My Name Is Not Easy by Edwardson, Dahl (the red fox clan .TXT) 📕

a few of you that will need to be tested. Not to worry.”

But I get a funny feeling watching the way Father goes through his grade book, running his fi nger over the page like he’s looking for something hidden.

“Luke Aaluk,” he says, and I stand up, not knowing what else to do.

“Donna Anaivik,” he continues without looking up.

Donna stands up, eyeing her feet.

“ . . . Billy Stone, Jr., . . . Fred Qavik.”

Father looks up and then back down at his grade book.

“Let’s see. Have I forgotten anyone?”

Amiq stands up while Father is still running his fi nger over our names, searching.

“Oh . . . yes . . . Amiq,” he says fi nally, looking straight at Amiq, who’s standing directly in front of him, as cool and calm as only Amiq can be. “Amiq Amundson.”

“Eskimos front and center, eh, Father?” Amiq says.

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M Y N A M E I S N O T E A S Y

“It would appear so, Amiq. It would indeed appear

so.”

But it isn’t all Eskimos. Out in the hallway there’s other kids, even Indians from the villages up north by ours, even the kids from the lower levels, all of us standing around, eyes big.

Bunna moves up next to me.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen, form a line,” Sister Sarah orders.

We march down the hall behind the white fl ag of Sister’s habit like a blind army. Where we’re going and what we’re fi ghting is a mystery none of us wants to think about. Sister stops at a little room next to the offi

ce, a room that’s mostly

used for storage because it’s too small for a classroom and doesn’t have a window.

“All right people, I want you to remain in line here. You’ll be called in one at a time for testing,” Sister Sarah says.

And sure enough, right after she disappears into the room, one of those soldiers ducks his head out and looks directly at me.

“Luke Aaluk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Looks like you’re the leader.”

And I’m thinking, Why the heck did I have to be fi rst? I’m not even a Catholic. Should’ve been somebody else, somebody daring like Amiq. I don’t believe in being daring. Daring people are just dumb people who never live long. Not in the Arctic.

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T H E D A Y T H E S O L D I E R S C A M E / L u k e But Amiq’s not fi rst in line. I am. Amiq’s at the dead end of the line, in fact, and he’s scowling. I’m the leader, with Bunna right behind me, which is not right, that’s for sure. But I lift my shoulders up and march right into that room, my mouth dry as sand.

Inside is two soldiers who say they’re doctors. Th

ey have a

table full of equipment.

Sister Sarah eases the door shut, leaving me alone with the military. I stand there in the middle of that room, an army of one, trying to look tough.

“Sit down, son,” one of the soldiers says. “Th

is isn’t going

to hurt one bit.”

It don’t feel right when he calls me “son,” but I sit down anyway. He sits down, too, across the table from me.

“My name is Dr. Smith, Luke, and I need you to hold real still while Dr. Bergstrom here hooks you up to his machine,”

he says.

Suddenly I’m more curious than scared. “Why are you hooking me up to a machine?”

“So we can learn a few things about your body,” he says.

Th

e way he talks about my body is like it’s not connected to me, not real. And the way he’s taping these little wires onto me makes me feel like Frankenstein, that guy in a movie they showed one time.

Dr. Bergstrom connects wires to all my fi ngertips, the sides of my forehead, the back of my neck, my heart, even my ankles.

“Learn what kinds of things?”

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Th

e two doctors are putting on heavy aprons and gloves, and one is opening up a big silver-colored box. He takes out a container and pours something into a paper cup.

“Th

e military wants to know what it is about your body that allows you to adapt so well to extreme cold. You kids are going to show us how to condition our soldiers to fi ght better in the extreme cold of the Arctic.”

He hands me the cup. Th

e liquid inside is greenish yellow

and fl uorescent-looking. I’m wondering how this stuff could teach anybody to fi ght. And why do they have to fi ght in the Arctic, anyhow? Did the Russians land already? I think about Mom and get scared.

“Here. Drink this juice.”

I look at it doubtfully. “What is it?”

“It’s iodine-131, Luke. Do you know what that is?”

I shake my head. Iodine-131 doesn’t look like anything I would ever want to drink.

“Iodine-131 is what we call a radioactive tracer, Luke.

When it runs through your body, we’ll be following the radiation levels with our machines here, and it will tell us a lot about your body and how it works.”

I look at the “juice.” Iodine-131 is no juice name I ever heard of.

“Go ahead, Luke, drink it. It won’t hurt. Th

ey tell me it

tastes pretty good, in fact.”

Th

ey’re both looking at me like they plan to stand there, looking forever if they have to, which makes me real uncomfortable, so I take the cup and swallow it down.

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