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civilized men could tame it, men like our country's forefathers and the great explorers who made the Oregon Territory safe for the pioneers, all of whom sacrificed so much so that we can have the freedom—the unearned and unappreciated
luxury
—to sit here and wallow in our ignorance.
    "Now, let's take it from the top," Mr. Nute says quietly. "One more time."
    ***
    After supper, I have to help Bill drag the garbage can out to the alley. It is already mostly dark now. No more long evenings bathed in twilight.
    He holds the screen door open. "Hurry up!" he calls over his shoulder. "I've gotta get over to Jimmy's to finish up our social studies project."
    I pull my jacket off the hook in the back hall and follow him. "Something for Columbus Day?" I ask.
    "Nah, current events—that thing with Cuba." He bends and twists the garage handle, pulls on the heavy door, and heaves it up so it slides across the metal track above our heads.
    "We're having an assembly about Columbus. Every class has to present something on America."
    His smile pities me, a kid who has to do such dumb stuff. "And what are you guys doing?" he asks as we wrestle the stinking mess out to the alley.
    "The state song. You know, 'Conquered and held by free men.'"
    Bill chuckles. "Ironic, huh?"
    "What?"
    Bill wipes his grimy hands on his jeans. "Well, don't you think it's weird to make Indian kids celebrate Columbus—
and
the empire builders?"
    "He discovered America," I say, "and they settled it."
    Bill rolls his eyes. "Oh, please," he says. "Think about that."
    And he turns and jogs back into the house.

When the Animals Were People
    H AIL ... to thee ... Land...of... Pro-mise," Deland reads. We have worked all the way back to him.
    I think about the long lines of wagon trains and the people who rode or walked all that way across the country. And the seasick masses of immigrants who were drawn to the beacon of the Statue of Liberty from all the way across the ocean. That's how all my ancestors got here, as far back as the pilgrims on the Mayflower. For three hundred years, my genes have stretched across the Atlantic Ocean.
    Then it hits me.
This song is about white people.
I scan the room and count—just me, Mr. Nute, and Franklin, who is sitting over there slouched down with his book propped up in front of his face and his eyes closed.
What about everybody else?
    Benson catches me looking around. "What are you doing?" he whispers.
    Mr. Nute is way up front, his boots crossed on his desk. So I lean toward the aisle. "Where'd you come from?"
    "Huh?"
    "Before now. Where are you from?"
    Benson shakes his head. "Highway Three," he says.
    I take a quick glance at Mr. Nute, then try again. "I mean your family."
    Benson shakes his head like I'm not making any sense. "No place," he says. "We've always been here."
    "No—I mean
way
back."
    I should have quit sooner.
    "
Miss
Schlick!" Mr. Nute is standing up, glaring. "Do you have something important to share with the class?"
    Nothing to do but look sorry and hope for the best. "No, sir."
    He gives his head a little shake. "I expect better from you."
    ***
    Pinky catches me in the hall on the way to recess. "What was that all about?"
    It is getting chilly outside. I button up my sweater and shake my head. "Nothing."
    She chuckles. "You've hardly said anything in class, and today he's
disappointed?
"
    We push out through the big front doors. "Benson says he's always been here," I say.
    Pinky turns at the bottom of the steps. "Yeah?"
    I try to explain. "Well, everybody comes from somewhere." Kids swirl around us in the sunshine.
    For a second she has that same look:
What are you talking about?
Then she says, "Three tribes were put on this reservation. I'm Wasco—we lived up on the Columbia River. The Paiutes were dragged off the desert. But Benson's people are Warm Springs. They were—" she sweeps her arms around— "
right here.
"
    "For how long?"
    " Well
—forever.
" Then Pinky adds, as