standing in front of a table talking quietly to 

Mrs. Elva Eddy, one of the judges. Apparently more interested 

in farm machinery than pumpkins, Uncle Luther had wandered 

away to check out a poster display of John Deere tractors.

 Suddenly, a man’s angry voice broke the silence. “Rules are 

rules! This is a pumpkin—not a squash contest!” Hoke Sorrel was 

shaking a paper in the faces of two pow-wow officials who didn’t 

seem to be very moved by his outburst. Putting an exclamation 

point on his anger, he turned abruptly and stormed out the back 

entrance of the big tent.

Darlene sighed, and said “Oh, dear. Bird was right. It is the 

Sorrels...” 

Tom and Gerald came over and described the situation. 

“We’re supposed to come back at 3:00,” Tom said. “The judges 

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are giving us an opportunity to argue against the protest. Hoke 

Sorrel says that squashes are excluded according to this...” 

He handed Darlene the same photocopy that Hoke had been 

waving around. 

Gerald explained, “It’s the official rules of the International 

Pumpkin Federation.” Checking his watch, he said, “We better 

get going. I’d like to get some pictures.” 

Darlene read the judging guidelines out loud as they made 

their way to the pow-wow arena. When she got to the part about 

the color requirements, Uncle Luther (who wasn’t a gardener) 

broke in. “Boy, some people really take this stuff seriously!” 

Darlene said, “If you think that’s serious, listen to this.” She 

was about to recite the rules about skin quality when they heard 

the host drum launch the song for the Grand Entry. Quickly 

stuffing the rules in her tote bag, she said, “The rest of this can 

wait.” Hurrying to join the huge crowd of spectators, they could 

see above the heads of the onlookers, the crook of the furred 

eagle staff begin its forward movement into the arena. 

Tom and Darlene broke off, looking for a pathway through 

the crowd. Uncle Luther, Gerald, and Nadine did the same. 

Finally, Tom found an opening behind a row of lawn chairs 

occupied by members of the Senior Center—just in time to see 

the men fancy dancers and grass dancers twirling past. He and 

Darlene watched as the traditional women dancers followed, 

their long fringed shawls, draped over their arms, swinging 

gracefully in time with the drum. Darlene nudged Tom, “Look, 

there’s Miss Swallow.” A northern traditional dancer, Betty 

Swallow was nothing less than stunning in her white buckskin 

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dress, its heavily beaded yoke seeming to fall weightlessly from 

her shoulders. She looked like a willow in the wind. 

After the women came the boys. Tom and Darlene saw Rain 

and Boomer go by with the junior grass dancers. Knowing that 

Hummingbird and Arianna couldn’t be far behind, Darlene 

craned her neck, looking for the girls. Spotting a pink and 

yellow pattern emerging from the churning colors of the Grand 

Entry, she cried, “Here they come, Tom!” Tom raised his cell 

phone and snapped pictures as Hummingbird’s pink shawl 

spun past. Arianna was right behind her. Although a beginner, 

she side-stepped and zigzagged just as Aunt Chick had taught 

her—flashing a smile that was almost brighter than the jingles 

on her yellow dress. 

Being pressed by the people behind them, Tom and Darlene 

decided to make an escape—they needed air. Fortunately, they 

spotted Uncle Luther on the outer fringes of the crowd and joined 

him. They stood respectfully until the Grand Entry concluded 

with the invocation and closing song. After the spectators broke 

up, it didn’t take long for the kids to find them. 

Hummingbird called out, “Mom! Dad! Did you see us?”

“We sure did. And Daddy got pictures.”

Boomer’s tongue was hanging out. “Mom, if I don’t get 

something to drink, I’m gonna pass out.”

 Nadine said, “These kids need water. Let’s go back to my 

car and get out the cooler.”

“Good idea,” Tom said. “We have to get back to the 

judge’s tent by 3:00 anyway. It’s almost 2:00 now.” Turning 

to Hummingbird, he said, “We’re going to have to defend 

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your squash’s entry in the contest, Bird. Your mom’s got the 

official rules.”

Arianna looked around, “Simon! Where’s Simon? He just 

disappeared before we lined up for the Grand Entry.”

“He’s right over here!” Roberta answered. Everybody 

turned to see Roberta, Simon, and Miss Swallow hurrying 

around the periphery of the pow-wow arena. Simon was looking 

pretty sharp in a ribbon shirt that Darlene’s boys had outgrown. 

“Where did you go?” Rain asked. 

“Your mom took me back to your house,” Simon said. 

Smiling proudly, he said, “I printed off the websites of pumpkin 

contests where a squash was allowed into the competition.” 

Looking up at the science teacher, he continued. “Then we went 

to find Miss Swallow. She knows all about coyote squash.” 

Miss Swallow explained. “Simon remembered some 

information about coyote squash that I had...uh...thumbtacked on my bulletin board. I’m sure that Hummingbird’s 

Squash is a stinking buffalo gourd. It’s sometimes called a 

coyote squash.”

“Well, its leaves sure do stink!” Uncle Luther said. 

“Whew, yeah, that stuff is ripe. I can still smell it,” 

Tom laughed. 

Darlene fished in her tote for the copy of the rules. Handing 

the paper to Miss Swallow, she said, “These are the judging 

guidelines they gave us.” 

Miss Swallow glanced at the paper. A little smile passed 

over her face. “If somebody will drive me to the school, I’ll get 

my research folder.” 

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“I’ll drive,” Nadine volunteered. “I’d like to hear more 

about this stinking gourd.” As they were leaving, Nadine turned 

and laughed, “Will somebody feed and water Boomer, please?” 

 “Yeah, Mom,” Rain cried, “the food smells are driving us 

crazy! Can we eat?” 

Roberta said, “Let’s go over to Food Alley. Boo’s selling 

his Native snacks and the county extension service is serving 

up grilled corn in the husk, baked potatoes, turkey legs, and 

chicken and bison kebabs. Oh, and just wait until you see the 

Tribal health department’s booth! You’ll love it! It’s called ‘On 

a Stick.’ We’ve got veggie dogs—roasted potatoes on a stick, 

peanut butter on a stick—that’s peanut butter balls between 

grapes, turkey medallions on a stick, salad on a stick, frozen 

fruit on a...” 

“What about water on a stick...?” Boomer gasped.

Gerald grabbed Boomer around the shoulders and pushed 

him playfully toward the vendor booths. “Come on. Let’s go find 

this boy some ice cubes.”

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Pointing to a family tree chart on the easel, she explained, “The pumpkins and 

squashes all belong to the gourd family and to a tribe of gourds called the Cucurbiteae.”

Pumpkin Arguments

Hummingbird ran on ahead. It was just before 3:00. She slowed 

when she saw the crowd milling about in front of the entrance. 

Suddenly, a man with a microphone came running toward her. 

It was MC (Medicine Cave) Charlie, the DJ from KHOT—“The 

Home of the Thunderbirds”—the reservation radio station. He 

was doubling as the roving reporter at the pow-wow today.
The rest of the group caught up to Hummingbird, just as she 

was wondering what it would be like to be on the radio. Biting 

off a wedge of potato from his veggie dog, Rain said, “Looks like 

he’s gonna ask you some questions.”

Tom wiped his mouth with a napkin and said, “Why don’t 

the rest of you go on in? Bird and I will talk to Charlie.” Still 

munching, the little troop of “squash supporters” headed for 

the big tent, smiling at the DJ as they passed. Tom shook hands 

with Charlie, who announced into the microphone, “Well, folks, 

we’ve finally found the famous Hummingbird and her dad here 

at the judge’s tent. Let’s see what she can tell us about her 9-foot 

squash. How did you grow it so big?”

“I don’t really know. Um, I put some fertilizer on the seeds 

and then it got transplanted and it just grew...kind of on its own.”

“Uh huh. Well, everybody’s waiting for the judges to 

make the decision whether it’s eligible for the monster 

pumpkin weigh-off. What are you going to say to convince 

them, Hummingbird?”

“Well, Miss Swallow is going to speak for us. Ah, I guess 

she’ll talk about its scientific classification—you know how it’s 

related to pumpkins?” 

“Sure, of course, its, uh, classification. I know our listeners 

will be really interested in that. Best of luck!” Looking for a 

more exciting interview, MC Charlie had quickly moved on to 

a small crowd gathered around a table advertising “Guess the 

Giant Squash’s Weight.” Granma Hettie was selling guesses 

for a dollar. The prize was a lap quilt pieced by the ladies at the 

Senior Center.

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Tom laughed and said, “We’ve got some enterprising elders 

around here.” Father and daughter ducked into the tent. Simon 

stopped them before they got past the entrance. He was handing 

out copies of his web searches about the eligibility of squash in 

pumpkin contests. Apparently, Granma wasn’t the only one 

being enterprising that morning. Giving a copy to Tom, Simon 

explained excitedly, “Maybe it’ll help us if we can get the crowd 

on our side!” Tom thought, this boy will be running for Tribal 

Council before he’s out of high school.

Walter and Larry rushed past them, hauling in extra chairs 

to seat the still-growing audience. They stopped long enough to 

tell Bird they were pulling for her. Walter said, “Mr. Johnson’s 

letting us off parking lot duty so we can stay and see how it 

turns out!”

Larry pointed to the portable bleachers that had been 

hastily assembled by some pow-wow volunteers. “Look, Bird, 

everybody’s here!” 

Mr. Berry, Coach Brown, and a small cluster of teachers had 

commandeered a whole row of the bleachers. Mr. Pence wasn’t 

with them—he was seated on a portable camp stool he had set up 

behind the judge’s table. “Thunder Rockers” from the middle 

school were sitting on some butcher paper they had spread out 

on the sawdust floor. Who needed chairs?

Little Deb, Star, and Sammie jumped up from the group and 

ran over to congratulate Hummingbird. Sammie was gushing 

as usual. “This is so much better than the science fair, Bird!” 

Hummingbird bumped fists with her “gal pals” and said thanks. 

She was really glad they were there.

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Not to pass up a little enterprise himself, Boo was setting 

out bottles of water on the judges table, complements of “Boo’s 

Gas ’n Grocery.” He handed a bottle to Miss Swallow, who was 

already back from the school. She was busy moving the easel 

holding the John Deere tractor display to one side of the judges 

table. When she saw Bird, she called out, “Bird, will you help me 

put up these pictures of the coyote squash?” 

“Sure, Miss Swallow!” Bird went to the easel and took down 

the tractor advertisements. Pinning up the photocopies, she 

said, “Just think. If the coyote squash hadn’t been on the tree we 

found in the shed, you wouldn’t have printed off these pictures.”

Miss Swallow reflected on Hummingbird’s comment. 

“You’re right, Bird. If it wasn’t for the tree, I wouldn’t know much 

about coyote squash.” She glanced at her stack of notes. “Maybe 

nothing at all.” Hearing a little stir in the crowd, she turned and 

looked toward the tent entrance. The Sorrel family had come in 

and was looking around for seats. A volunteer indicated three 

metal chairs at the front. Hoke, Melvin, and Jesse headed toward 

those seats, while Althea and Chris climbed to the top row of the 

bleachers and found an empty space on one end.

Since his 10-day suspension began, Chris had been 

spending most of his time at home. He had focused on his school 

assignments and had attended a counseling session his mother 

set up with the Tribe’s Youth and Family Counseling Program. 

Chris had made only brief replies to counselor’s questions, but 

had opened up to his mother when they returned home. For the 

first time, she really listened to his complaints about Melvin 

and Jesse. In the days since then, things had been more relaxed 

between Chris and his mother. She had even stood up to his 

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stepdad when Melvin started hassling him for getting kicked 

out of school. That was a first.

Chris watched Hummingbird helping Miss Swallow. He 

wasn’t very interested in what his self-perceived rival was doing. 

Even when the judges entered the tent, he merely glanced at 

them with indifference. He already knew how this debate was 

going to turn out.

Les Johnson, the contest coordinator, made his way to the 

judge’s table. He laid out a set of folders at each judge’s place 

containing the registration forms for the contest entries, the 

Sorrel’s complaint, and a copy of the International Pumpkin 

Federation (IPF) manual. He checked the microphones on 

the table, and then pulled out a chair for the senior judge, Elva 

Eddy. She was a well-known gardener on the reservation. Dave 

Corn (Mrs. Corn’s husband), famous for his prize-winning pie 

pumpkins, seated himself next to Elva. The last judge was Mike 

Good Face, a respected referee in the junior division at local 

Golden Gloves bouts. Mike had a reputation for being a fair 

man; everybody trusted his rulings.

Looking around the tent, Hummingbird saw that it had 

just about reached capacity. The police chief, Willard Fox Chief, 

was one of the last people to squeeze in. He was escorting Rain’s 

great-grandmother (who was also Willard’s great-aunt) to some 

lawn chairs that had been set up for elders. Granma Hettie sat 

down and waved at Bird, mouthing, “Good luck.” Hummingbird 

waved back and quickly finished tacking up a hand-drawn chart 

Miss Swallow gave her. Then, passing on the “good luck” wish to 

her favorite teacher, she hurried to join her family and friends. 

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Les opened the hearing by welcoming everyone and 

thanking the volunteers for setting up the seating so quickly. 

He reminded the attendees of the no smoking sign, and quickly 

reviewed the issue to be debated, explaining that Miss Swallow 

would answer the judges’ questions for Hummingbird. The 

judge’s questions, he added, would give the audience a good 

idea of the criteria for a qualified entry.

 Elva led off with a statement that would not have surprised 

anyone who had correctly read the rules of the International 

Pumpkin Federation. “Mr. Hoke Sorrel has protested that 

the fruit entered by Hummingbird is not a pumpkin and is, 

therefore, not allowed. We disagree with Mr. Sorrel. The IPF 

allows squashes to enter a giant pumpkin competition. The 

winner is the heaviest pumpkin or squash.”

Someone in the audience impatiently called out, “Who 

cares what it is—how come it’s so big?”

Elva nodded. “I know, I know. Like everybody here, I want 

to know how Hummingbird’s entry grew so large. But our job 

right now is to determine what it is, not how it got to be 9 feet 

tall. So, Betty, can you tell us what that big yellow thing is—a 

pumpkin or a squash?”

Miss Swallow stood up. “No, Elva, I can’t.”

Hummingbird’s yelp was lost in the crowd’s surprised 

reaction. Boomer protested—loudly, “That’s not what she’s 

supposed to say!” Nadine shushed her son but, like everyone, 

she didn’t know what Miss Swallow was up to. Rain and Simon 

didn’t miss the celebration in the front row. Hoke was clapping 

and Melvin and Jesse were “high-fiving” each other.

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When the audience settled down, Mike Good Face leaned 

forward and asked, “Then what is it, Miss Swallow?”

“It’s the fruit of a plant whose scientific name is Cucurbita 

foetidissima. It’s a gourd—most often called the stinking gourd or 

stinking buffalo gourd. But sometimes called a coyote squash.”

Miss Swallow continued, “I would like to request that 

this gourd be allowed in the contest. I have several photos of 

the plant here. As you can see, its fruit is normally about the 

size of a tennis ball.” Pointing to two photos, she said, “The 

stinking gourd has green and white stripes like a squash when 

it is young, and it’s yellow like a pumpkin when it is mature. 

Therefore, it meets the IPF’s color requirements for a squash 

and a pumpkin.” 

“Which is it most related to—a pumpkin or a squash?” Dave 

Corn asked.

“Actually, a pumpkin is a squash—a winter squash. Sorry, I 

know this is very confusing. These plants are so closely related 

that it is hard to classify them as different.” Pointing to a family 

tree chart on the easel, she explained, “The pumpkins and 

squashes all belong to the gourd family and to a tribe of the 

gourds called the Cucurbiteae. One of the groups in that tribe is 

called the “cucurbits.” They are the edible gourds—like squashes 

and pumpkins. The stinking gourd is a cucurbit—but the fruit is 

poisonous. It is not edible.”

Trying to smash Hummingbird’s Squash one more time, 

Melvin suddenly yelled, “Yeah, nobody would want to eat it. It 

stinks like a rotten sewer! Step on it and you’ll have to throw 

away your shoes!”

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Miss Swallow turned and stared at Melvin. How did he 

know what a stinking buffalo gourd smelled like? Of course, 

she thought, he would know if he had crushed its leaves...like 

in Aunt Chick’s garden. Willard was thinking similar thoughts. 

He had stepped out from behind Granma Hettie to see who was 

talking. Those were the same words that the Neighborhood 

Watch officer had used to describe that vandalism case. Willard 

made a mental note to ask Melvin a few questions.

They both refocused their attention on the judges when Elva 

Eddy responded to Melvin. Playing on Miss Swallow’s reference 

to the “cucurbit tribe,” she joked, “Because a Tribal member 

stinks, young man, you wouldn’t take away his enrollment, 

would you? Maybe he just needs a bath!” Laughter rippled 

across the crowd.

Elva held up her hand for quiet. Getting serious again, 

she said, “Betty, you just said that squashes and pumpkins are 

‘edible gourds.’ Can we eat any part of the stinking gourd? Or,” 

she smiled, “is it really just a big weed?”

Miss Swallow smiled, too. “No, it’s much more than a weed. 

Our ancestors roasted the seeds or ground them into flour. 

They’re really high in protein and healthy fats. Traditionally, the 

fruit has been used as soap and for medicines, and to control 

insects. I think we should take into account that animals benefit 

from the gourd, too—porcupines and coyotes eat the seeds. 

There are even new uses being discovered for the stinking 

gourd. The root can weigh as much as 220 pounds and can burn 

like wood. There’s some research showing it can be used for 

fuel in countries that have few natural resources.”

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The judges jotted down a few notes. Then they looked at 

Les and nodded. They had no more questions. Les turned to the 

Sorrels. “Is there anything you would like to say, Mr. Sorrel?”

Hoke just folded his arms and stated forcefully, “A pumpkin 

is a pumpkin!”

The judges got up and conferred with Les. He pulled a 

microphone toward him and announced that they were retiring 

to make their decision. People immediately began to stand up 

and chat with their neighbors, but nobody left. They weren’t 

giving up their seats. This show was too good.

Elva, Dave, and Mike picked up their folding chairs and 

exited the tent. They placed them in a circle under a nearby 

awning set up for picnickers. Putting their heads together, they 

quickly arrived at the most important questions to be discussed.

Mike went first. “What about the fact that it’s poisonous 

and can’t be eaten?”

“We don’t eat giant pumpkins either—they’re just 

ornamentals. That shouldn’t be a reason to exclude 

Hummingbird’s entry,” Dave replied.

“Okay, that settles that,” said Elva. “What about Miss 

Swallow’s request that we broaden the rules to allow gourds?” 

Not waiting for an answer from her fellow judges, she went on. 

“I don’t like the idea of excluding any plant in the gourd family. 

I think we should allow it as a gourd.”

“But should we be creating our own rules?” Dave asked.

“Why not? It’s our contest.” Elva was a big supporter for 

Tribal sovereignty. She had been an activist in her day and 

313
always took a stand for self-determination. “We should follow 

our own values. Why do we need the IPF? I say family comes 

before rules!”

“But think about it, Elva,” Dave countered. “Can you imagine 

how much that thing out there weighs? The IPF would recognize 

our Tribe as growing the biggest “cucurbit” in the world! If we 

don’t go by the rules—the weight won’t count. Hummingbird’s 

Squash could put us on the agricultural map!”

Elva considered this and backed off a little. Then she said, 

“But we all agree that it is in the same tribe as the squashes 

and pumpkins?” Both men nodded ‘yes.’ “Then we can safely 

classify it as a squash. That doesn’t violate any rules—even the 

ones about the color requirements. I think we’re done.”

“We’re making the right decision,” Mike said, “but I’d like 

to offer a suggestion. Why don’t we have two divisions—one for 

pumpkins and one for squash. The winner of each division goes 

on to compete for the title of biggest squash or pumpkin. Hoke 

won’t win the overall title, but he can still claim he grew the 

biggest pumpkin—which will probably be true. Then, we write to 

the IPF and suggest that they include gourds in the competition. 

I’m with you, Elva, on the ‘family’ thing. We just need to change 

the rules, not break them.”

Elva and Dave smiled at Mike. “You’re a wise man, Mr. Good 

Face,” Elva said. Apparently the crowd that had been waiting for 

their decision agreed. The cheer that went up could be heard 

across the fairgrounds.

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Chris bought three throws and aimed a fast pitch at the two bottom bottles. The 

bottles went flying and he won a small teddy bear.

Holes and Soft Spots

The tent emptied quickly. Roberta and Nadine herded the kids 

back to Joe’s camper where they changed clothes. The moms 

wanted their regalia to be in good shape the next day when the 

junior dance and drum competitions were scheduled. The rest 

of the day they could run the midway.

The plaintiffs in the great pumpkin/squash debate went 

their separate ways, too. Hoke Sorrel found his wife and admitted 

that, although he was disappointed, the judgment was fair. He 
would settle for the title of biggest pumpkin at the weigh-off. 

Melvin and Jesse’s sullen expressions said it all—they thought 

he’d been robbed. They slunk off without saying anything. Chris 

listened a while longer to his stepdad prattle on about keeping 

his pumpkin title, but he was sick of the whole subject. He told 

his mom he was going to play some carnival games—he would 

win her a teddy bear.

Chris headed toward the midway but he didn’t get very far. 

Jesse was waiting outside the tent. He grabbed Chris’s arm from 

behind and spun him around. Sticking his nose in Chris’s face, 

he snarled, “If you had busted up that garden like you said, this 

wouldn’t be happening. You can’t even knock out some crummy 

squash. Now everybody’s laughing at us! Loser!”

Chris immediately flared up, “Melvin was there, too. Why 

not blame him?”

“Cause he’s my brother...and you’re not!”

“Who would want to be your brother, Jesse? Huh? You and 

Melvin think the answer to everything is beating up people and 

being stupid. You’re the losers!”

Melvin suddenly appeared behind Jesse. Backing up his 

brother, he said, “You better watch it, Chris.”

Chris laughed. “If you could read, Melvin, you’d know that 

the rules allowed a squash in the contest. All that Hummingbird 

and that pile of green stuff she calls her friends had to do was 

prove that it was! Didn’t you see that stuff Simon was passing out? 

Miss Swallow had all the evidence. Dad made a fool of himself! I 

didn’t make people laugh at you—you did! 

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“Yeah, well,” Melvin said smugly, “if you’re so smart—how’d 

the big science fair winner get suspended from school?”

“Ha!” Chris snapped. “That’s nothing, Mr. Genius, 

compared to what’s going to happen to you. You just confessed 

to everybody with half a brain, like Willard Fox Chief, that 

you vandalized that garden!” Giggling like a little girl, Chris 

mocked, “‘Oooh, stepping on the leaves got stinky stuff all over my 

wittle shoes!’”

A look of uneasiness passed over Melvin’s face. “No way, 

man. Busting up that garden was your idea. You just better keep 

you mouth shut.” Melvin turned away, glancing nervously at his 

brother. “Come on, Jesse. This guy’s crazy.”

Still laughing, Chris shouted after them, “You’re so stupid 

you don’t even know Dad could still win!”

Chris didn’t move for several seconds. He just stared at 

the backs of the stepbrothers that made his life so miserable—

until they disappeared into the crowd. Then, head down, he 

started walking toward the midway. He trudged about aimlessly 

for a while before turning into Arcade Alley. The “Lucky Duck” 

shooting gallery caught his eye and he bought a ticket. But Chris 

couldn’t concentrate. He popped off several rounds with the toy 

rifle and hit nothing. Next, he tried the “Test Your Strength” 

game. He banged away with the mallet at the base of a tall scale 

that rose like a giant thermometer. But he came nowhere ringing 

the bell. His swing was too wild.

Discouraged, Chris wandered around watching other 

people play the carnival games. He lingered at the Ring Toss and 

Dime Pitch, but they were boring. Finally, he focused on the 

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Milk Bottle Topple. He watched player after player throw a ball 

at three milk bottles stacked in a pyramid—and lose their money 

trying to knock them over. Chris noticed that the three bottles 

toppled only when the ball was thrown with enough force at the 

ones on the bottom. He bought three throws and calmly aimed 

a fast pitch at the two bottom bottles. The bottles went flying 

and he won a small teddy bear. He did the same on the next two 

throws—trading his prizes up to a big teddy bear. Chris bought 

more throws...and more throws.

Finally, the carnival worker running the game took him 

aside. “Say, kid, why you don’t move on. I gotta keep my job.” 

Chris smiled agreeably. No reason to be greedy, he thought. 

Mom will like the stuffed monkey, tiger doll, and gum ball 

pillow—but she’ll really love the giant teddy. The clown wig and 

“I’m with Stupid” T-shirt he would save for Melvin and Jesse. 

Chris’s bad mood seemed to have passed, but as Coyote said, 

winning always had a bad effect on him. 

Unlike Chris, Hummingbird, Arianna, and the boys had 

passed up the games—they were more interested in the rides. 

The girls started off slowly on the family rides. They rode the 

Spinning Sombreros and the Ballerina Twirl before moving up 

to scarier fare. They were standing in line with Rain and Simon 

at the Flying Octopus when Boomer challenged them all to the 

Loopy Anti-Gravity ride. He firmly believed that stomachchurning terror was the only way to have fun at a fair. They 

wisely decided to stick with the Octopus. Boomer later wished 

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he had. He found out that gravity has a funny way of re-exerting 

its powers—especially on your lunch when you are strapped into 

a gondola car that’s upside down and thirty feet off the ground. 

After Boomer recovered, everybody headed back to the 

pow-wow arena. They were supposed to meet up with their 

families at 5:30. Social dances were scheduled about that time 

and everybody wanted to join in. Two very special visitors 

were already at the arena, hidden behind the stage where the 

well-amplified Master of Ceremonies was announcing the 

upcoming contests and which drums were singing. They had 

spent the afternoon watching the dancing competition and 

were now indulging in some chow provided by that well-known 

gourmet—Coyote.

Thistle exclaimed, “Fruit salad! Where did you find it?” 

Coyote nudged the plastic container toward the rabbit. 

“Never mind, there’s more where that came from.” Sticking his 

head into his other prize, a large white paper sack, he dragged 

out half of a chicken sandwich. Coyote wolfed down his treat 

quickly, but Thistle wasn’t as hungry as she thought she was.

“Thanks for finding this fruit for me, Coyote. But I’m 

suddenly feeling a little down...” Her chin started to tremble. 

“It’s just that it’s hard when my babies start foraging for 

themselves. I’m going to miss them so much.”

Coyote stopped licking the mayonnaise off the sandwich 

wrapping. “Thistle, eat a pineapple chunk. You’ll feel better. 

Besides, your babies haven’t run off yet.” Cocking his head to 

the side like coyotes will do, he asked, “Were there any rabbits 

like you in this litter, Thistle?”

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“No, not this time. But over the many years, there have 

been some like me.” Thinking about this, she frowned and 

asked, “How old are we, Coyote?”

“Well, let me see. We were born in that winter when the 

first story was told. That was long, long ago when it was cold 

most of the time.”

“So, what does it mean when one of our children is like us?” 

Coyote thought carefully. He wanted to express himself 

in the right way. Finally, he said, “When one like us is born, it 

means that the stories the people tell about us are changing. If 

they only told the new stories, we would only live through our 

children. But, it seems they still like and remember the old 

ones, too. We are still here.” Then his mouth stretched into his 

big toothy grin. “The old tricks are the best! And I love to play 

them. They’ll be telling stories about me forever!”

Thistle began to eat her fruit. Swallowing a grape, she said, 

“Coyote, you are so bad and so good, so wise and so crazy...

You’ve lifted my heart today.”

Suddenly the drumming and singing stopped and all the 

dancers came to a halt. “What’s happening?” Thistle asked.

“Somebody’s dropped an eagle feather.” 

“Ohhh. Yes, of course. Everyone is standing. Sky Heart 

must be very happy when the people honor him.” 

“He deserves the honor,” Coyote said quietly.

The animals watched as a ceremony was performed and the 

feather was returned to its owner. Then, the young men’s fancy 

dance competition resumed. After it concluded and the dancers 

got a drum roll, the MC announced a Rabbit Dance. “This is a 

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social dance. Everybody come into the arena—men and women, 

all tribes, all visitors!”

“Did you hear, Coyote? A Rabbit Dance!”

“Maybe they are honoring you now, Thistle,” Coyote teased. 

“Look! There’s Rain and Hummingbird and their families, 

and Boomer and his mom.” Naming off the couples, she went on, 

“Walter asked Miss Swallow...oh, how funny—Larry is dancing 

with Margie. And Simon and Arianna—they’re holding hands! 

That’s so sweet!” Thistle squealed.

When the social dance ended, everyone clapped and 

laughed as they exited the arena. “It looks like the kids are 

leaving. They’re headed toward the parking lots,” Thistle said. 

“It’s probably been a long day.” Her eyes gleaming, she hopped 

to the coyote. “When am I going to see Hummingbird’s Squash?”

“Soon. Everybody’s going on supper break. Wait ’til it’s 

almost dark. Then we’ll leave before the people come back for 

Grand Entry tonight.”

While Thistle continued to gawk at the comings and goings 

she found so fascinating, Coyote kept an eye on the sinking sun. 

When there was only the slightest tinge of pink on the horizon, 

he said, “Come on. Let’s go.”

The two animals made a dash for the scrub on the periphery 

of the pow-wow grounds. Once concealed, Coyote leisurely 

guided the rabbit around to the farm pavilion. They squatted in 

some weeds behind an electrical transformer box that supplied 

power to the nearby buildings, tents, and booths. Coyote said, 

“Look over there.” Thistle peeked around the edge of the metal 

box toward the deserted area where the tractor pull would be 

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held the next day. And there it was! The giant squash rested on 

the platform trailer—proud and regal. It glowed like dull gold 

in the dim light of the light towers that had winked on as the 

sun faded.

Coyote said, “So, what do you think?”

The sight of the squash—so pumpkin-like—over-stimulated the rabbit’s herbivore brain. She was enthralled. “Oh, it’s 

magnificent. Your masterpiece!”

“Yes, it is,” he said proudly. “I want you to enjoy it.” Rubbing 

his stomach, the trickster said, “That half sandwich wasn’t 

enough for me. I’ll find dinner. What do you want?”

Still gazing at the squash, Thistle drooled. “How about 

black bean soup, a southwestern Caesar salad, and a pumpkin 

smoothie for dessert.”

“What? I’m not running a restaurant, Thistle.”

“Oh, sorry! Never mind,” she said embarrassed. “I can pick 

off the lettuce and tomatoes from whatever you find.” 

After Coyote left, she settled in to “enjoy” the squash. 

She thought about the hours of tender care that he must have 

devoted to the needs of his plants. These pleasant thoughts 

made the little garden-raider very happy. Her spirits rose even 

higher as she listened to the muted roar of the midway that 

floated across the fairgrounds. Against the whirr and grind 

of the carnival rides, she could hear the booming of a drum 

warming up for tonight’s dance competition. Focusing her ears 

forward, she could even make out the exhilarated screams of 

rollercoaster riders, rising and falling with each plummet and 

loop of the track. But sight was as thrilling as sound. When she 

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looked up, it was to thousands of twinkles and the beauty of the 

Ferris wheel’s neon-bright lights rotating against the night sky. 

Thistle was dazzled by the splendor of it all.

She was turning her interest back to Hummingbird’s 

Squash when she detected some movement. Straining her eyes 

she tried to see what had attracted her attention. Suddenly, the 

Harvest Fair and Pow-Wow receded far away. She was looking at 

Chris Sorrel.

Chris was walking swiftly and confidently toward the giant 

squash, sitting alone and vulnerable on the platform trailer (the 

other entries were inside the farm pavilion). He had waited 

until dark to make his move—patiently waiting for the extension 

service volunteers to close up the judge’s tent for the night. He 

carried a 5-foot tent stake he had found propped against an 

equipment van near the midway. Grasping the stake firmly, 

he whispered over and over under his breath, “Holes and soft 

spots—holes and soft spots.” He would show Melvin and Jesse 

how to win! Indeed, Chris had read the International Pumpkin 

Federation rules. He knew that soft bruised areas and holes that 

went through to the inner cavity of a pumpkin/squash would 

disqualify it. A winner had to be perfect.

In a panic, Thistle watched Chris mount the back steps of 

the trailer and then circle the squash, examining it carefully. 

Suddenly, he went behind the squash and did not reappear. 

What was he doing? Then, Thistle’s sharp hearing picked up the 

sound of dull thuds. What she couldn’t see was Chris plunging 

his pocket knife over and over into a thin spot in the squash’s 

hard skin.

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Thistle looked around wildly. Where was Coyote? Although 

it was against all her instincts, she hopped out into the open area 

that offered little protective cover. She bounded quickly behind 

a sign pointing to the horseshoe tournament. At least it would 

give her some protection and a view of the squash’s other half. 

Thistle wasn’t prepared for what she saw. Chris had plunged the 

stake through a deep puncture he had made with the knife and 

was scissoring it back and forth—tunneling through to the heart 

of the beautiful squash. Appalled at the violation of Coyote’s 

creation, she watched him pull out the stake and push his arm 

into the opening.

Behind her, Thistle heard a low growl. She gasped and 

spun around. Teeth bared and haunches quivering, Coyote 

was crouched, ready to spring. He howled and reared back, 

his power so near and angry that even Thistle’s hair stood up. 

The rabbit knew she had to do something—fast. Just as Coyote 

launched himself forward, Thistle somersaulted into the air, 

knocking the trickster aside. She reached for her power—as 

hard as she could ever remember—and hurled her judgment at 

Chris. Deflected, Coyote’s power shot toward the home building 

and shattered a window.

Catching her breath, Thistle leaped toward the trailer, 

shouting over her shoulder, “Don’t, Coyote! Stop! Pull back 

your anger!”

She jumped onto the platform. The rabbit was relieved 

when she heard Chris grumbling and yelling. “This is all I need. 

No bars on my cell phone! I hate this squash! My arm is...I can’t 

get out! Help!” She had feared that her power, dormant so long, 

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was too wild and may have hurt him. Anxiously, she followed 

the curve of the squash until she spotted one of Chris’s hands 

braced against the floor of the trailer. She thrust her head out 

far enough to see him kneeling on one knee and kicking at the 

squash with his left foot. He tugged at his right arm, which was 

trapped in the squash up to the elbow. 

Furious, Chris shouted, “Let me go! You dumb, stupid piece 

of...” Suddenly, he caught sight of the nose blinking cottontail. 

He abruptly stopped his rant and stared, open-mouthed, as 

the rabbit hopped into full view. He jerked his head around, 

following her with his eyes as she hopped to his other side.

Thistle was checking him out. Apparently, Chris was in 

no pain. Her whammy had done what she intended. He was 

trapped in his own wrongdoing—and would not be released by 

the squash until a kind human pulled him free.

Chris stammered, “It’s you. That...that rabbit at the 

garden. But you’re not real!” Thistle turned her head and stared 

at Chris. Her eye reflected no light. Not being “real,” she was 

unknowable to him—which was really a shame.

Thistle broke eye contact when Coyote began to yip, calling 

her to come away. Desperate, Chris pleaded, “No, don’t leave 

me. Help me get out. I was only trying to get the seeds!”

His tail sagging, Coyote trotted to the trailer and looked up 

at Thistle. She hopped down and approached him. Quietly, she 

said, “I had to do something, Coyote. You would have hurt him. 

Are you calm now?”

“Yes, my rage is gone. I’m grateful to you, Thistle,” he 

replied huskily. Suddenly, his face broke into a big smile. “Your 

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ears! They’re up straight!” Admiringly, he said, “Your power is 

greater than I thought, little rabbit.” 

Climbing on Coyote’s back, she said, “Yeah, so you 

better watch it, you old rascal. Now take me home the way you 

brought me.” She leaned forward, spraddled across the top of 

the trickster’s backbone. Clutching his fur, she said, “Tell Sky 

Heart to come in the morning. He will take pity on the boy.” 

She glanced up at Chris, who was slumped against the squash—

watching them with a stupefied expression. In Coyote’s ear, she 

teased, “He only wanted some of your seeds, Coyote.”

Coyote yipped at the joke. “Ha! My dearee...there are no 

seeds. Hummingbird’s Squash is an only child!”

Chris saw a gray streak zap across his line of vision—and 

the rabbit and coyote were gone. Completely whacked out, he 

jerked uselessly at his arm and started crying. Wiping his nose 

on the sleeve of his free arm, he looked up at the giant yellow 

fruit that had become his jailer. Kicking at it again, he whined, 

“I’ve gone craaaazy...and it’s all your fault!”

After a few minutes Chris got control of himself. Surely 

someone would see him. Maybe Melvin and Jesse would come 

looking. That’s when he remembered that he’d told his mom he 

was going to spend the night at Cruiser’s house. That was his 

cover for the night. He’d wanted plenty of time to disqualify 

Hummingbird’s Squash. But his plan was too good. Now his 

family wouldn’t miss him.

Chris got into the most comfortable position he could find 

and waited. He passed the first hour singing some songs under 

his breath and playing a mental game of tic-tac-toe. But time 

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was dragging and he got cold. Intelligently, he used the stake 

to drag over the cargo netting that had covered the squash. 

He pulled it over his head. As the clock approached 11:00, the 

pow-wow arena closed down for the night. Shortly thereafter, 

someone shut off the light towers. 

Chris was left alone in the dark—with only his thoughts and 

Cucurbita foetidissima to keep him company.

327

Thistle leaned forward, spraddled across the top of the trickster’s backbone. 

Clutching his fur, she said, “Tell Sky heart to come in the morning. He will take 

pity on the boy.”

Chapter 34

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It was not clear to Sky Heart why Chris had chosen such an odd place to sleep. ...he angled 

his wings to create a little air drag and settled gently on top of the home building.

All In It Together

The gray light of morning found Sky Heart flying across the 

Medicine Cave Indian Reservation. Coyote had awakened him 

in that darkest hour before dawn to tell him that a boy needed 

him. The trickster’s only instruction was “go to Hummingbird’s 

Squash.” Approaching the pow-wow grounds, the eagle veered 

toward the farm pavilion where he had seen the giant squash 

the previous day. Circling above, he spotted it easily. The boy 

pressed up against its massive body was also easy to identify. It 
was not clear to Sky Heart, however, why Chris had chosen such 

an odd place to sleep. To better assess the situation, he angled 

his wings to create a little air drag and settled gently on top of 

the home building.

Before long, Sky Heart saw Chris turn his head and restlessly 

pull off a wad of cargo netting that covered his shoulders and 

legs. He was on his knees with his cheek resting on the top of his 

right shoulder. Strangely, his right forearm seemed to disappear 

into the squash. Chris moved again, shifting his body around 

the unmoving arm, trying to find a more comfortable position. 

It became obvious to the eagle that he was trapped.

Sky Heart took pity on the boy just as Thistle said he would. 

Looking for help, he gazed across the pow-wow grounds. Surely, 

some humans would be arriving soon. Luckily, he was right. He 

spotted a truck and a car turning in at the main gate. He launched 

himself into the air and followed the vehicles to Food Alley. He 

watched as the truck and car pulled up behind a vendor booth. 

Sky Heart circled over the booth, waiting for his moment. The 

driver of the truck got out and walked over to the car. Sky Heart 

recognized him! It was Boo!

The eagle suddenly swooped downward, and skimmed just 

above Boo’s head. Les Johnson, the driver of the car, hollered, 

“Look out, Boo!”

Boo had instinctively crouched when he felt the swoosh 

over his head. When he looked up, he saw an eagle landing on top 

of a shuttered food van. Les opened the car door and leaned out 

for a better look. “I’ve never seen anything like that! Have you?”

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Boo sprinted around to the passenger side of Les’s car and 

got in. “Les, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to wait for that cup of 

coffee. That eagle is gonna take us somewhere.”

“Take us somewhere?”

“Yeah, trust me.” Les gave Boo a “you gotta be crazy” look, 

but he dutifully followed the eagle when he took to the air again. 

Keeping the bird in view, Les drove toward the road that led to 

the farm pavilion. As he turned into the parking lot, Boo said, 

“There he is—on top of Hummingbird’s Squash.” Les drove 

directly across the lot, ignoring the areas roped off for the 

contests, and pulled up in front to the trailer. Boo jumped out 

of the car. 

Sky Heart raised his wings and called out a series of highpitched whistles. His job was done. In amazement, Boo watched 

the bird fly away. Then, he focused his attention back on the 

squash. What was he supposed to see?

Les leaned out the car window and said, “What do we 

do now?”

Boo held up his hand for Les to be quiet. He’d heard 

something. In the silence, the men heard a small voice wailing, 

“Help me!” Without hesitation, Boo bounded up onto the trailer. 

He followed the cries to the back of the squash. Startled, he found 

Chris crumpled up on the trailer floor. Not understanding what 

was wrong, he squatted down and asked, “Are you hurt?”

“My arm’s stuck,” Chris said weakly.

“Hey, Les!” Boo yelled, “get up here. Looks like the squash 

rolled over on Hoke Sorrel’s son.” He reached down to give 

Chris some support, but as soon as he touched him, the squash 

333
released the boy with a soft slurp. Les got there in time to see 

Chris sink back against Boo’s leg. 

“Is he okay?” Les asked.

“I don’t know. We better get him checked out.” Boo helped 

Chris to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah, but my feet feel numb.”

Les reached over to help steady the boy, but it was the squash 

that suddenly commanded his attention. “For the love of....

what is this?” He stepped back, shocked at the gaping slashes 

and clusters of ugly stabs that now spoiled the squash’s once 

pristine beauty. Looking down he saw a large hole, surrounded 

by pulpy bruises where Chris had kicked his feet, trying to free 

himself. That’s when he spotted the tent stake and the pocket 

knife that lay next to it.

Les picked up the stake. Then he knelt down and inserted it 

into the opening where Chris’s arm had been. The entire 5 feet 

of the metal bar disappeared into the squash. Les looked over 

at Chris. “The damage goes all the way through to the interior.” 

Sighing, he said, “You know what that means don’t you, Chris? 

You did this, didn’t you?”

Chris glanced away and said nothing. His expression was 

hard to read.

Boo said, “So, what does that mean?”

“The squash is disqualified. Out of the contest.” Mindful 

of the boy’s physical condition, Les added, “Let’s get somebody 

over here from First Aid to take a look at him. He needs to 

move—we can walk him around in the judge’s tent. What’s your 

phone number, Chris?”

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Luckily, Althea picked up Les’s call right away. He described 

briefly what had happened and assured her that her son did 

not seem to be badly hurt. She said she and her husband would 

come immediately. The early arriving volunteers at the First Aid 

station were just as responsive.

Chris was complaining of thirst when Simon’s brother 

Billy showed up from First Aid. A well-qualified EMT, he gave 

Chris some water and checked out his arm for bruising, broken 

bones, and compression injury. Thankfully, no damage was 

done. Chris could feel and move everything; he had no pain. 

Boo also brought Chris a breakfast sandwich, figuring that he 

needed some energy after his ordeal. Chris was eating at the 

judge’s table when his mom arrived. She hurried over and sat 

down beside him.

“Is your arm all right?”

Chris put down the sandwich and wiggled his fingers. “It’s 

fine, I guess.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Chris had had plenty of time during the long night to figure 

out what he wanted to say to his mother. Gradually, his growing 

exhaustion had forced all the excuses and lies out of his head. 

They took too much energy to think up. Instead, his explanation 

was short, matter-of-fact—and very truthful. “I damaged 

Hummingbird’s Squash so it couldn’t be in the contest. And I 

wanted the seeds so we could grow one even bigger. Something 

happened and I got my arm stuck in it. I was here all night. I 

lied about going to Cruiser’s.” In the same emotionless voice, 

he continued, “I tried once before to make sure she didn’t get 

335
in the pumpkin contest. I got Melvin to help me tear up her 

garden. He smashed their garden shed, too.” Chris laughed a 

little. “Melvin’s real good at smashing.”

Dumbfounded, Althea asked, “But why, Chris?”

Chris met his mother’s eyes directly. “I wanted Dad to win. 

That’s all. I thought I could make him care about me. I thought 

he might make Melvin and Jesse leave me alone. They hate me 

and I hate them...”

Stunned by the bleakness of his motive, Althea put her arm 

around her son’s shoulder and hugged him. “We’ll work this 

out, Chris,” she said quietly. “Is there anything else you want to 

tell me?”

Chris looked at his mother, desperately wanting to tell 

her about the rabbit and coyote. But he was afraid. If he told 

his mother he saw a rabbit riding on a coyote’s back, she might 

think he was seeing things. Would that mean he was crazy? The 

only other explanation was that the animals were real. What 

did that mean? Chris was stuck. He shook his head: “No, mom, 

there’s nothing else.”

Althea smiled and said, “Finish your sandwich. I’ll 

be back.”

Althea found Les Johnson and asked to see the damage. He 

took her to the squash. Appalled by the violence of the attack, 

Althea was deeply affected by the desperation that it revealed. 

She murmured, “I should have seen this coming a long time ago.”

“There’s probably going to be a police report,” Les warned 

her gently. “I’m just letting you know. Um, sorry, but I’ve got to 

go. We have to set up the scale for the weigh-off this morning.” 

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Althea nodded. She was about to follow Les when she saw 

Hoke approaching the trailer. “What’s he done, Althea?” he 

angrily demanded.

“He dug holes in Hummingbird’s Squash. It’s going to 

be disqualified.”

Hoke looked at the judge’s tent. “Is he in there?” 

“Wait! Stop, Hoke. Come up here. I want you to see this.”

Almost reluctantly, Hoke stepped up on the platform. His 

eyes went to where Althea was looking. “He did this for you, 

Hoke. To help you win. To make you care about him. We have 

not been calling out Melvin, Jesse, and Chris when they’ve done 

wrong. We’ve been using the excuse that boys will be boys, and 

we have let it get out of hand. This isn’t just about Chris. It’s 

about all of us. We have all got to make some changes.”

Hoke stared at what Chris had done to make him “care.” He 

was shaken. Troubled, he said, “He did this for me?” Hoke had 

never spent much time thinking about family relationships. 

But, seeing this, he understood that Chris had been trying to 

reach out to him—in a confused and twisted way that was not 

really his fault. Hoke looked at his wife and said, “Let me talk to 

him. By myself, Althea.”

Hoke walked over to the judge’s tent. Chris was sitting 

where Althea had left him. Hoke sat down. They talked. Chris 

told him the same thing he told Althea. Feeling scared, he asked 

his stepdad what was going to happen to him. Hoke said not to 

worry; they would work it out—together. Focused so intently on 

Chris, Hoke didn’t notice Willard Fox Chief standing at the end 

of the table.

337
“Morning, Hoke. Can I talk to you?”

Chris glanced up nervously. Hoke gave his stepson a 

clumsy, but fairly reassuring smile. He replied, “Sure,” and 

followed Willard outside where they could talk privately. When 

they were alone, Willard said, “About this squash thing. It’s 

vandalism, Hoke.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hoke admitted. “I’m worried. We’ve got 

some real problems with Chris. Ahh, are you going to talk 

to him?”

“Not right now. But stick around for a while.” Willard didn’t 

know Hoke all that well, but he offered him some advice. “Look, 

Hoke, there is somebody that can help you. Her name’s Bertha 

Lapin.” He took out a slip of paper and wrote a phone number 

on it. “She consults for Tribal Social Services. She’s helped 

families with a lot worse problems than you have. Sometimes 

folks worry that if they go to Tribal services, everybody on the 

rez is going to know their business. Bertha’s not like that; she 

zips it up.”

Taking the phone number, Hoke said, “Thanks, Willard. 

I appreciate this. I’ll give her a call on Monday.” Awkwardly, 

he said, “Um, I see somebody I need to talk to. Thanks again.” 

Hoke had seen Tom, Luther, Hummingbird, and Arianna 

walking toward the farm pavilion. The weigh-off was scheduled 

in one hour. He didn’t know if they knew about the squash. 

Hummingbird’s father stopped when he saw Hoke coming 

toward them. The expression on his face said that he did.

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Chapter 35

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People screamed and scattered as the squash zoomed past them, on its way to...somewhere.

The Offering

Hoke was out of practice when it came to offering apologies, 

but he made a humdinger that day. “Tom, before you say 

anything, I want you to know I’m pulling my pumpkin out of the 

competition. That’s only fair.” Taking a breath, Hoke continued. 

“And Hummingbird, I’m sorry for what’s happened. Chris won’t 

be hassling you anymore. I should have paid attention to those 

calls from Mr. Berry. I know about the garden and the shed, too. 

Melvin and Chris will make good on that. They’ll fix what needs 

to be fixed and pay you for the damages.” 
“It would be nice if they could put the shelves back up,” 

Hummingbird said brightly.

“Yeah, and buy some more bags of that organic fertilizer!” 

Arianna added.

Hoke had expected a bit more drama. But Hummingbird 

and Arianna had already discussed the coyote’s role in the 

squash’s fate. The girls just accepted that the trickster would do 

with it what he wanted.

Tom was still a little steamed. “I just say it’s a darned 

shame, Hoke.”

He got a bit more upset when Les came running over. 

“Tom, you’re gonna have to move the squash. We’ve got the 

tournaments and the kite flying going on this afternoon. I’m 

afraid it will get in the way.” 

Tom was startled. “You mean, we’re not gonna get a chance 

to weigh it?”

Hoke looked surprised, too. “Yeah, everybody—including 

me—would like to know how much it weighs!”

“Well,” Les said, “why don’t we find out right now? The 

digital scale is set up. It’s got a 5-ton capacity. And the weighoff’s not for another hour. We can weigh Hummingbird’s Squash 

and your pumpkin, too, Hoke.” He added, “All unofficial, of 

course.”

“Just give me a few minutes to hook up my truck,” Uncle 

Luther said. After securing the heavy-duty trailer hitch, he 

drove the squash to a small stage that had been set up in front of 

the main entrance to the farm pavilion. A large banner attached 

to the judge’s podium flapped in the wind proclaiming “The 

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Annual Harvest Fair and Pow-Wow Monster Pumpkin WeighOff.” Hummingbird and Arianna were watching Uncle Luther 

line up the trailer when Roberta’s car pulled in. The boys jumped 

out and ran over to see the scale, a square metal platform that 

rested on a piece of outdoor carpet in front of the stage.

 “Hey, Bird! We thought the weigh-off wasn’t until 10:00!” 

Rain shouted.

“It isn’t,” Hummingbird replied. “This is the unofficial preweigh off.” She explained how Chris had made sure the squash 

would be a no-show at the official weigh-off. The boys jumped 

up on the trailer to get a good look for themselves. Although 

they were disappointed, they knew the coyote was directing this 

show. Boomer tried to lighten the mood. He leaned down to 

Arianna and whispered loudly, “Chris didn’t do anything. It was 

really attacked by a giant squash bug.” Rain and Simon laughed.

Arianna climbed up on the platform to see for herself. “Well, 

it must have been a hungry bug! Don’t you want to see, Bird?”

 “No. I’d rather not. I’ll just remember it the way it was.” 

Tom asked the kids to get down. The men needed to figure 

out how they were going to get the squash on the scale. They 

decided that it would be easier to move the scale than the squash. 

There was plenty of room for it on the trailer. With a little help 

from the boys, the scale was easy to lift. Since the squash was 

perfectly round, a slight push would roll it onto the scale. For 

safety, Tom and Les tied several straps around the squash and 

held on. When Luther removed the blocks, Les gave the “Big 

Stinker” a gentle push. Cooperating, it slowly rolled a few inches 

and stopped. Tom smiled. “I think we got this under control.”

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“Okay, push again, Les.” Les repeated his low-energy 

nudge. But the effect was different this time. Suddenly, the 

straps started zizzing through Tom and Luther’s hands! Uncle 

Luther yelled, “Owww!” and the squash took off! It jetted 

across the scale’s shiny metal surface—and shot off the end of 

the trailer, sailing 10 feet before hitting the ground. People 

screamed and scattered as the squash zoomed past them, on its 

way to...somewhere.

This section of the fairgrounds sloped slightly toward Jim 

Thorpe Road—a feature that the squash took full advantage of. It 

began to roll faster and faster—spinning end over end through a 

gauntlet of trucks and cars before escaping into a flat sandy lot. 

The lot was bordered by a low concrete parking barrier 200 feet 

further down the slope. By the time the squash hit the barrier, 

its momentum was so great—it launched into the air like a great 

flying sun, spun out of control and wobbled crazily toward the 

back of the fairground’s road sign. It hit the sign with a great 

thump and split right down the center!

Everyone that had seen the runaway squash ran after it. 

The news of its escape spread quickly to the farm pavilion and 

the home arts building. They began to empty. Folks that had 

arrived for the children’s parade soon were hurrying to see what 

was going on.

Les stayed behind to pick up the scale’s digital monitor 

that had crashed to the ground. He glanced to see if there 

was a weight reading—but the power cord was disconnected. 

Luckily, the monitor wasn’t damaged. Then, he ran to catch 

up with the crowd. Worried that someone may have been hit, 

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Les was relieved to find that there were no casualties. Looking 

toward the road, he could see that Hummingbird, Arianna, and 

the boys had already reached the squash wreck. One half of it 

leaned vertically against the fairgrounds sign and the other half 

lay face down. The kids were standing in front of the vertical 

half, examining it closely. 

“Look,” Simon exclaimed, “there aren’t any seeds!” 

“Nobody’s gonna grow another one of these, for sure,” 

Arianna said.

Peering into the large cavity at the center of the squash, 

Rain said, “It’s got a lot of empty space inside. Maybe it wouldn’t 

have weighed as much as we thought.” 

Boomer hollered, “Hey, I thought it would stink!” 

Hummingbird dismissed Boomer. “Oh, Boom, you know 

only the leaves smell bad.” However, she was slowly becoming 

aware that “not stinking” would hardly describe the squash’s 

smell. She sniffed and then sniffed again. “Does something 

smell awfully good to you guys?”

And, indeed, it did. A heavenly scent was beginning to waft 

from Hummingbird’s Squash. It hovered momentarily over the 

curious crowd that had begun to gather, and then drifted on the 

wind toward the fairgrounds. The onlookers couldn’t decide 

what it smelled like. Some said it smelled like roasted hickory 

nuts; others swore it had an aroma like spring flower honey. One 

man moved forward to say they were all wrong: it was sweetsmelling—like a newly picked ear of corn.

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Boomer reached into the squash and dislodged a loose 

piece; he held it up to his nose. The fragrance prompted him to 

pull out his pocket knife and slice off a big chunk. He popped it 

into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he sighed, “Hmm.... it tastes 

like my mom’s corn casserole with those little green chilies she 

puts in it.”

A voice called out, “Boomer! Stop! It could be poisonous!” 

It was Miss Swallow. “Excuse me. Let me through, please!” She 

rushed to Boomer, expecting him to be retching up stinking 

buffalo gourd. Instead, he offered her a piece of his “casserole.” 

Miss Swallow took the fruit and examined its delicate orange 

color and velvety texture. Puzzled, she said, “Maybe the giant 

form isn’t bitter or poisonous.” 

“And it’s seedless, Miss Swallow!” Rain pointed out.

“Of course, that explains it. It’s more like a 

domesticated fruit.”

“Yeah, and we know who domesticated it,” Hummingbird 

whispered to Arianna. 

“What are you going to do with it, Hummingbird?” someone 

in the crowd yelled.

Looking up the hill, Hummingbird could see more people 

coming, including her father who had gone to fetch her mom, 

her brothers, Aunt Chick, and Gerald and Roberta. Joe Red 

Crane was with them, too. “Well, I wouldn’t want it to go to 

waste. We always wanted to grow a giant vegetable that could 

feed everybody. It just turned out to be a fruit, instead.”

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A large woman suddenly burst out of the throng that was 

beginning to look like the whole Tribe. It was Elva Eddy. “Here, 

let me taste it,” the head pumpkin judge demanded. Boomer 

reached into the squash and cut off a nice-sized lump. Elva 

placed it in her mouth and rolled it around, savoring the flavor. 

She announced her verdict. “Just like the dried meat soup with 

Indian turnips my granny used to make!”

A honking car horn interrupted Elva’s decision-making. 

People made way for the pow-wow’s Arena Director, a big burly 

man who appeared to be in a very big hurry. It was Frank Big 

Weasel, owner of the local Jif Mart, and Boo’s biggest competitor. 

“What’s going on here, Elva? Nobody’s at the pow-wow arena 

and Grand Entry is in less than an hour! The schedule’s gonna 

be off!”

“Well, there’s a reason we’ve got Indian Time, Mr. Frank 

Big Weasel! It’s so we can shove schedules around—instead of 

them shoving us! Right now, I think these folks would say the 

schedule is to feed everybody—right here, right now. Just like 

Hummingbird said.”

Before Big Weasel could say another word, Boomer handed 

him a squash chunk. Elva nodded, “Go on, Frank. Eat it.” 

Obliging, he bit into the golden morsel and started to chew. 

“So, what does it taste like?” Elva prompted.

Big Weasel got a faraway look on his face. He just smiled and 

licked his lips. Then he said, “It tastes like the blackberry pudding 

my wife makes, but it smells like some tobacco my dad used for 

a blessing once—he said it was flavored with licorice.” (Readers 

may wonder if Coyote had Big Weasel in mind when he threw 

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the whammy on the seed that would become Hummingbird’s 

Squash. There is no way of knowing. The whammy could have 

been directed at a specific person or it may merely have sought 

out someone with a licorice memory).

A cheer went up and everybody started pitching in. Guys 

grabbed axes, hand saws, and tarpaulins from the back of pickup trucks. Women brought scissors and rolls of white paper 

that had been used to cover display tables at the crafts and 

homemaking exhibits. Even the little kids, who were signed up 

for the kite flying contest, offered their string. Naturally, Boo 

showed up with his rebuilt, 8.4 hp chain saw. Boy, could that 

baby roar! Built for “extreme logging,” it diced the big gourd like 

a Veg-O-Matic. In lickety-split, Hummingbird’s Squash was 

carved, wrapped, and tied.

Elva organized the distribution, helped by the kids and their 

family members and friends. She declared, “This is going to be 

like old times. Old folks first. If you’re gettin’ some for grandma 

or granddad or somebody that can’t get it for themselves—you 

come up, too. Then families with kids. And young adults last.”

Elva lined up her distributors in a “bucket line” for 

maximum efficiency. Dave Corn and Mike Good Face were her 

deputies, making sure everyone got a fair share. Hummingbird 

stood between Rain and Arianna, tossing the wrapped packages 

forward to Miss Swallow and Mr. Pence who handed them out 

to eager hands.

Rain had never been happier in his life. “Bird, this is exactly 

what the eagle wanted us to do. The giant plan was the best idea 

you ever had.”

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“I might have had the idea, RD, but I sure didn’t grow the 

squash. I’m not even sure anymore if the idea really was mine.” 

“Well, I know one thing’s for sure,” said Arianna who was 

watching Mr. Pence snack on squash bits. “You’ll never be 

banned from science class again!”

Boomer tossed a package to Rain over the girls’ heads. “Hey, 

where are Walter and Larry? I guess they gotta work, huh?”

“They might be working the parking lots,” Rain yelled back. 

“We’ll find ’em.”

An hour later, the giveaway was over. Hummingbird’s 

Squash had become “groceries.” Bird made up a couple of snack 

plates for Walter and Larry—fancily arranging the squash cubes 

in concentric circles. She made a plate for Rain’s Granma Hettie, 

too. Bird was really curious how Granma’s taste buds would 

interpret the squash. The other kids stayed behind to help clean 

up. The leftovers made a huge mess. The scraps of the squash’s 

tough skin alone must have weighed over a thousand pounds.

Roberta phoned the Senior Center booth. They said Hettie 

was at the judge’s tent. She’d decided to enter her pickle recipe in 

one of the preserved foods competitions. Rain and Bird headed 

there first. Entering the shadowy tent, it took a few minutes 

for their eyes to adjust. They didn’t see Granma and turned to 

leave—and ran directly into Chris. Hoke and Althea were right 

behind him. They had just come from talking to Willard.

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Hoke nodded and said, “Hummingbird, please tell your 

folks thanks for not filing a complaint. We appreciate it.”

“Oh, sure,” she replied like she knew all about it. Actually, 

Hummingbird didn’t have a clue, so she didn’t say too much.

“We heard that everybody’s got some of your squash to take 

home,” Althea said. “They say it’s delicious.”

“Would you like to try a piece?” Hummingbird uncovered 

the plate and held it out to Chris’s mom.

Rain tried to be polite, too. He said, “Mrs. Eddy’s got extra 

packages of it if you want some.”

Althea tasted the squash and smiled. “It reminds me of 

when I was a little girl—but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Hummingbird looked at Chris, but he avoided her eyes. 

For some reason (she didn’t know why), Bird decided to set 

out across a shaky bridge to a place where she might not be 

welcomed. Holding out the plate, she asked, “Do you want 

some, Chris?”

Chris hesitated and looked at his mother. She nodded, 

encouraging him. He picked up a piece of Hummingbird’s 

Squash and took a small bite. The expression on his face did 

not change. He said “thanks” and swallowed it quickly. At first 

he thought the squash tasted like medicine, but he decided 

it was more like grapefruit—extremely sour, with a hint of 

sweetness. Chris was not yet welcoming those who would 

reach out to him. He had a long way to go. But his ability to 

taste something friendly was a hopeful sign. Rain nudged 

Hummingbird. “We’ve got to get back. It’s getting late. Our 

dance contests are coming up.”

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“Yeah, we’ve got to go.” Offering the paper plates to Hoke, 

she said, “Would you like to taste the squash or share it with 

someone else?”

Hoke smiled and took the plates. Althea said, 

“Thanks, sweetie.”

As they walked away, Rain said, “Boy, Chris looked 

pretty miserable.”

“I guess you would, too, if you were in a squash trap all 

night. Did you notice how he didn’t seem to like the squash 

that much?”

“Yeah, everybody else thought it was great.” Rain stopped 

suddenly. “Hold on, Bird. Something just hit me. Most of the 

people that tasted it got this big smile on their face or said it 

reminded them of a food our ancestors grew...or maybe it was 

something a relative or elder made for them.”

“Yeah, funny, isn’t it, that the squash tastes like all our 

traditional fruits and vegetables? Even stuff that we can gather 

like honey and nuts.” She laughed. “Gee, does it remind you of 

the miraculous tree...?”

“Yeah, it does. And it’s exactly what the eagle wanted,” Rain 

marveled. “To remind us about our own healthy traditions. The 

coyote promised you he’d never trick us about type 2 diabetes 

again. And he didn’t!”

“Rain, do something for me, please. Go to the tree stump 

and offer some of the squash to the eagle and coyote. And to the 

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rabbit, too. It’s what she wanted us to do—taste everything. We 

should honor them. They’ve done so much for us.”

Frank Big Weasel had stayed behind to supervise the 

clean-up. The big dump truck pulling out onto the main road 

was hauling off the leftovers to the reservation’s newly built 

compost piles. All the odds and ends would feed the community 

gardens planned for next year’s growing season. (Indeed, Coyote 

wouldn’t have appreciated the squash rind being thrown away 

as garbage.) He thanked the “sanitation crew”—Walter, Larry, 

Boomer, Simon, and Arianna—for helping out. Now he had to 

get back to the pow-wow arena. There was lots of event juggling 

to do. Anxious to find out what his most pressing problem would 

be, he opened his car door on the passenger side to get his event 

scheduler. A paper bag from Jolly Ed’s Corndog Heaven was 

lying on top of his papers. Puzzled, he picked it up and looked 

inside. It was his lost binoculars! 

Big Weasel was trying to figure out how they got there 

when he heard his name being called. Looking up, he saw two 

young men running toward him. One had a video camera on 

his shoulder.

“Excuse me, Mr. Big Weasel! Could I talk to you? One of the 

kids over there”—he pointed at Boomer—“said you could tell us 

about the big squash.”

“Ah, yeah. What do you want to know?” 

350
“I’m Brad Sommers. This is Todd...we’re from the NBC 

affiliate in the state capitol. We heard about your 9-foot squash. 

This could be a big story, Mr. Big Weasel. Big enough to make 

the nightly news. Yes, sir, I mean the national news!”

“Uh-huh.” Big Weasel wasn’t much interested in the 

national news. He was still thinking about the binoculars.

Looking around, Brad said, “So, um, where is it?”

“The squash? Oh, it was over there,” Big Weasel said, 

pointing to a big wet patch on the ground in front of the 

fairgrounds sign. 

“Was? What did you do with it? Did you move it?”

“No, we ate it,” he replied casually. 

Disbelieving, Brad slowly repeated Big Weasel’s words. 

“We ate it. You mean you ate the only 9-foot tall squash in the 

whole world?” 

“Well, we cut it up—so we could eat it.” 

Brad Sommers’ shoulders slumped in disappointment. 

Glumly, he kissed his big New York newsfeed good-bye. He told 

Todd to stow his camera (No, he didn’t want a shot of the wet 

patch!) and not to mention this to anybody back at the station. 

All he could say—over and over—as they drove the 150 miles 

back to the state capitol was “They ate it.”

And indeed they did. Over the coming days, the people ate 

the squash fresh, frozen and pickled. But mostly they dried it 

and bagged it—just like in old times. Hummingbird’s Squash 

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fed hundreds of people. It was baked, boiled, broiled, grilled, 

fricasseed, and bar-b-qued. It found its way into casseroles, 

pies, puddings, breads, salads, soups, and even a healthy recipe 

for sugar-free brownies. The shelves in a drug store couldn’t 

have held all the vitamins served up by the giant squash.

But those were meals to come. At the end of this day, Rain 

that Dances sat at his kitchen table preparing a simple latenight snack. The young Indian boy enjoyed these quiet times 

when everyone else was in bed. As he cut an apple into slices, 

Rain thought about the drum competition held that afternoon. 

Boy, that had been fun! As much as he liked dancing, Rain had 

to admit that he liked drumming and singing most. He thought 

the guys should start practicing earlier next year. The 7th 

grade boy’s drum might place third in this year’s pow-wow—if 

they were lucky. But Joe had been proud of them. That’s what 

was important.

But all that could wait. Tonight he had a promise to keep. 

Rain ate the last apple slice and put his knife and plate in the 

sink. Then, he went to the counter and got one of the packages 

of squash his mom had brought home. He unwrapped it and cut 

off several generous portions, placing them on three pieces of 

newspaper. These he rolled up and put in a paper bag.

Grabbing his jacket and the bag, he slipped out the back 

door. The moon wasn’t quite full on this chilly night, but there 

was plenty of light for him to see. He walked purposefully down 

the driveway and across the road. Soon he was in high grass 

making his way across the meadow toward the creek. Long 

shadows from the cottonwoods that grew along the banks fell 

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across his path. They made beautiful spindly shapes in the graysilver light. He angled away from the creek when he spotted his 

destination—the old tree stump.

Rain kneeled down next to the long-time gathering place 

and opened the bag. He took out the three packages, opened 

them carefully, and arranged the pieces of newspaper around 

the tree stump—one for the eagle, one for the rabbit, and one 

for the coyote. On each was an offering of thanks from the ripest 

part of the squash. These gifts were a small way to say we know 

you try to teach us, especially those of us who are troubled, and 

we love and respect you. This is what was in Hummingbird’s 

heart. These were the messages Rain promised to bring.

In the pink of pre-dawn, the “Animals of Stories” came. 

Coyote and Thistle’s hearts were glad when Sky Heart told 

them that an offering was waiting. In a reverent manner, they 

positioned themselves around the tree stump. When they were 

ready, each animal ate a piece of the squash, accepting it as a sign 

of respect and affection. Once this ritual acceptance was done, 

they ate the rest of the offering as a meal. Coyote, however, did 

not eat all of his squash. He nosed out an especially tender piece 

and brought it to Thistle, laying it in front of her. Very simply, he 

said, “For the next generation.” Thistle understood and looked 

to Sky Heart. The Great Messenger picked up the squash in his 

beak and flew to her nest. Then Thistle climbed on Coyote’s 

back and held on fast. In a flash, she was home.

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Once there, the eagle and the coyote waited with the 

rabbit for her young ones to come. As the sun broke over the 

red fence at Aunt Chick’s, the young rabbits began to appear. 

Nose blinking, they quickly discovered the succulent gift that 

Sky Heart had placed on the ground in front of the rabbit hole. 

Gathering round, they nibbled until all that was left was the juice 

that moistened their chins. Then, they presented themselves to 

their mother, and she groomed them, giving them her blessing 

for the last time.

Then, one by one they bounded down the hill toward the 

rising sun—eager to explore their world and to find their place 

in it. But they would always remember their mother’s lessons 

and the stories she told. And when a taste of goodness filled 

their mouths, they would think of her and hold in their hearts 

the memory of Hummingbird’s Squash.

354
Cast of Characters

(In Order of Appearance)

The Animals

Coyote: The Trickster. Coyote entertains himself by entangling the 

human characters in games and tricks that teach life lessons and 

lead them to deeper understanding of themselves and their culture. 

Fond of challenges and tests, he takes Hummingbird down a road that 

ultimately allows her to see her own limitations and reorients her 

direction to the extraordinary gifts and wisdom of her ancestors.

Thistle: The Rabbit. Thistle keeps a close eye on Coyote’s antics and 

the magical garden he grows for Hummingbird. She states her 

disapproval when he gets too wild, but she understands his motives. 

Occasionally, Thistle uses her own trickster nature to control the 

fiercer aspects of Coyote’s power—especially when bullies cross 

his path.

Sky Heart: The Eagle. Flying over the town of Thunder Rock, Sky Heart 

sees all. As the Great Messenger he watches over our young friends, 

as well as those whose behaviors trouble him. He gives warnings that 

protect them, guides them to good health, and accepts their love and 

respect when they recognize the healing power that he and the other 

“animals of stories” provide.

The Kids

Hummingbird: (Bird). Rain’s best friend (of the girl variety). Like 

Rain, Hummingbird is totally committed to helping the community 

become healthy. Smart and popular, she is unprepared for the results 

of a Coyote trick that makes her vulnerable to school gossip and a 

bully. Undaunted by setbacks (and as bossy as ever), she launches 

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a “giant plan” to grow oversized vegetables to feed reservation 

families—a plan that is soon under Coyote’s control.

Chris Sorrel: A school bully. Captain of the 8th grade basketball team, 

president of school clubs, and winner of science fairs, he is known 

among the teachers as an outstanding student. Unfortunately, his 

“smarts” serve as a screen behind which he bullies younger and less 

popular students, and tries to bully others that present a challenge to 

his “rule of the school.”

Arianna: Hummingbird’s new “sister.” Arianna is temporarily living 

with Hummingbird’s family. She is from a Hispanic family that will 

soon be moving to the community. Arianna has type 1 diabetes and 

teaches her new friends about this form of diabetes. A soft-hearted 

girl, she plays an important role as the person who brings students 

together to work out their differences. (The character of Arianna is 

based on a real girl by the same name. Like the character in the book, 

she is very active and loves sports.)

Rain: (Rain that Dances; also called Rain or “RD” by his friends). The 

boy chosen by the eagle. Every day, Rain tries to spread Sky Heart’s 

messages about eating healthy and being active. At school, the kids 

call him “Veggie-Man,” but Rain doesn’t mind, because preventing 

type 2 diabetes is all-important. When Hummingbird devises her 

“giant plan” to solve the scarcity of plentiful fruits and vegetables in 

Thunder Rock, Rain signs up right away. He also comes to the aid of 

Hummingbird and others who suffer the plots of bullies.

Boomer: (Thunder Cloud). Rain’s best pal. Friendly and loud, Boomer 

is the joker always ready for excitement and a game of basketball. 

When everybody gets stressed out, Boomer snaps them out of it with 

his good humor. Although he often speaks before he thinks, Boomer 

is very resourceful when the kids get in a tough spot—especially when 

bullies are around.

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Simon: The “nerdy” kid. Simon’s family has recently returned to the 

reservation after spending several years in the big city. Because he is 

small for his age and unsure how he fits in with other kids who have 

grown up in Thunder Rock, he is an easy target for bullies. However, 

Simon’s quick wit and intelligence help him work his way out of most 

confrontations. A wiz on the Internet, the “Veggie Crowd” depends 

on him as their “answer man.”

Walter aka Dumptruck: A member of the “Invisible Club.” A student 

“nobody,” Walter wants to be accepted by other students and becomes 

one of Chris’s toadies. When he is forced to do something that 

shames him, he confesses what he has done and seeks help from 

Arianna and Hummingbird.

Larry aka Tater Tot: A new boy at the school. Having been bullied at 

other schools, Larry tries to get on Chris’s good side by becoming one 

of his toadies, too. He soon regrets this decision and joins Walter in 

seeking a way to escape Chris’s control.

Rain’s Family

Gerald: Rain’s father. Gerald works long hours as the business 

developer for the Tribe. He is sometimes puzzled by Rain’s obsession 

with healthy foods and physical activity, but he always helps his son 

and his friends with their projects, including their plan to enter a 

giant pumpkin contest.

Roberta: Rain’s mother. Roberta works as a community health 

representative for the Tribe. She is proud of Rain and always tries 

to support his (and his friends’) interest in diabetes prevention. 

Roberta and Rain are very close and enjoy doing things together.

Granma: Rain’s great-grandmother. “Granma” is Roberta’s 

grandmother and the heart of the family. She gives good advice 

to Rain, Boomer, and Simon about how to respond to bullies and 

teaches all the kids about being “good relatives.”

357
Hummingbird’s Family

Darlene: Hummingbird’s mother. Darlene understands her daughter’s 

ambition to improve the health of her community. However, she also 

tries hard to help Hummingbird keep her energies and emotions in 

balance with her hopes and dreams. 

Aunt Chick: Hummingbird’s aunt. Aunt Chick offers a shed, garden 

plot, and tools to Hummingbird after her niece asks for her advice 

about growing giant vegetables. 

Tom: Hummingbird’s father. Tom manages the Tribe’s Bison Co-op 

and supports his daughter’s interests in Native science, particularly 

protecting the bison’s grazing grounds and raising healthy foods.

Dale and Richard: Hummingbird’s older brothers. The boys suffer 

Hummingbird’s bad moods, but they support her “giant plan.”

Chris Sorrel’s Family

Jesse and Melvin: Chris’s stepbrothers. Jesse and Melvin are 

well-known bullies at the high school. Their poor example and 

mistreatment of Chris has helped to create the situation that fuels his 

anger and bullying of other children.

Hoke: Chris’s stepfather. Hoke is a distant father who allows his 

sons to torment Chris with no fear of correction. He puts Chris at 

risk by ignoring reports from the school that Chris is harassing 

other students.

Althea: Chris’s mother. Although successful at her mail-order 

business, Althea’s relationship with her son is poor. Almost too late, 

she understands that the whole family must change if Chris is to 

be helped.

358
The Teachers

Mr. Pence: The 7th grade science teacher. Mr. Pence recognizes 

Hummingbird’s gifts in science, but her reckless behavior in lab 

experiments forces him to discipline her. It is his well-known 

admiration for Miss Swallow that allows Chris to initiate a scheme 

that makes the shy teacher believe that Hummingbird disrespects 

him—a possible factor in the in-house suspension that initiates her 

dreams of the vegetable giants.

Ms. Betty Swallow: The eighth-grade science teacher. Miss Swallow 

is the first teacher that Hummingbird and Arianna go to when they 

need questions answered about the habits of fast-growing plants and 

bullies. She joins them in investigating the mysterious destruction of 

Aunt Chick’s garden and becomes the target of one of Coyote’s more 

miraculous tricks.

Joe Red Crane: A Tribal elder. Joe teaches Native heritage classes, which 

include language and drumming. He not only gives wise counsel to 

the kids about bullying, but also to Miss Swallow about events that 

cannot be explained by science.

Mrs. Corn: The seventh-grade language teacher. Mrs. Corn becomes 

the target of a cyber bullying attack that discredits her as well as 

Rain and Simon. Angered by the ugly rumors that spread across the 

school, Mrs. Corn helps the school principal track down the identity 

of the attacker.

Mr. Berry: The school principal. Mr. Berry, much-admired for his 

leadership and understanding of children, leads the teachers, 

parents, and students in adoption of a “stop bullying” policy at 

Thunder Rock Middle School.

Coach Brown: The head coach. Coach Brown punishes Chris for poor 

sportsmanship and disrespectful behavior, and gives Walter and 

Larry a chance to prove that they can make the school and their 

friends proud of them.

359
Dr. Bamsey: A biology professor. A friend of Miss Swallow, Dr. Bamsey 

examines one of Coyote’s astounding creations. He cannot explain its 

existence, but he knows that it is testimony to the amazing advances 

in horticultural science made by the Native peoples of the Americas.

Other Characters

Boo: Owner of Boo’s Gas and Grocery. Boo remembers how Rain and 

his friends helped him boost sales at his store by encouraging him to 

promote healthy foods. In appreciation, he always comes to their aid. 

In this story he leads the kids in training Walter and Larry to achieve 

their athletic dreams, and helps them discover a very strange garden 

in the foothills of Shell Ridge.

Uncle Luther: Owner of a small trucking business. To show how much 

he appreciated the kids helping his nephew, Jimmy, when he was in 

trouble, Luther uses all his driving skills to transport a big yellow ball 

called the “Big Stinker” to the Harvest Fair. True to his word, he gets 

it there just in time to enter a very big contest.

Willard Fox Chief: The chief of police. Willard is the well-respected 

head of “law and order” on the reservation. He steps forward, 

not to administer punishment, but to help the Sorrel family find 

a counselor who can help them make changes that will heal the 

whole family.

Frank Big Weasel: Owner of Big Weasel’s Jif Mart. Serving as the powwow arena director at this year’s Harvest Fair, Big Weasel helps to get 

the pow-wow schedule back on track when an unplanned opportunity 

for healthy food distribution suddenly arises.

360
Glossary

A

Abandoned (to abandon): to leave without intending to return.

Abashed: uncomfortable; embarrassed.

Absentee: a person who is absent; not present.

Accelerated (to accelerate): to increase speed.

Accommodating: ready and willing to help.

Adjustment: a correction or setting something right.

Admission: an acknowledgment; confessing a mistake or wrongdoing.

Admonition: a criticism or warning.

Adoringly: in a loving, admiring, or devoted way.

Adversaries: those who oppose or resist another person. 

Advertising (to advertise): to publicize; promote; market. 

Afghan: a blanket or shawl made of knitted or crocheted colored wool.

Agenda: a list of items to be considered as at a meeting.

Aggressively: in a forceful or hostile way.

Agility: ability to move quickly and easily. 

Aimlessly: acting without a goal or purpose.

Air raid siren: a sound to warn of attackers from the air.

Ambition: a desire to achieve a particular goal.

Amiably: in a friendly and pleasant manner.

Amid: during; in or throughout the course of something.

Amplified (to amplify): to make bigger or louder.

Annoyance: the act of disturbing or irritating, especially by 

repeated acts. 

361
Antennae: a pair of slender movable organs of sensation on the head of 

an arthropod (like an insect or a crab).

Anticipating (to anticipate): to expect ahead of time. 

Antics: attention-drawing acts that are playful or funny.

Aphids: small soft-bodied insects that suck the juices of plants. 

Appeal: a plea or request.

Aquarium: a container in which living water animals or plants are kept.

Arcade Alley: a section of a carnival or fair where games are played.

Arced: (to arc) to move along a curved path. 

Archeological: science pertaining to ancient human remains 

and culture.

Arctic: very cold. 

Assailants: those who attack violently with blows or words. 

Assumption: the belief that something is true. 

Astounded (to astound): to fill with puzzled wonder. 

Astute: having understanding and the skill to make good choices 

or decisions. 

Athletic: active; strong; muscular. 

Atmosphere: general feeling of a place or environment.

Atomic: relating to atoms, atomic bombs, or nuclear energy.

Auditorium: a room, hall, or building used for public gatherings. 

Avalanche: a sudden overwhelming rush of a substance like snow.

Avidly: eagerly; greedily. 

Awesome: breathtaking or remarkable.

B

Babbling (to babble): to talk foolishly, unclearly; or to talk too much.

Baffled (to baffle): to confuse; to puzzle.

362
Balmier: warmer; gently soothing.

Banner: a long sign made of cloth or paper; a flag.

Barometric pressure: the measure of the weight of the atmosphere 

above us.

Beaker: a deep glass with a wide mouth and a lip for pouring.

Beaming (to beam): to be full of joy.

Bed head: a hair fashion in which the hair is untidy; hair that is messed 

up after sleeping.

Behemoth: something of monstrous size, power, or appearance.

Belch: to expel air suddenly from the stomach; a burp.

Bevy: a group of animals and especially quails.

Billow: a rolling mass (as of flame or smoke) that resembles a 

high wave.

Bin: a box or barrel used for storage or to hold something 

(like garbage).

Binoculars: an optical device, such as a pair of field glasses to see 

distant objects.

Bizarre: odd; out of the ordinary.

Bleachers: a stand of benches arranged like steps.

Bleakness: lack of life, warmth, or kindliness.

Bleated (to bleat): to make a sound like a sheep.

Blind: an object behind which one can hide.

Blissfully: in an extremely happy manner.

Blood glucose meter: an electronic device to measure the blood 

glucose level.

Blossoming (to blossom): to make an appearance; become evident; 

come forth.

Blurted (to blurt): to say something suddenly and without thinking.

Boasted (to boast): to speak with excessive pride.

363
Bogus: not genuine; counterfeit or fake. 

Bonkers: crazy; mad. 

Botany field kit: equipment used to explore plant life. 

Botched (to botch): to make or perform clumsily. 

Bounded (to bound): to leap forward. 

Braced (to brace): to support against something. 

Bravado: false expression of bravery. 

Breather: a break in activity for rest and relief. 

Bristled (to bristle): to stand stiffly on end; to stick up like a bristle (a 

stiff hair).

Broke ranks (to break rank): to desert a position; distance oneself from 

a belief held by others.

Brood: a litter or group of offspring. 

Buck up: to pull oneself together; to rise to a challenge.

Bucket line: a line of people who are passing objects (like buckets) 

from one to the other.

Buckthorn: an ornamental shrub.

Buffed: having excellent physical appearance; to be muscular as a result 

of bodybuilding.

Bustle: to move with energy.

C

Cackling (to cackle): to laugh or chatter noisily.

Camouflage: to hide or disguise by appearing to blend in with 

one’s surroundings.

Candidate: one who seeks to be chosen or elected. 

Carbohydrate: a compound (usually represented by sugars, fiber, and 

starches) that supplies energy to the body. Carbohydrates are found 

in dairy products, fruits and vegetables, and grains.

364
Career: a long-term job or way of making a living.

Cargo winch: a motor-driven hoisting machine having a drum around 

which a chain or rope winds as a load is lifted.

Carrion: carcass of a dead animal.

Cascading (to cascade): to pour in; to spill or tumble down.

Casting: the fecal matter of an earthworm composed of dirt and 

plant matter. 

Casually: in an informal way; relaxed. 

Casualties: persons who are hurt as a result of violence or an accident.

Catalyst: something that causes a rapid change or action.

Catastrophe: a sudden and widespread disaster. 

Catcalls: yells meant to mock or express disapproval.

Ceremoniously: formally polite.

Ceremony: a formal observance that celebrates a traditional or 

religious activity. 

Challenged: demanding; difficult.

Characteristically: being normal or expected.

Charge: to accuse; to blame.

Charitable: generous. 

Chattering (to chatter): to talk idly, continually, or rapidly.

Chemical equation: a symbolic representation of what happens when 

chemicals come in contact with one another.

Chemical reaction: a process in which one or more substances are 

chemically changed into one or more new substances. 

Chimed in (to chime in): to break into a conversation or discussion 

especially to express an opinion. 

Chitchat: small talk. 

Choke-cherries: Wild cherries growing in North America that are eaten 

dried and used in jams and syrups. 

365
Chorus girls: women who accompany a performance by singing or 

dancing together. 

Chug: a dull explosive sound that repeats. Usually made by a machine.

Chump: a slang expression for a foolish person. 

Churning (to churn): to stir up; to shake. 

Clamor: any loud and continued noise. 

Classification: a group or class to which things belong. 

Clip: to move swiftly. 

Clumped (to clump): to cluster or group together. 

Clumsy: lacking physical coordination, skill, or grace. 

Clutched (to clutch): to hold with the hands strongly and suddenly.

Cocky: to act in a bold or arrogant way.

Cold frames: an unheated outdoor structure consisting of a wooden or 

concrete frame and a top of glass or clear plastic. Used to grow plants 

in the winter.

Collapsed (to collapse): to fall or shrink abruptly and completely.

Collections: collecting a sum of money (in this case, stealing money).

Combination lock: a lock that opens when dialed through a sequence 

of numbers.

Commercially: done with the intent to make money or profit. 

Commotion: noisy disturbance.

Competition: a contest between individuals or groups. 

Complemented (to complement): to balance or harmonize with.

Complex carbohydrates: carbohydrates that the body breaks down 

slowly. This slow digestion creates a constant release of energy. 

Complex carbohydrates are found in foods like whole grains, beans, 

oatmeal, brown rice, and vegetables like broccoli and spinach. The 

less healthy simple carbohydrates like table sugar, honey, candy, 

sodas, and some fruit juices enter the blood stream immediately, 

causing blood sugar levels to rise and fall rapidly. 

366
Complicated (to complicate): to make difficult or complex. 

Compliment: an expression of respect, affection, or admiration.

Compressed (to compress): to press into a small space.

Conceited: having an excessively favorable opinion of one’s abilities 

or appearance.

Conclusions: what is assumed to be true after evidence has 

been examined. 

Conferring (to confer): to award; to give.

Confessed (to confess): to admit.

Confidently: having a sense of being sure of oneself.

Congratulated (to congratulate): to express pleasure to a person, as on a 

happy occasion.

Conscious: aware of one’s own existence, sensations, thoughts, 

and surroundings.

Consoled (to console): to give comfort; lessen disappointment. 

Contemplating (to contemplate): to consider thoroughly; think fully or 

deeply about.

Conveniently: suited to a person’s needs; usually referring to a 

suitable time.

Converged (to converge): to come together and unite in a 

common interest.

Coordinates: a set of numbers that show an exact position or location 

on a map.

Coordination: the smooth working together of parts.

Cortisone: a hormone used to reduce inflammation; often applied as 

a cream.

Cosmetics: powders or creams used to beautify the face, skin, and hair.

Counsel: advice. 

Countered (to counter): to go against. 

367
Crags: steep, rugged rocks or cliffs.

Crinkly: wrinkled. 

Cronies: friends of someone who can bestow favors on them.

Crouched (to crouch): to stoop or bend low with the arms and legs close 

to the body. 

Crown vetch: a perennial European herb in the pea family that spreads 

as a weed. 

Crumpled (to crumple): to press, bend, or crush out of shape. 

Cucurbiteae: is a tribe of the family of plants that includes the 

cucumber, melon, squash, and pumpkin.

Curiosity: a desire to know or learn. 

Curlicues: fancifully curved or spiral-shaped figures.

Custodian: one who takes care of something; a janitor. 

D

Dazzled (to dazzle): to impress greatly or confuse with brilliance.

Debris: rubbish; messy remains.

Decided: firm or certain as in “a decided bounce in his step.” 

Deed: to give; to make a legal arrangement that grants possession of 

something to an individual.

Deemed (to deem): to believe or have an opinion. 

Degrade: to lower in value. 

Dejectedly: being low in spirits. 

Delicious: very pleasing to the taste. 

Demolition: destruction often by means of explosives.

Demonstration: a presentation used by a teacher to show a process. 

Deodorant: a liquid or cream that destroys or masks unpleasant odors.

368
Deposits: piles of something (as in Coyote’s droppings that contain 

seeds that germinate).

Depressed: sad; discouraged. 

Descended (to descend): to move from a higher to a lower place.

Desperation: extreme anxiety or hopelessness.

Destination: the goal of a journey; a place to which something is sent. 

Detention: a place where one is detained or held as punishment.

Determination: strength of mind; fortitude; or resolve.

Detour: to go another way. 

Devious: sneaky and deceptive. 

Diagram: a chart; an illustration that shows the relationships between 

elements of a plan.

Diaphragm: a sheet of muscle separating the chest and abdomen that 

helps one to breathe.

Digital scale: an electronic measuring device. 

Dilemma: a difficult choice. 

Din: a loud confused mixture of noises. 

Dino-geek: a slang expression for someone who is crazy about learning 

everything there is to know about dinosaurs. 

Disappointment: a setback; failure; or feeling of dissatisfaction 

or frustration.

Disassociated (to disassociate): to remove the connection between 

things; not related.

Disgruntled: in a bad mood.

Dismissive: treating someone in a rude or curt manner; ignoring 

someone’s presence or opinion. 

Disoriented: loss of one’s sense of direction in space; confused or 

mixed up.

Dispensed (to dispense): to distribute or give out.

369
Dispersed (to disperse): to give out or send off in various directions. 

Displacement activity: a behavior not relevant to a situation that makes 

a person or animal feel less stressed, such as a dog licking himself 

when being threatened by another dog. 

Disqualify: to make or declare unfit; to judge not eligible as in 

a competition.

Dissolved (to dissolve): to melt; to collapse.

Distraught: disturbed with doubt or painful feelings.

Dome: a large rounded roof or ceiling shaped like half of a ball.

Domestication: the act of adapting to living with human beings or 

serving their purposes.

Doodling (to doodle): to scribble or sketch while thinking of something. 

Dorky: a slang expression for being like a “dork”—someone who looks 

silly or is socially clumsy. 

Dormant: not active but capable of becoming active.

Dramatically: doing something in an exciting or emotional way.

Dribbled (to dribble): to move forward by tapping, bouncing, or kicking.

Drills: a physical or mental exercise that is regularly practiced.

Dutifully: to do something without protest; respectfully.

Dweeb: a slang term for a person that is socially foolish.

E

Earnestly: serious in intention, purpose, or effort. 

Eavesdrop: to listen in on another’s discussion. 

Economic: based on the production, distribution, and consumption of 

goods and services.

Edible: suitable for eating. 

Efficiency: done without waste.

Elated: feeling or state of great pride and joy. 

370
Electricity: any presence and flow of electrical charges such as lightning 

and static electricity, the flow of current in an electrical wire. 

Elegance: having a graceful appearance or style.

Elemental: relating to the most fundamental nature of an object, force, 

or issue.

Elicited (to elicit): to draw out by skillful questioning or discussion.

Emit: to throw or give off.

Empowered: possessing a feeling of control or ability.

EMT: emergency medical technician; healthcare provider who 

treats emergencies. 

Enchilada: a tortilla stuffed with meat or cheese and served with a chili 

spiced sauce. 

Energetically: doing something in a lively or vigorous manner. 

Entangled (to entangle): to be entwined; twisted together. 

Enthralled (to enthrall): to hold by or as if by a spell; charm. 

Enthusiasm: strong excitement and active interest.

Enunciated (to enunciate): to speak very clearly.

Enveloped (to envelope): to surround; to be enclosed by something.

Eructation: the process of belching.

Eruption: a sudden, often violent outburst. 

Escalated (to escalate): to increase, enlarge, or intensify. 

Escapees: persons or things that run away.

Exasperated (to exasperate): to frustrate; to annoy.

Exchange: a conversation between two or more people.

Exhaust: the gas emission from an engine.

Exhaustion: a feeling of fatigue; drained of energy. 

Exhilarated: overjoyed; very cheerful. 

Exited (to exit): to go out. 

371
Exothermic: characterized by giving off heat. 

Exotic: very different or unusual.

Expansive: being in a good or talkative mood.

Expired (to expire): to come to an end. 

Explosion: a violent expansion or bursting with noise, as of gunpowder.

Expounded (to expound): to explain; interpret. 

Extra measure: something that is added to be more generous 

or effective.

Extraordinary: remarkable.

F

Faltering (to falter): to move unsteadily. 

Fantasized (to fantasize): to imagine in the mind. 

Fascination: a state of having appeal or interest; great attraction.

Fashionable: very stylish; up-to-date in what one is wearing. 

Fatalism: belief or attitude that events are caused by powers beyond 

one’s control.

Feathery cobs: referring to the appearance of the small cobs on the 

teosinte plant.

Festooned (to festoon): to decorate with.

Fidgeting (to fidget): to move about restlessly. 

Flabbergasted: astonished; totally surprised.

Flagrant: so bad as to be impossible to overlook.

Flattery: praise that is excessive or not sincere.

Flickered (to flicker): to move irregularly or unsteadily.

Fluorescent: glowing brightly.

Fluttering (to flutter): to move with quick flapping motions.

Foliage: a mass of plants or leaves; plant life in general.

372
Food sovereignty: a policy adopted by a population to widen their 

control of the foods they eat. 

Foraging (to forage): to make a search, especially for food or supplies.

Formidable: very impressive or strong.

Formula: the required elements of a method or approach; the kinds of 

atoms and their quantities found in a compound or molecule.

Fossil poacher: a thief who steals fossils.

Fossil: a bone, body, or print of a dead plant or animal preserved in 

rock, earth, or tree resin. 

Fragrance: a pleasant smell.

Frazzled: to be exhausted physically or emotionally. 

Fretting (to fret): to be nervous; upset.

Fugita scale: the scale used to rate the intensity of a tornado by 

examining the damage caused by the tornado after it has passed over 

a man-made structure. An F0 tornado causes the least damage and 

an F5 the greatest damage.

Fungus: any of a kingdom of living things (as molds, rusts, mildews, 

smuts, and mushrooms) that lack chlorophyll.

Funky: having a strange or bad smell.

Furtively: done in a sneaky or sly manner.

G

Gargantuan: gigantic; of immense size. 

Gauntlet: a line of people standing opposite each other through which 

a person must run. The people strike or yell at the running person. 

To “run a gauntlet” is an expression that means to endure a difficult 

situation in which one is talked about or criticized.

Gawking (to gawk): to stare; to look at someone rudely.

373
Generation: the length of time between the birth of parents and 

their offspring.

Geological: referring to the physical environment. 

Gesturing (to gesture): to make a movement of the body that expresses 

an idea or a feeling.

Gibberish: nonsense talk. 

Giggled (to giggle): to laugh with repeated short high sounds. 

Gingerly: cautiously or carefully.

Giveaway: an event in which gifts or other objects of value are shared 

freely with others.

Glimpsed (to glimpse): to take a quick look; see a little bit of something.

Glistening (to glisten): to be shiny or glimmering.

Global warming: the heating up of the earth’s atmosphere and oceans 

that can be attributed to natural forces or pollution by humans.

Glucose: blood sugar that provides energy to the body’s cells. 

Glum: gloomy and sad.

Goggles: a pair of tight-fitting eyeglasses worn to protect the eyes 

from hazards.

Gondola: a small enclosed car on an amusement ride.

Goons: a person hired to beat up opponents.

Graduated cylinder: a tall narrow container used for measuring liquids.

Grafting (to graft): to join a plant onto another plant.

Great Removal: the removal of Native American tribes from the eastern 

and southeastern states to the West by the U.S. government in 

the 1830s.

Grist: the grain that is ground in a mill. It is sometimes used to mean 

the rumors that are being passed around in a “rumor mill.”

Groove-on: a slang expression that means to be doing something with 

expertise or confidence. 

374
Grouchiness: an irritable and complaining condition.

Groupies: a slang expression for fans who usually follow a rock group or 

rock star on a concert tour.

Grubs: the wormlike larva of beetles and other insects.

Guardianship: a relationship in which one person has legal 

responsibility for the care of another person or their property.

Guiltily: having an uncomfortable feeling of having done 

something wrong. 

Gushed (to gush): to flatter; to admire too much.

Guttural: characteristic of sounds made deep in the throat that are 

harsh or rough.

H

Habitat: where a plant or animal naturally or normally lives or grows.

Half-hearted: lacking spirit or interest.

Haphazardly: done randomly or messily without a plan.

Harassment: annoyance; pestering; or persecution.

Harmony: a state in which everything works together in balance or 

in agreement.

Harried: worried; stressed.

Harrumphed (to harrumph): to comment disapprovingly.

Hatchback: a car that has a rear door.

Hawed (to haw): to hesitate in speaking as in the expression “to hem 

and haw.”

Hazardous: dangerous; risky.

Heckling (to heckle): to interrupt with the intention of being annoying.

Hefty: quite heavy. 

Herbivore: a plant-eating animal.

375
Hiccupped (to hiccup): to make a loud sound caused by a spasm of the 

diaphragm that pushes air through the vocal cords. 

Hindenburg: a German dirigible or airship (similar in appearance to a 

large blimp) that was kept aloft by hydrogen, a gas that is lighter than 

air. It exploded at Lakehurst, New Jersey in 1937 as it was trying to 

land during a lightning storm. When the hydrogen, which is highly 

flammable, ignited, the airship crashed in flames.

Honorable mentions: awards that are given for work that is very good, 

but not the quality of a first, second, or third prize winner.

Horticulture: the practice of growing fruits, vegetables, flowers, or 

ornamental plants.

Hub: the central part of a circular object (as a wheel); a center 

of activity.

Huddled (to huddle): to crowd, push, or pile together.

Humanoid: having human form or characteristics.

Humdinger: a striking or extraordinary person or thing.

Humiliation: loss of pride or self-respect.

Humongous: extremely large. 

Hustle: energetic movement in which persons can be shoved or jostled. 

Hydrogen: a colorless and odorless gas that is highly flammable; the 

simplest of all elements.

Hydrogen peroxide: an unstable compound composed of two atoms of 

hydrogen and two atoms of oxygen (H2

O2). It is used as an antiseptic, 

a propellant, and as a bleaching agent.

I

Illuminated (to illuminate): to shine a light upon.

Imitation: the act of pretending to sound or behave like someone else.

Impression: an imprint or dent left on a substance, like the imprint of a 

foot left in clay. 

376
Indigenous: referring to peoples who are native to a particular part of 

the world (as the Incas are native to Peru). 

Indignant: offended; resentful. 

Inner sanctum: a private place where only certain powerful people are 

allowed to enter—in this case, the principal’s office.

Inorganic: composed of matter that does not come from living things.

Inspirational: in a motivating or encouraging manner.

Instincts: behaviors that are based on automatic actions.

Insulin: a hormone, produced by the pancreas, which helps the body 

use carbohydrates and fats for the energy it needs. It helps the cells 

in the liver, muscle, and fat tissue to take up glucose (blood sugar) 

from the blood and store it as energy. 

Intellect: brain power. 

Interfering (to interfere): to get involved in a situation without 

approval; to meddle.

Intertwined: twisted together.

Intimidated (to intimidate): to frighten people into doing one’s will by 

threatening them. 

Intrigued: being curious or very interested by something.

Intrusion: wrongfully or inappropriately breaking into a conversation, 

a property, or the privacy of another person. 

Inventory (to inventory): to make a count of supplies or goods.

Invocation: the part of a pow-wow when the master of ceremonies calls 

on the Creator and the spirit world to help the people and make the 

pow-wow a good experience.

Involuntary: done without choice. 

Irrational: unreasonable; foolish.

Irresponsible: reckless; careless.

Irritated (to irritate): to annoy or aggravate.

377
J

Jitters: a feeling of extreme nervousness. 

Jubilantly: expressing great joy.

Juvenile: a young person, animal, or plant. 

K

Kernel: the inner softer part of a seed, fruit stone, or nut.

Kits: the young of rabbits, badgers, beavers, ferrets, foxes, minks, 

polecats, raccoons, skunks & squirrels.

L

Lab bench: a workbench in a laboratory.

Laboriously: working in a hard manner; taking a long time to 

do something.

Land stewardship: the responsible planning, management, and 

restoration of resources that are found on the land such as soil, 

plants, and minerals.

Latex: the substance that is tapped from rubber trees; also a mixture of 

water and fine particles of rubber.

Lattice: a framework of brick or wood that has open spaces.

Launching (to launch): to take off with force.

Leisurely: unhurried; at ease.

Liberate: to free or release.

Lobbed (to lob): to throw something (as a ball) in a high arc.

Lobed: describing a curved or rounded part of an object like a leaf.

Loosestrife: an herb related to primroses that has invaded farmland; 

a weed.

378
Lop-sided: leaning to one side.

Loupe: a hand lens used to magnify small objects so they can be seen.

Low carb: not high in carbohydrates. 

Low-down: a slang expression that refers to information that everyone 

doesn’t know.

Lurched (to lurch): to roll or tip suddenly.

M

Magnificent: superb; glorious; grand.

Majestic: imposing; splendid. 

Mammoth: enormous; massive.

Maneuvered (to maneuver): to move or manage skillfully.

Manila: the off-white color of envelopes and folders. 

Manipulator: a person who acts with the intent to get their way or 

to deceive.

Marathon: a very lengthy activity like a long-distance run.

Marine: relating to the sea.

Marveled (to marvel): to fill with surprise or astonishment.

Masquerade: pretending to be someone else; being in disguise.

Matter-of-factly: speaking in a simple and concise way. 

Mayonnaise: a dressing consisting chiefly of egg yolk, vegetable oil, and 

vinegar or lemon juice.

Meandered (to meander): to wander without a goal or purpose.

Measly: so small or unimportant as to deserve scorn.

Menacingly: in a threatening or sinister way.

Metamorphosis: an extraordinary change in appearance, character, 

or circumstances.

Meteorite: a meteor that reaches the surface of the earth.

379
Metaphor: a symbol; a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is 

used in place of another to mean the same thing.

Miffed: to be offended; displeased.

Milky Way: the galaxy of which the solar system is a part.

Minerals: solids that have specific chemical compositions and physical 

properties. They appear as rocks, metals, or crystals.

Mocking (to mock): to tease; to make fun of.

Molecule: the smallest particle of a substance having all the 

characteristics of the substance. It is always composed of two or 

more atoms of different elements. For instance, a water molecule is 

composed of two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom. 

Momentarily: in a short period of time.

Momentous: very important; considerable. 

Moseying (to mosey): to move in a leisurely or aimless manner.

Motto: a saying or phrase that represents the values of a person or 

organization (as in “Our motto is ‘The customer is always right.’”).

Muffled: hushed; barely heard.

Munchkin: a small person (derives from a population of very small 

people in the book, “The Wizard of Oz”). 

Murmur: to speak in a voice too low to be heard clearly.

Mustering (to muster): to stir up or bring to action.

Mutant: a malformed or altered individual, which arises from exposure 

to a process or event that causes them to change.

Mystified (to mystify): to thoroughly confuse; to be puzzled.

N

Nano-second: one billionth of a second.

Natural resources: materials from nature that have various uses, such as 

timber, fresh water, or mineral deposits.

380
Neighborhood Watch: group of residents who work with local law 

enforcement to keep their communities safe.

Nestled (to nestle): to lie close and snug.

Nibbler: a person or animal that eats small amounts of food bit by bit.

Nose blinking: the term for a rabbit’s wiggling its nose up and down. 

Notoriety: bad reputation. 

Nudged (to nudge): to touch or push gently.

Nutrients: sources of nourishment; healthy ingredient in a food.

Nutrition: healthy diet.

Nutritious: characterizes wholesome and nourishing foods.

O

Objectives: aims or goals.

Obliging (to oblige): pleased to help; glad to do a service for someone.

Obscure: unclear; little known; hidden from view.

Observations: spoken or written notes about something seen or heard. 

Occupant: a person or animal that is living in a certain place.

Olmecs: the Olmecs were the first major civilization of Mexico, living 

in the modern-day states of Veracruz and Tobasco. They flourished 

during the period from 1500 BCE (Before the Current Era) to about 

400 BCE. They laid the cultural foundations for the later civilizations 

of the Maya and Aztecs.

Optical: using properties of light to aid vision.

Optimistic: hopeful; confident; expecting everything to come out 

all right.

Orb: something in the shape of a ball.

Organic: describing a substance made from living things (a plant or 

animal product).

381
Ornament: a decoration.

Ornamental: a plant used for decoration, not for food.

Over-enunciated: pronouncing every word so precisely that one speaks 

very slowly. 

Overstatement: a statement that is exaggerated or made too much of. 

P

PA system: a public address system.

Papier-mâché: a material made of paper pulp held together with glue.

Parallel: objects in rows that are located next to each other, move in the 

same direction, and are always the same distance apart.

Paralyzed: to make powerless or unable to act, function, or move.

Patooties: an exclamation of frustration.

Patrolling (to patrol): the act of observing or guarding an area.

Pawpaw: a fruit tree native to the eastern woodlands of the United 

States. Its edible fruit has the appearance of a mango. 

Payload: the capacity of an aircraft to carry its cargo and everything 

loaded on it. 

Peel away: to leave or fall away. 

Peered (to peer): to look at closely. 

Pellets: a small, round mass of a substance, like tiny balls; can refer to 

the dung of a small animal. 

Perceived (to perceive): to comprehend; understand. 

Perusal (to peruse): to read carefully or thoroughly. 

Phloem: the living tissue in a plant that carries nutrients (primarily a 

sugar called sucrose) to all parts of the plant. 

Photocopied (to photocopy): to make an image of printed material.

Pixels: small elements that make up an image, as on a computer or 

television screen. 

382
Plant grow light: an electric light, usually a fluorescent bulb, that 

promotes plant growth indoors.

Plaque: a flat plate or tablet that can be hung on the wall. It usually is 

awarded to someone to acknowledge a special achievement or event.

Plummet: to fall straight down. 

Podium: a raised platform from which a speaker addresses an audience.

Poised: getting ready to do something.

Poison arrow: an expression that refers to a harmful message.

Poisoned apple: a gift that appears harmless, but is actually dangerous. 

In the story, Chris’s posting to the blog “An Apple for the Teacher” 

may appear to be harmless, but its intent is to cause trouble. 

Poisonous: containing a substance that is harmful or destructive.

Pondered (to ponder): to think or consider quietly, soberly, and deeply.

Posse: a group that has a common interest. 

Postponed (to postpone): to delay.

Pow-wow: a gathering of North America’s Native peoples where they 

meet to dance, sing, socialize, and honor indigenous cultures.

Pranced (to prance): to walk or move about in a lively and 

proud manner.

Prattle: to speak in a silly or childish manner.

Precise: exact; accurate; specific.

Precocious: showing mature qualities at an unusually early age.

Prediabetes: a condition in which a person’s blood glucose levels are 

higher than normal but not high enough to be type 2 diabetes. People 

with prediabetes are more likely to develop type 2 diabetes. However, 

type 2 diabetes may be prevented or delayed in persons with 

prediabetes if they adopt a healthy diet, lose weight, and increase 

physical activity.

Prematurely: happening before the proper or usual time.

383
Prey: animals that are food for other animals.

Prime: to prepare; to get something ready.

Pristine: being unmarked; fresh and clean; perfect.

Privet: a shrub that is used for hedges.

Professional: persons educated or trained to do a specific job.

Protocol: a set of rules or way of doing something. 

Psyching out: a slang expression that means to get someone distracted 

or upset so that they become confused or unfocused. 

Puberty: period when the body matures; a time of great change.

Pulverize: to beat or grind into a powder or dust.

Puncture: a hole or wound made by piercing. 

Purging (to purge): to rid; make free of something unwanted.

Pushed the envelope: an expression meaning exceeding the existing 

limits; to go beyond what is usually accepted.

Pyramid: a structure that has a square base and four triangular sides 

meeting at a point.

Q

Quavering (to quaver): to tremble as in a shaky way of speaking. 

Quivering (to quiver): to shake or move with a slight trembling motion.

Quizzically: curiously.

R

Radar: a device that sends out radio waves for detecting the position of 

an object.

Radiated (to radiate): to spread out from a center point. 

Raggedy: having a rough or uneven edge or outline. 

Rationally: in a reasonable or realistic way. 

384
Reception: an event at which people are greeted or the arrival of 

something is acknowledged.

Receptive: open to new ideas; willing to listen.

Recliner: a chair with an adjustable back and footrest.

Recoiled (to recoil): to shrink back, flinch, or retreat. 

Recruit: to seek persons to join an activity.

Reeked (to reek): to smell of a strong or disagreeable odor.

Referenced: describes something being cited regarding its location 

or origin.

Refrain: the part of a song that is repeated.

Refuge: a hiding place; a safe place.

Regal: of remarkable excellence or magnificence.

Regalia: highly decorative dance outfits worn in the arena during powwows that have very personal meanings to the dancers.

Register: in music, a register is the range of a note. To sing in a higher 

register, for instance, is to sing in a higher pitch.

Rehearsed (to rehearse): to prepare; to repeat an activity until it is 

perfectly done.

Relief: a sense of being released from worry or anxiety.

Relish: enjoyment or delight.

Relocated (to relocate): to move to a new location.

Reluctantly: acting in an unwilling or half-hearted manner.

Remnants: something that remains or is left over.

Replica: a copy exact in all details; duplicate. 

Reprimand: a formal warning or scolding.

Research: to investigate, study, or explore. 

Resentment: a feeling of anger in response to a wrong or injury.

Resolved (to resolve): to reach a decision or settle a problem.

Retail: describes a business that sells things to the public. 

385
Retching: trying to vomit. 

Retreated (to retreat): to return to a safe place or pull back from a 

difficult situation. 

Riled up: in an upset or angry state. 

Riotous: unrestrained so as to be festive and wild.

Ripped: a slang expression that means having a fine muscular build.

Ripple: to move like flowing water. 

Ritual: an act that is always performed in the same way to signify its 

serious or sacred nature.

Rubberized: coated with rubber.

Rumbling (to rumble): making a low heavy sound that seems to roll on 

and on.

Rummaged (to rummage): to search quickly through the contents of a 

place or container. 

Rumor mill: the source of rumors that are repeated deliberately.

Rumors: a statement or story that has not been proved to be true.

Rustle (to rustle): to make a crackling or crunching sound.

S

Salvaged (to salvage): to rescue or save part of something ruined or left 

after a disaster.

Sanitation: an act or policy that promotes cleanliness.

Sapling: a small young tree.

Sauntered (to saunter): to walk without hurry; to stroll.

Savor: to take pleasure in; appreciate. 

Scanning (to scan): to look over quickly; to look across a wide view. 

Scientifically: relating to the methods or rules of science.

Scored (to score): to make points in a competitive game.

386
Scoundrel: a rascal or crook; someone up to mischief.

Scrawls: writings or drawings done hastily or carelessly.

Screen: the word “screen” has many meanings that are used in the 

book. Noun: a monitor for a TV or computer; a partition or guard; a 

basketball move in which a player tries to keep an opposing player 

from scoring. Verb: to hide; to select using a set of criteria.

Scribbled (to scribble): to write quickly or carelessly without regard to 

clarity or form.

Scrimmage: a minor competition or battle.

Scrounge: to search about and turn up something needed from 

various sources.

Scrunched (to scrunch): to draw or squeeze together tightly.

Scurry: to move quickly. 

Securing (to secure): to make safe; guard. 

Self-consciously: unsure of oneself; somewhat embarrassed.

Self-possessed: in control of one’s emotions or reactions especially 

when under stress. 

Serviceable: still useful; lasting or wearing well in use.

Shake-down: a slang expression meaning to steal money from a victim. 

Shattering (to shatter): to break or fall into pieces. 

Sheepishly: done or said with feelings of embarrassment.

Shockwave: a rapidly moving energy wave (like a sound wave) that 

travels through the air and is heard as a loud crack. 

Shoveled (to shovel): to dig or clean out.

Shrugged (to shrug): to hunch up the shoulders to express hesitation 

or uncertainty.

Shuck: to remove an outer layer of something like corn, a nut, or an 

article of clothing.

Shuddering (to shudder): to tremble or shake.

387
Shy: to be short of a certain distance; almost there, but not quite. 

Silhouette: the outline of a person or an object seen against the light.

Simmering (to simmer): to stew gently in a liquid.

Simultaneously: done at the same time.

Sing-song: characteristic of speaking in a monotonous repeating way.

Skirted (to skirt): to go around; to avoid.

Skittish: marked by extreme caution; easily frightened. 

Sly: in a manner intended to avoid notice. 

Smirked (to smirk): to smile or say in an insincere manner.

Snare: a trap; something that gets one entangled in problems.

Snicker (to snicker): to give a small and often nasty or sly laugh.

Snoozing (to snooze): to take a nap.

Snout: a long nose that sticks out.

Snowed (to snow): to deceive, persuade, or charm with insincere or 

flattering talk.

Snuffled (to snuffle): to breathe loudly through a blocked nose.

Snuggled (to snuggle): to pull in close especially for comfort or 

in affection.

Sobs: crying; tears.

Solo: to do something alone; a performance by one person.

Solution: a liquid in which something has been dissolved.

Somersault: to leap or roll head over heels.

Sparkling (to sparkle): to give off small flashes of light.

Species: a group of animals or plants so closely related that they can 

interbreed and produce fertile offspring. They have great similarity 

in DNA, body organization, and ecological niche. 

Specimen: a sample of something used for testing or examination.

Spectator: an onlooker; a watcher; someone not involved in a situation. 

388
Speculating (to speculate): to think or wonder about a subject.

Spewed (to spew): to gush out.

Spikey: characterized by spikes (pointy).

Spindly: being tall or long and thin in appearance; suggests weakness.

Spirals: shapes that twist or coil in circles.

Splatters: small amounts of a spilled liquid.

Splint: a thin, flat piece of wood that is used to light or ignite 

various substances.

Splintery: having little slivers or pieces of wood sticking out.

Sportsmanship: fair play, respect for opponents, and gracious behavior 

in winning or losing.

Spraddled (to spraddle): to ride, sit, or walk with the legs apart 

Sprinted (to sprint): to run at top speed especially for a short distance.

Spunk: liveliness; spirit; courage. 

Spurt: to burst forth; erupt.

Squatted (to squat): to crouch; sit on one’s heels.

Squelched (to squelch): to hush up; to smother an intent or stop 

an action.

Squinting (to squint): to strain to see with narrowed eyes.

Stamina: endurance; ability to withstand hardship or stress.

Stammered (to stammer): to speak in a halting manner. 

Status: position or rank in relation to others. 

Steeled (to steel): to fill with courage and determination. 

Stench: a very disagreeable smell. 

Stern: firm and not changeable. 

Stifled (to stifle): to choke back; suppress.

Stooped (to stoop): to bend over.

Stow: to put away. 

389
Strategy: a plan; an approach.

Strode (past tense of “to stride”): took a very long step.

Strut: to walk in a stiff proud way.

Stubbly: having a bumpy or rough surface. 

Stupefied (to stupefy): to make stupid, groggy, or numb.

Sturdy: firm; stable. 

Subconscious: the part of the mind in which thoughts occur of which we 

are not fully aware. 

Succulent: moist and tasty. 

Suit (as in the expression “to follow suit”): to be or act in agreement. 

Sullen: gloomy or resentfully silent; not sociable.

Surged (to surge): to move forward as in waves.

Surrendered (to surrender): to give oneself over to something.

Suspended animation: a temporary loss of consciousness and breathing 

in which one continues to live.

Suspension: a temporary removal (as in a suspension from school). 

Suspicioned (to be suspicious): to feel doubt and mistrust.

Swagger: to walk or conduct oneself with an arrogant way; strut.

Sweetly: done with gentle kindness. 

Swig: an amount drunk at one time. 

Sympathetically: being done in a kindly, sensitive, or caring manner.

T

Talons: claws of an animal, especially of a bird of prey.

Tarpaulin: a canvas covering.

Teasing: to make fun of; to kid or joke with.

Temporarily: lasting for a short term; not permanent. 

Terminating (to terminate): to bring to an end. 

390
Thermos: a container used to keep liquids hot or cold.

Thermostat: a device that automatically controls temperature. 

Throng: a large number of people gathered together. 

Thumbs up: a sign of approval or congratulation. 

Toadies: people who flatter another, hoping to receive favors. 

Toddled (to toddle): to walk with short unsteady steps like a young child.

Toddler: a young child just learning to walk. 

Tousle: to rumple or mess up in a playful way. 

Traditional: describing a long-established way of doing or believing; 

related to culture and custom. 

Transformation: a change in outward appearance. 

Transplanted (to transplant): to remove from one place and 

introduce elsewhere. 

Trespassers: people who enter unlawfully upon the land of another.

Tribal sovereignty: refers to the inherent authority of indigenous tribes 

in the United States to govern themselves as “domestic sovereigns,” 

as opposed to the full independent sovereignty of the United States.

Triumphant: having won a victory and being proud of it. 

Trophy: an award given to celebrate a victory or other 

winning achievement. 

Truck farming: growing vegetables for the market. 

Trudged (to trudge): to walk with much effort.

Tubular: having the form of a tube. 

Tucked in (to tuck in): an expression meaning to eat. 

Tuning fork: a metal instrument that vibrates at a specific constant 

pitch when struck. It emits a pure musical tone that is used to tune 

musical instruments. 

391
U

Unapologetic: not being sorry for a wrong committed. 

Uncertainty: not being sure; doubt about something. 

Uncharacteristically: not showing normal or expected behavior. 

Uncharted: unknown; not located on a map, chart, or plan. 

Under wraps: a slang expression meaning to keep a secret or to hide. 

Underbrush: shrubs or small bushes growing beneath larger trees. 

Understatement: a statement that is expressed mildly; not exaggerated. 

Undulating (to undulate): to roll from side to side; or to heave up 

and down. 

Unenthusiastically: not excited.

Unfurled: to open or spread. 

Unrestricted: without limitations; freedom. 

Ushered (to usher): to lead to a place; cause to enter. 

Utility pole: wooden pole used to mount an electric source. 

V

Vacated (to vacate): to leave or quit.

Vacuumed (to vacuum): to clean by sucking up dirt with an 

electrical appliance. 

Valiantly: acting with bravery.

Vandalism: intentional destruction or damage to a property.

Vandals: persons who destroy or damage property on purpose. 

Velvety: soft and smooth.

Vengeance: punishment given in return for an injury or offense.

Ventriloquist: a person who can speak so that his/her voice seems to 

come from somewhere else. 

392
Vibrate: to move side to side or back and forth rapidly.

Vigilant: alert to signs of danger.

Vivacious: full of life and good spirits. 

Volunteer: a person who does a job without pay. 

Voracious: having a huge appetite. 

Vulnerability: being defenseless or weak; capable of being physically or 

emotionally wounded.

W

Warble: to sing or speak in a high voice as if one were singing.

The Weave: a basketball maneuver that involves players moving down 

the court in a “weaving” pattern.

Were-dog: a play on the term “were-wolf” meaning a person who turns 

into a wolf. In this case, the term is jokingly applied to Simon who 

barks like a dog when he coughs. He is, therefore, a “were-dog.” 

Wail: to cry out in a sad way.

Whammy: a spell or charm.

Wheezed (to wheeze): to breathe with difficulty especially with a 

whistling sound.

Whine: to make a shrill troubled cry or a similar sound.

Wily: full of deceit; tricky. 

Witnessed (to witness): to observe; to be able to tell others what 

was seen.

World-weary: being tired or fed-up with a situation.

Wormhole: a tunnel connecting points that are widely separated in 

space and time. 

Wreckage: the remains from something that has been destroyed.

393
X

Xylem: tubes in plants that transport water.

Y

Yelped (to yelp): to cry out suddenly in a high voice.

Yielded (to yield): to give in to the wishes of another.

Z

Zoomed (to zoom): to rush or move quickly; to focus on an object with 

a computer, microscope or camera with the intent of enlarging or 

minimizing it in size (as in “zoom out” or “zoom in”).

394
About the Native Diabetes Wellness Program

The mission of the Native Diabetes Wellness Program is to work 

with a growing circle of partners to address the health inequities so 

starkly revealed by type 2 diabetes in Indian Country. With social 

justice and respect for Native and Western science as grounding 

principles, we strive to support community efforts to promote health 

and prevent diabetes.

To request free copies of the Eagle Books series, or for more 

information about the program, please contact the CDC. Phone: toll 

free 1-877-CDC-DIAB (877-232-3422). E-mail: diabetes@cdc.gov

About the Author

Dr. Terry Lofton is a senior study director at Westat. She has been 

Westat’s project director for the Eagle Books project since 2002 and 

has worked in public health for almost thirty years. A former middle 

school science teacher, Dr. Lofton often drew on the lessons of Native 

science in her classroom activities. She says that the collaboration 

with the illustrators of Coyote and the Turtle’s Dream and the Eagle 

Books project’s many friends in Indian Country has been the highlight 

of her career.

About the Illustrator

Patrick Rolo, Bad River Band of Ojibwe, draws from his rich Native 

American heritage to illustrate the Eagle Books. Mr. Rolo’s career 

includes newspaper, magazine, comic book, and courtroom 

illustrations. Also a painter, his works in oil hang in galleries in 

Minnesota and Washington.
Praise for Hummingbird’s Squash

“I absolutely love this book. Especially with the way it refers back to the stories from the Eagle Book Series 

about eating healthy and exercising, and to Coyote and the Turtles Dream about the fossils and restoring 

harmony back on the reservation. My favorite character in this book is the coyote. Once again, Coyote 

keeps the reader in suspense with his games and tricks. At the same time he sends messages about 

respect, harmony, and sharing. I can relate to the situations Rain and his friends experience at school. 

I would like to see a movie made out of this book. I can’t wait to read more fascinating books like this.”

—Derrick Chavarillo

San Felipe Pueblo, NM 

“Hummingbird and Arianna & her friends try to help the community by growing really big vegetables. The 

coyote ends up doing a spell on them and he makes the elephant’s toothpaste explode on Hummingbird. 

The story fits all together with the coyote being the trickster, and the Veggie Crowd always being close to 

each other and stopping the bullies picking on them. It was pretty cool.”

—Caitlin and Lydia

Santee Sioux Tribe, Santee, South Dakota

“I liked the trickster coyote. He does all these tricks and he’s funny. But in the end, he helps everyone out. 

I liked Granma, too. She taught the boys her prayer in her language. She didn’t care if they didn’t say the 

words right, just so long as they knew what it means. And Chris’s mom, I admired her when she stood up 

for her son in the end. I liked the science experiments, too. I’d like us to have a science fair at my school 

like in the book.”

—Tony, Jr.

Winnebago Tribe of Nebraska, Sioux City, Iowa

“Hummingbird’s Squash is a great book to read about type 2 diabetes. We can relate to the book with our 

life here on the Navajo reservation. Our family grows corn, squash and all kinds of melons, and Mr. Eagle 

and the Rabbit do watch over our garden fields. We thank you for the education provided to everybody 

who reads this book. This book makes us think of what we put into our mouths that may not be healthy 

for our bodies.” 

—Reniah & Jacob Manygoats

Navajo Nation

“I have had a great time helping with Hummingbird’s Squash. I am so proud to be involved with the book 

because it provides valuable insight into the issues faced by those of us who have type 1 diabetes. I have 

had type 1 diabetes for quite some time now, and I know how difficult the daily challenges can be. I really 

enjoyed all the characters, too, and thought that the messages—about food choices, the importance of 

exercise, taking responsibility, and bullying—are helpful to everyone. Bullying is an issue that people 

often do not like to discuss, but it really needs to be addressed.”

– Arianna Baros

(The real Arianna)

Albuquerque, NM

To request free copies of the Eagle Books series, or for 

more information about the program, please 

contact the CDC. Phone: toll free 1-877-CDC-DIAB 

(877-232-3422). E-mail: diabetes@cdc.gov

http://www.cdc.gov/diabetes/pubs/eagle/index.html

U.S. DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH AND HUMAN SERVICES

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

Center for Mental Health Services

www.samhsa.gov