Finders Keepers (7 page)

The helicopter shot up in the air and then bounced lightly down on the top of Danny's head.

“Quit it Gibson,” yelled Danny.

“Make me,” taunted Brett, laughing and doing it again.

Angrily Danny grabbed his work book and flailed it around his head. The 'copter swung up to the ceiling out of reach.

“Aw, give up Danny. You can never hit anything anyway,” laughed Brett, and buzzed Danny again.

Danny leapt onto the desk and gave a wild swing with his book. The book connected with the string and the force jerked the stick out of Brett's hand. The helicopter crashed onto a desk, drunkenly rolled over, then toppled to the floor, one blade sheared off.

The class fell silent. All eyes watched as Brett leaped up onto the desktops and advanced threateningly towards Danny.

Danny flushed. “It was his fault,” he mumbled to the class at large, but stood his ground.

“Good morning Grade 5. Nice to find you quiet and ready for work.” Mr. Berg strode into the room and slammed a pile of books on his desk. He looked searchingly over his glasses at the boys. “If the two mountain climbers descend, we could take out our math books and start on time for once.”

Embarrassed, Danny dropped down into his seat. He hated it when Mr. Berg was sarcastic.

Brett Gibson swung down to the floor and swiftly scooped up the smashed helicopter. “I'll get you for this,” he whispered as he passed Danny. “You're dead at recess.” And he stomped on Danny's toe for emphasis.

“Great start to the week,” thought Danny trying not to wince.

Mr. Berg launched into a geometry lesson. Danny tried to forget his other problems and concentrate on the board. To his surprise he caught on quite quickly.

“As math lessons go, this isn't too bad,” he whispered to Mike, but to his surprise Mike rolled his eyes and gave a
thumbs-down sign.

Heartened that he could find something easier than his friend, Danny enjoyed copying the shapes from the board onto his squared graph paper. He even managed to give the correct answer for the area of the rectangle they had drawn.

“See Danny, multiplication is easy if you concentrate, isn't it?” praised Mr. Berg, who thought Danny had multiplied the length by the width to get the answer. Danny basked in the unexpected approval, but didn't dare explain he had counted all the squares individually while Mr. Berg was talking.

Recess came far too quickly. There was an air of tension as the students streamed down the corridor. Everyone eyed Danny and Brett Gibson and waited to see who would make the first move.

Danny shot into the washroom, found an empty cubicle and slid inside, bolting the door. Then he pulled his lucky lance point out of his pocket, sat down, and turned it over and over while surveyed his options. They weren't great! He could hide in the washroom, but Brett would just wait and beat him up later. He could make an excuse to talk to Mr. Berg about the math class, but Brett would get him at lunchtime. He could try and avoid Brett Gibson, but that was almost impossible. Danny rubbed his point for luck and started on a new train of thought. When early hunters used spears they needed more than luck. They didn't just fling spears and hope to hit something, they used tactics to place themselves in a good position first. That was what he needed—tactics —a position that would take the wind out of Brett's sails. Yes, that's what he would try. With a bit of luck he could avoid a fight altogether.

Danny took a deep breath, pocketed the lance point and unbolted the cubicle door. Mike was hanging around looking anxious.

“You ready for Brett?” he asked Danny.

Danny looked unsure, but nodded. “I guess. Come on.”

Danny strode across the playground, Mike close on his
heels. Furtively, other class members watched as he crossed to the far side where Brett Gibson and his gang gathered in a threatening group.

“Here comes Dummy Danny,” remarked one of the group. The rest snickered. The class members closed in to watch the action. As the crowd began to grow, so did Brett Gibson's ego.

“Come to have your face smashed in, runt?” Brett started to take off his jacket.

“No. I've come to talk,” replied Danny clearly.

“Then you'd better talk fast. You won't be able to after I've finished with you. You'll be cat's meat.”

The crowd giggled and pressed closer.

“Look.” Danny took up his stance before Brett. “Sure, you can beat me to pulp. Then what? You'll get suspended and your helicopter will still be wrecked. Right?”

Brett Gibson nodded uncertainly. He wasn't used to people facing him with reason.

“So how about I get your helicopter blade fixed?”

“Oh yeah… you and who else?”

“Me and my dad.”

Brett was silent for a moment. He and everyone else know that Mr. Budzynski was great at fixing models. Mr. Budzynski won the prize for model building almost every year at Fall Fair. What's more, Danny was pretty good at fixing models himself.

Danny held his breath.

“Big deal. That helicopter was new. I only got it this weekend.” Brett stepped forward, fists raised. “You wrecked it Dummy. Now you pay.”

A ripple of excitement spread through the crowd.

“You're the dummy for bringing it to school,” said a girl's voice. Several other girls nodded agreement.

Brett swung around angrily. “Shut your mouth Marylise, or I'll shut it for you.”

“Oh yeah,” taunted Marylise. “Got to beat up a girl to feel good?”

The spectators laughed.

Brett coloured angrily. This wasn't working out the way he expected. “The Dummy broke it, now he pays,” he repeated.

“He's offered to fix it,” Mike said. “That's fair.”

“You were the one bugging him,” pointed out another voice. “You were bugging us all.”

Brett shifted uncomfortably. He sensed the mood of the kids had shifted. Now they were on Danny's side. He shot Danny a look of dislike. “And what if you can't fix it. Huh? What then?”

“Then we'll talk again. But I bet I can,” said Danny confidently.

It was obvious to the spectators that the fight wasn't going to happen. They began to lose interest and drift away.

Brett made one last bid for power. He grabbed Danny's T-shirt, pulled it towards him and thrust his face into Danny's. “You'd better,” he warned. “You'd better get it fixed real good or else…” he concentrated so hard he squinted. “Or else you won't just be cat's meat, you'll be doggy doo!” And giving Danny a push, he walked rapidly away followed by his gang.

Danny staggered back against the fence, and turned away, shoulders shaking.

Mike came over concerned. “Hey. You OK? Did he hurt you?”

Danny lifted a face creased with laughter. “No, I'm fine, I just didn't want him to see me laughing.” The friends looked at each other and grinned with relief.

“Doggy doo, huh,” said Mike. “We'd better watch our step.” And they laughed hysterically until the bell.

School had finished for the day, but the spring afternoon had turned bitterly cold.

“Do you still want to come over?” Danny anxiously asked Mike as they sat together on the school bus. “The things I wanted to show you are outside.”

“Sure.” Mike grinned lazily. “It's not often you invite me to your place. I'm curious.”

Danny looked at Mike uneasily. “It's nothing that special. Just a den I made.” He shifted uncomfortably on the bus seat, wondering if he'd made a mistake. He almost wished he'd not offered to share his den with Mike. Mike liked games, ones with lots of body contact and excitement. Danny didn't know what a hockey fan would think about his den and he didn't want to be laughed at.

After dumping their school books in Danny's kitchen and grabbing a snack, Mike and Danny thrust their hands in their jacket pockets, hunched chins into their collars and set out across the farmyard. The sky was heavy and leaden and a few stray snowflakes drifted down. Danny stuck out his tongue to catch one.

“Where are we going?” asked Mike as they turned behind the barn and struck out across the cow pasture.

Danny grinned. “You'll see, but don't tell anyone, it's a secret place.”

“I hope it's sheltered,” Mike grumbled. “I'm freezing.” He looked resentfully up at the sky but the sun was stubbornly hiding. He sighed and looked sideways at Danny.

Danny seemed almost oblivious to the cold. He stepped out confidently, leaning into the biting wind and heading towards the distant river valley.

Mike sighed again. He liked Danny but he was a little weird. Danny seemed to live in a world in his head that was more important than the real world. Danny made him feel uncomfortable sometimes.

“This way, but watch out, it's slippery,” called out Danny, stepping over the lip of a small coulee, onto a narrow muddy cattle trail.

They carefully followed the trail down as it wound through clumps of sage and scrubby willows. Mike stopped for a moment and rubbed his aching ears. It felt good to be out of the wind.

“Come on Mike,” Danny called impatiently, “or we won't have any time there. It'll be dusk soon and we'll have to head back.”

Mike obediently followed and they brushed through the scrub for another few minutes, startling small animals in the undergrowth who betrayed their presence by frightened rustles. Mike looked around uneasily. He'd rather be in town, playing hockey at the rink or hanging over the video games at the convenience store. He didn't really like being out on the prairie on his own and couldn't understand Danny's fascination with it. “How much longer?” he asked impatiently.

But Danny had disappeared. Mike looked around startled.

“In here.” Danny's arm shot out from a gloomy crack in the coulee wall and drew Mike through a narrow gap. “Just a minute, I'll light a candle.”

It was shadowy. Mike stood still and waited for his eyes to adjust so he could see what was going on. He could hear
Danny scratching about, a sudden sputter and a tiny flame sprang to life. Carefully Danny shielded it with his hand and leaned over. The light grew as Danny lit two candles in pickle jars, placed one on a rock and held the other from a string handle attached to the jar's rim. “Well, what do you think?” he asked, holding the light up.

Mike looked around in amazement. They were standing in a dried up river channel, that widened in the middle and was blocked at the other end by a fall of rocks. The ancient river had cut deep into the bank so there was a large overhang. It was almost a cave and would be impossible to see from the fields above.

“Neat-oh,” Mike breathed admiringly. “What's that?” He pointed to a large conical pile of trimmed branches nestling into the base of the cliff.

“My tipi,” replied Danny proudly and walked towards it. He carefully placed the homemade lantern on the ground, shifted some concealing brush, lifted aside an old towel hanging down as a door, dropped to his knees and crawled inside. His head reappeared, framed in the doorway. “Come inside,” he invited, and grabbing the lantern, disappeared from view.

Mike hesitated. “What about snakes or spiders?” he called.

“Oh for heavens sake,” replied Danny crossly, “don't be chicken.”

Mike pushed aside the towel and crawled through.

The tipi was just big enough for two. Rough barn planks were laid for a floor and the sloping piles of branches forming the walls were draped with old horse blankets. A cut log made a table and the pickle jar lantern swung gently from a protruding branch at the apex of the roof. The candle light made it warm and inviting.

Danny sat cross-legged and gazed anxiously at Mike. “Well, what do you think?”

Mike settled himself. “It's great. This whole place is a great secret. No one would ever find it,” he enthused. “You could hide out here for weeks if you had food, but…” he
hesitated and looked curiously across at Danny. “What do you do here?”

“Oh, stuff,” replied Danny vaguely. “Indian stuff mostly.”

Mike teasingly punched Danny on the arm. “Yeah, I forgot, you want to be Indian.” He started a Hollywood style chant. “Pow pow wow wow. Pow wow wow wow,” he warbled, stamping his foot and waving an imaginary tomahawk. “Come on Danny. Let's have a Sundance.”

Danny froze. “It's not like that,” he muttered. “And you shouldn't joke about the Sundance. It's sacred. It's nothing to do with us.”

“So what, we're only having fun.” Puzzled, Mike looked at Danny. “Come on man, relax. Don't be so weird. What kind of stuff do you do?”

Danny reached behind him and brought out a small rag bundle. He untied the ends and spread it out on the log. Mike gazed with bemusement at a pile of rock chips.

“See,” said Danny picking up a small rock flake and holding it out to Mike. “I'm trying to make a stone point, but I can't get the shape right.” He fiddled in his pocket, brought out the wad of tissues and carefully unwrapped his lance point. “It should look something like this.”