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  I sipped my tea. "Right now I don't want to be wrapped up in anything."

  "Good."

  An uncomfortable pause followed. It grew longer. We drank from our cups. I began to tell her about the sweat lodge, then stopped.

  "I'm sorry I hurt you," I said finally.

  She nodded. "Yeah, I know."

  "I—I saw my dad."

  "Knew that, too. Good."

  "How long did you know? That...he wasn't dead?"

  "Will and I figured it out. We made a pact that we wouldn't ask you. We'd hoped you'd eventually tell us. You must have been very angry with him."

  "I was."

  People walked by the window, heading to the stores up the street.

  "So did the sweat help?" she asked.

  "It cleared my sinuses."

  She laughed. "Be serious."

  "It centered me. I guess."

  "Will that be enough?"

  I shrugged. "I think I'll call up Mr. Verplaz. Have a talk with him. I'm sure he must get bored in the summer. It'll give him something to do."

  "I'm glad to hear that."

  Silence. Again. More watching through the window.

  "Uh...,"I said, "if you have time in the next little while, call me. Maybe we could go to a movie."

  "No, Percy."

  My heart felt as though someone were squeezing it. Then she said, "You call me. Maybe I'll come." She stood up. "I have to go walk Fang."

  We hugged, briefly; then she was gone.

  I went home and life returned to normal. I avoided my field journal for the first week of summer. And the second. It loomed too large on my desk, heavy as an obelisk. I refused to turn my television on or open any books. I only used my room for sleeping. I went for walks along the river. My hair began poking out of my skull.

  I visited Mr. Verplaz several times, engaging in long discussions about fathers, sons and dream worlds. He even gave me advice on a few university classes and loaned me a couple of jazz CDs, explaining that they'd calm me—they proved that something beautiful could emerge from chaos.

  And eventually I convinced myself to phone Elissa.

  "So, um, you want to go to a show?"

  "Can't," she said. "Why didn't you call before?"

  "I—I was busy." I decided to tell her the truth. "And I wasn't ready yet."

  "Phone me again at the end of August. Ma and Pa decided to give me a surprise Grad gift. We're jetting off to Rome."

  "When?"

  "Tomorrow! They want us to have some quality time together. Might kill me. But I could always feed them to the lions in the Colosseum. See ya when I'm back, kiddo."

  And so I was left with a lot of time to myself. I read fantasy novels and listened to jazz.

  Weeks later a postcard arrived with a statue of Minerva on the front. On the back was written:

  Hey. They have statues of me here.

  Carpe Diem, Perky!

  E.

  I laughed out loud.

  Finally, on August 6, I opened the journal and flipped through it. There were over seven hundred pages of articles with hundreds of footnotes and a vast number of intricate drawings of skulls and apes and humans. Three years of work. I couldn't quite remember the person who'd written all this; he seemed to have had so much energy. I closed the book. It was still too heavy to move.

  I went for a walk and found myself in front of Will's house. I hadn't been there for ages. The curtains in his room were open, and I grinned when I saw that his mother had left his Planet of the Apes posters up.

  "You really do rock, Will," I said to the ether.

  What had I learned? I asked myself as I made my way to the river. I found no clear answer. But I did know this—the sun produces over two hundred trillion trillion trillion neutrinos every second. These tiny particles pass unhindered through space, and through the planets, including Earth. Some are relic neutrinos, left over from the birth of the universe. Billions of neutrinos shoot through our bodies every second on their way back to outer space. For them, it's almost as if we didn't exist at all.

  I thought about this as I strolled along the river, sat down on a patch of green grass and felt the sun's rays warm my skin.

  So much passes through us without our ever noticing.

  ###

  About the Author

  Arthur Slade (genus and species: Homo sapiens) was born in Moose Jaw and raised in the Cypress Hills of southwest Saskatchewan, Canada. There he learned how to ride herbivores and drive mechanized farm implements. Early in his development, he began writing; he is the author of sixteen books, including "Dust" (which won the Governor General's award for Children's Literature), the "Northern Frights" series, "Megiddo's Shadow," and "The Hunchback Assignments." His current habitat is a house in the mythical city of Saskatoon, Canada.

  Connect with the author online:

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/arthurslade

  Facebook: http://facebook.com/arthur.slade

  Blog: http://arthurslade.livejournal.com/

  For more books and information visit the official website: http://www.arthurslade.com/

  Other Novels By Arthur Slade

  The Haunting of Drang Island

  Northern Frights 2

  When Michael and his father arrive on Drang Island for a camping trip, they find that all the rumors they've heard are true. The island is desolate, sparsely populated and far from civilization. It seems the perfect place for Michael's father to finish the last chapters of his book of Norse stories. Unfortunately it soon becomes apparent that some of the other rumors they've heard about Drang Island -- stories about spirits, strange sacrifices and a serpent lurking in the ocean -- might also be true!

  The Loki Wolf

  Northern Frights 3

  When Angie dreams about being devoured by a giant wolf, her parents tell her it is only her imagination. But later, while on a vacation in Iceland with her grandfather and two cousins, she begins to wonder if the dream wasn't a warning. First, there are strange scratches outside her window. Then she finds out that sheep have recently been disappearing from her uncle's farm. But it isn't until she and her cousins go to the old croft house that they discover the horrifying truth.

  To learn more about the author and his novels visit Arthurslade.com