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

before they started testing kids.

Th

ey had stood with their backs against the wall, standing right next to Father Mullen, their faces blank as bullets. Th ey

reminded Sonny of hunters, the way they followed kids with their eyes, hardly moving a muscle.

Creepy.

Sonny cleared his tray, following right behind O’Shay, one eye on those soldiers. He wished that he and O’Shay could just disappear, but they were the wrong kind of kids for that.

O’Shay was just too danged tall and too white. And Sonny—

well, Sonny had that thing the oldest boy in a family without a dad always has, the thing that makes you act a certain way even when you don’t really want to. Th

e thing that makes older

people treat you like an adult no matter how old you are.

“O’Shay!” Father Mullen said suddenly, and O’Shay

stopped short, right in front of Mullen.

119

my name is n ot easy final text_.indd Sec1:119

18/07/2011 8:25 PM

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

Sonny stopped, too. He had no choice. O’Shay and Father were blocking the way.

Father had a big, friendly smile on his face that looked about as natural as frosting on a fi sh. And the way he was rubbing his hands together made even O’Shay fi dget. Th e soldier

standing next to Father wore a fancy hat, and he had a row of stars on his arm that you couldn’t help but notice because of the way he held his shoulder: right in your face.

“Mr. O’Shay, I’d like you to help me give the general here a tour of the school,” Mullen said.

O’Shay gave Sonny a sideways look and swallowed. “Ah, maybe Sonny . . .”

Father nodded and looked at Sonny. “You come, too, Mr.

George,” Father said.

And that’s how they ended up on a tour, Sonny and O’Shay and Father Mullen, marching that starred general through the halls of Sacred Heart School like a mismatched battalion from an unnamed war. Father was talking about the design of the school, striding past the row of photographs that showed the ranks of Sacred Heart graduates. Th

e general gazed at the pho-

tos, then turned to scrutinize O’Shay.

“Your father is an attorney in Fairbanks, I hear,” the general said.

O’Shay nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“A prominent Catholic family,” Father added.

“And you”—the general turned and looked down his

shoulder, aiming his gaze at Sonny—“where are you from, young man?”

120

my name is n ot easy final text_.indd Sec1:120

18/07/2011 8:25 PM

T H E M E A N E S T H E A T H E N S / S o n n y a n d A m i q

“Tannana, Sir.”

“Indian,” Father Mullen off ered.

Th

e general’s face brightened a bit. “Bought my wife a pair of those Indian slippers,” the general said, looking at Sonny like he expected gratitude. “Been complaining about cold feet ever since we got here. Warm as all get out, those slippers of yours.”

Sonny shifted from one foot to the other.

Th

ey were outside now, standing next to the north wall of the school, and Father had stopped by the place where the new addition was going to be.

“Th

is is the site of the new dorm wing. In fact, some of these boys here will help us build it,” Father said, looking directly at Sonny.

Sonny’d be helping, all right. He never left summers—

what else was there to do? Th

e general was staring at him in a

way that made him feel itchy.

“Good to see these Native boys learn useful trades,” the general said.

Sonny forced a smile. A useful kind of smile. And he made himself look directly at the general, too, the way white people always did.

“Personable young fellow,” the general said.

O’Shay, standing behind Mullen and the general, nodded knowingly at Sonny and grinned. Personable. He mouthed the word at Sonny.

What the heck does personable mean? Sonny wondered.

Th

at the general thinks I could maybe be a person?

121

my name is n ot easy final text_.indd Sec1:121

18/07/2011 8:25 PM

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

Th

e exterior of the school rose up alongside them, gray as ash, and Sonny thought about his mother’s beadwork, the bright blue and red fl owers she always put on the toes of her slippers. What would his mom think if she could see him standing here next to Father Mullen with a big, important general and the son of a prominent Fairbanks lawyer? She’d be pretty darn proud, Sonny decided.

“Would you like to see the chapel, sir?” he asked.

Outside the room where the soldiers were still testing kids, Amiq stood at the end of the line, waiting. He had just watched the way Luke marched into that room, like he was facing a fi ring squad, and now Amiq stood there feeling very . . . uneasy.

Th

ey were making them take some kind of military test, but it was only the kids who lived north of the Arctic Circle who had to take it. Amiq had fi gured this out by looking at the other kids standing there in line with them. Th ey were

Iñupiaq, mostly, with a few Indians—but only the ones who lived in the northernmost villages. Th

ere were no white kids.

Amiq had grown up around military scientists, and he knew all about military testing. Now they wanted to test him like he was some kind of lab animal. Amiq knew all about lab animals, too. Th

is was not good. Not at all good.

Luke emerged from the testing room looking a little shaken and trying to cover it up by showing his brother Bunna how it hadn’t even hurt.

“See?