Free The Middle of Everywhere by Monique Polak Page A

Dad said it could be a bumpy ride.”
    â€œBumpy, yes,” Steve says. “But that’s part of the fun.”
    When it’s time to let P’tit Eric out of his cage, Steve crouches low to the ground to get a good grip on the scruff of the dog’s neck. P’tit Eric’s ears prick up, and he sniffs the air. As soon as the other dogs spot him, they let out a chorus of wild howls. A-ooh, a-ooh! A-ooh, a-ooh ! So much for anybody’s plans to sleep in on a Saturday morning!
    The sled dogs will probably wake up Tarksalik too. I wonder if she feels bad that Steve’s dog team is about to head off into the tundra and she’s going to spend the weekend lying on the floor in Dad’s apartment. Tarksalik’s not a sled dog, but Dad told me she likes to come when he and Steve go winter camping. She’s fast enough to keep up with Dad’s snowmobile. At least she used to be fast enough.
    â€œI’m going to mush,” Steve explains. “You and Etua are gonna sit behind me on the qamutik . You keep an eye on Etua, okay? Don’t let him fall off.” He pokes Etua in the stomach. “Your anaana ’ll never forgive me if I lose you.”
    Steve turns back to me. “I want you to watch what I’m doing too. You might get to do some mushing before this weekend’s over.”
    â€œSounds great,” I say, trying to sound excited. What I’m really thinking is, I hope I’m not going to end up in the river like some human Popsicle.
    Steve arranges the dogs so they’re fanned out against the snow. There’s some barking, but mostly they stay where he positions them. Etua makes a spot for me next to him at the back of the qamutik . I try not to think how, four days ago, Tarksalik was lying right where I am now sitting. There’s no sign of the blue and black plaid blanket with the blue fringes. I wonder whether Steve and Rhoda were able to wash out the bloodstains.
    Steve steps onto the front of the qamutik and yells out something that sounds like “ Oyt! ”
    That sound must mean “Go!” because as soon as he says it, the dogs are off! For a couple of seconds, the qamutik scrapes against the hard-packed snow, and then— whoosh! —we’re flying past houses and bushes and the path that leads to the school. Man, can these dogs ever pull! We must be going almost as fast as a car, and we’re not burning gasoline and destroying the Earth’s ozone layer while we’re at it.
    Etua cries out, “ Oyt! Oyt! ” too. I just laugh, a deep long laugh that comes from the bottom of my belly and makes me feel more relaxed than I’ve felt since I came to George River. The cold air isn’t hurting my lungs; right now, it just feels good. Energizing. When we reach a bump in the road, our qamutik flies way up in the air.
    Up we go! A foot at least, maybe more. No wonder Steve used bungee cord to tie down the packs and coolers! All this qamutik is missing is seatbelts!
    â€œ Oyt! Oyt! ” Etua and I shout together. It feels good to shout so loud.
    The dogs pull even harder. Whap! The qamutik lands back on the snow, making a crashing sound as it hits the ground. I can feel my butt slap down against the wooden base of the qamutik . Something tells me my butt is going to be black and blue by Sunday night.
    It would take twenty minutes at least to walk to the edge of town, but the dogs get us there in under five. The wind whips against our cheeks, and Etua’s dark eyes are shining. Right now, I’m having too much fun to notice how cold it is.
    The houses, which are crowded next to each other in the center of town where Dad and Steve and his family live, become more spread out, and soon there aren’t any houses at all. Just snow. Mountains of it. This is what the moon must look like in winter.
    When the road comes to an end, we switch to a narrow path. I can see the tracks snowmobiles have left in the snow.