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We live in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, on St. Marys River. Everyone knows everyone here in “the Soo.”

  Our tribe is proud of Wenona.

  Nimaamaa has an aunt who is a lawyer. That side of the family lives way over on the Turtle Mountain Rez in North Dakota. It’s close to the Canadian border, like we are. We mostly see Mama’s relatives in the summer.

  “Whatcha doin’, Amber?” River’s voice rings out behind me.

  My back stiffens, and I pull my ear away from the door, quick.

  “Nothing,” I mumble, and head down the hall to my room.

  “Looks like you want to hear what they’re saying,” River accuses me.

  I give my younger sister side-eye as I shut my bedroom door behind me. My poster of A Tribe Called Red flaps. I need to put a new piece of tape on it.

  Louise Erdrich’s book Makoons falls out of my backpack as I belly flop onto my black-and-purple bedspread.

  Makoons and Chickadee, the twin brothers in the book, are always included in what their Ojibwe family does. Unlike me.

  My family used to include me. When River had leukemia and had to have all those treatments this past year, my parents kept me in the loop. I helped them so much.

  River’s better now. Actually, that’s why we’re able to drive all the way to the university for this powwow. Lately, though, they’ve been acting weird and have secret conversations all the time.

  River’s voice and my parents’ voices mingle in the hall of our two-story house.

  “Amber!” Imbaabaa calls out from what sounds like downstairs. “Heading over to Nizigos’s for a bit. Back by eight.”

  Then I hear the door to the garage close.

  Again! Pulling back the curtain, I watch the SUV’s taillights wind their way through our neighborhood filled with high-pitched roofs for the long winter. They turn right and drive north past Kewadin, our tribe’s casino. They’ve been going over to my nizigos Rain’s house at odd times the past few weeks—without me.

  Racing past the family photos lining the hallway, I plop onto my parents’ bed. Nookoomis must know what’s going on. I punch number two on the speed dial to call Grandma.

  “Boozhoo,” she answers.

  “Boozhoo, Nookoomis. You at home? I want to come over.”

  Nookoomis lives only one street over from us and teaches our Ojibwe language at the tribal school. When she’s not at work, I never assume she’s home. She’s out with someone in our family, at the casino with her friends for dinner and shows, or teaching language classes at the Ojibwe Learning Center and Library for community members. She’s on the move.

  “No, no. . . . I’m out right now. But I’ll see you tomorrow when we head down south,” she responds.

  I swear I hear River in the background.

  “Are you at Nizigos’s?” I ask.

  Nookoomis responds a bit too fast. “Need to go, love. Busy, busy. See you tomorrow.” She hangs up fast.

  What is going on around here? Why is everyone at Auntie Rain’s house?

  Mama, Daddy, and Grandma already have everything loaded the next day when they swing by early to pick up River and me from school. All our dance regalia and the stuff for Wenona’s giveaway are packed inside duffels and bins, filling every space.

  “Come on, girls. Let’s roll,” says Imbaabaa as he puts some powwow music on low. River plugs her headphones into the portable movie player. Nimaamaa sits next to Daddy, crocheting a baby blanket for her coworker in the tribe’s transportation department. I lean my head on Nookoomis’s shoulder while she reads a book on her tablet.

  At times like these, I wish I had my own phone so I could watch videos or text my cousins who are on their way to the powwow too. But “no phones until sixth grade” is the rule in our house, no matter what any other cousin, friend, or kid my age has. In a couple of months, fifth grade will be O-V-E-R. I can’t wait!

  “Here we are!” Mama calls out as we pull up to the toll booth at the Mackinac Bridge.

  “Aanii,” the Ojibwe man working in the bridge toll booth calls out with a big smile.

  “Aanii,” Daddy responds as he hands him the money, and then we start across the Mackinac Bridge. Everyone gazes out their window.

  The bridge connects Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where we live, with the lower part of the state. It’s a five-mile drive across the suspension bridge where two Great Lakes—Michigan and Huron—meet in the Straits of Mackinac.

  Our Ojibwe people have lived here forever—fishing, trading, and being out on the water. On the east side of the bridge is Mikinaak Mnishenh, which means “Turtle Island” in Ojibwe. It’s called Mackinac Island in English. We’ll get the best view of it on the way back home.

  “Noozhishenh, wake up,” I hear Nookoomis whisper to me and feel her pat my knee.

  I open my eyes, see the Saginaw exit and know that we’re way down the Lower Peninsula, so I must have been out for a while.

  Everyone climbs out at the gas station for a break. Mama’s phone buzzes. She heads inside to talk. I roam the candy aisle with River, looking for chocolate. Daddy fills the tank while Nookoomis waits for us by the register.

  After we’ve piled back in, Mama announces that Auntie Niibin, Daddy’s older sister, and her family have landed in Detroit. She works in Washington, DC, helping veterans from tribes all across the United States. I can’t wait to see our two cousins! River and I dance Jingle Dress at powwows and so do they. The rest of the trip is filled with one story after another about past powwows and who and what we’re most excited about for this one we’re attending for the second time.

  “I know what I’m most excited about,” says River. “It’s giving—”

  I see Nookoomis touch River’s knee, which makes her stop talking.

  Nimaamaa glances back at River, while Imbaabaa looks in the rearview mirror.

  River starts again. “It’s giving hugs to all my cousins.”

  Okaaay, that’s cool. But was that what she was really going to say? Ugh! So frustrating. Even River is keeping secrets. No one wants me to know anything in this family anymore.

  I face the window as this long drive winds down.

  I hope things get better tomorrow at the powwow. I haven’t felt this miserable since River got sick and we spent so much time at the hospital. We weren’t sure if she’d get well. I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel like a real part of my family again.

  Finally, it’s powwow weekend! We eat a quick breakfast at the hotel and then head to the Skyline High School gym. Back when Auntie Niibin went to school at the university, they hosted the powwow on campus in the Crisler Center, where the women’s and men’s basketball teams play. But a few years ago, they moved it off-campus.

  My auntie and her friends definitely miss the big arena. They describe it as filled with dancers from Native Nations across the United States and Canada. I kinda like it here, though. The elevated track that circles above the gym floor where we dance is cool. I like the big locker rooms where we can change into our dance outfits.

  It looks like today’s crowd will fill the gym. The parking lot is already really full. Luckily, we find a spot, but others will have to take the shuttle from the university.

  I reach into the back to grab the black garment bag, but Daddy pulls out camp chairs for me to carry instead.

  River smiles as Mama takes the garment bag and hustles us all inside. Again, they are all being weird.

  Nookoomis decides our family should set up to the right of the emcee’s table at the far end of the gym. She announces that she knows Sheldon Sundown from her days on the powwow circuit, long before we were born. He’s Seneca, and his Tribe’s Reservation is in New York at the opposite end of Lake Erie from us here in the Lower Peninsula. Hope he’s funny!

  River and I smooth out a large folded blanket across the bleacher to hold our space. We decide to explore while Daddy places stadium seats for the grown-ups on the floor-level bleacher below ours.

  We pass through the concessions area, where we’ll get
blanket dogs and corn soup later on. We enter the larger area to see what the vendors have for sale. River always looks at the beaded barrettes. But I want to see Nimishoome Makwa’s art on this year’s powwow T-shirt.

  Wow! Way before I even get to the table, I can see his colorful design with the woods, lake, plants, and animals from our Ojibwe lands up north. He works at Kewadin, but his heart is in his art. Some of his artwork hangs in our school and in the tribal offices where Mama works.

  “Amber, come here! Look!” River calls from across the room.

  I head over to see what she can’t wait to show me.

  “Isn’t this one beautiful?” Her finger presses on top of the glass lid of the display case, pointing to an eagle feather design barrette with rainbow-colored beads around the edge and stem of the feather.

  “Yes. Do you know how much it costs?” I ask.

  “That one’s forty-five dollars,” replies the woman, in a bright purple blouse with a large beaded floral barrette in her shoulder-length hair.

  It seems like a more than fair price. Indian price, actually. The barrette is covered with small, cut beads which are way harder to bead and expensive to buy. I’ve watched Nizigos bead with those.

  Just then Imbaabaa’s phone dings in my pocket. He gives it to me when we’re out somewhere. The message says, Come back. I want to explore more, but that’ll have to wait.

  “We gotta go, River,” I prod.

  “Miigwech!” River says to the woman as we leave to walk back to the dance arena. “I’m gonna have to work on Nimaamaa to get that barrette.”

  “Yeah, she gave you a great price,” I offer.

  River smiles. Her light brown hair’s almost shoulder length again since she finished the treatments. She’s twisting it around her finger. I see her mind going over how soon she can get Imbaabaa to the booth to have a look.

  As we approach the chairs, we see that Nizigos has joined Grandma, Daddy, and Mama. Everybody has a weird grin on their face as we walk up. Something is definitely up.

  Mr. Sundown’s voice booms through the gym. “Dancers, time to get ready. Grand Entry is less than an hour from now.” The master of ceremonies keeps everyone on track at the powwow and shares good jokes and stories.

  “You girls need to head to the locker room,” says Mama.

  “We’re here, we’re here,” Auntie Niibon proclaims as my DC cousins run up and give River and me big hugs. Everyone puts their stuff down next to ours. They start talking to River, complimenting her on how healthy she looks and how they can’t wait to see her dancing today.

  Normally she and I always dance Jingle Dress alongside our cousins, but she couldn’t dance at all this past year.

  The Jingle Dress dance is used in ceremonies for healing and is also danced at powwows. Each time River couldn’t dance, our cousins and I danced with her in mind and for everyone who needed healing. To have her beside us today is the best. I do kinda wish I could get a word in on their conversation, though.

  Nookoomis motions for us to gather around her. She prays for us to have our hearts and minds in the right place as we get ready to dance at the powwow.

  Both Mama and Daddy pick up the garment bag with our jingle dresses and other regalia inside. “Miigwech to everyone for all you’ve done, especially to Nookoomis and Nizigos, and to River too,” Nimaamaa says. “It’s been a difficult year. We’re so happy to be here today to celebrate Wenona’s graduation and see all our girls dancing.”

  Okay, major confusion. Why is Mama thanking the group? What’s going on?

  “We are so grateful for all Amber did this past year to help us,” I hear Nimaamaa say.

  Wait, what? I stop twisting my long braids together and look up.

  Auntie Niibin puts her hands on my shoulders.

  “We all worked together to make you this new dress and accessories,” Mama finishes.

  Imbaabaa unzips the garment bag, but I can’t see anymore. The pools in my eyes make everything blurry. My cool hands feel good against my searing-hot cheeks. I can’t believe this. I thought they didn’t want me around whenever they took off to Nizigos’s house without me.

  “Do you like it?” River’s voice breaks through my haze.

  I wipe my eyes and see the dress for the first time. It’s the vibrant royal-purple material I adored at the fabric store months ago when I went with Nizigos. The beaded collar, wrist bands, and leggings have silver, black, and purple beaded accents. Everything is so beautiful. I know Auntie Niibin and my cousins helped with making those too.

  I can’t stop crying. The heaviness within me is gone, but I feel a new kind of awful. How could I think that my family didn’t want me around? Sure, we don’t always get along. But they love me—always.

  “I love all of it. Miigwech, everybody,” I finally reply, taking a deep breath. “I couldn’t figure out why you all kept having secret conversations and going off to Nizigos’s without me. Even Nookoomis, who always tells me everything, wouldn’t share anything! It made me start to wonder.”

  Nookoomis’s arms reach around me, squeezing me tight. “You’re too smart, Noozhishenh. We had to be extra careful to keep it from you.” She laughs.

  Then everyone laughs. They’re right. I’m always the one who guesses a surprise or finds out things before anyone else.

  “Now, you girls go get ready. We’re excited to see some beautiful dancing today,” says Nookoomis.

  Mama and Daddy each hug me tight.

  “Nookoomis is right. We can’t keep hardly anything secret from you,” Imbaabaa whispers in my ear.

  We head into the gym locker room to change. I keep looking at my beautiful jingle dress, sparkling and bright in my favorite colors. No wonder Daddy wouldn’t let me carry the bag. I thought we brought my yellow-and-blue dress. But that one was getting a little small. I can’t wait to step and turn, always keeping one foot on the ground while dancing.

  “Everybody line up for Grand Entry,” says Mr. Sundown as we exit the locker room.

  We put our bags by our parents’ seats and get in line. First the warriors line up—veterans and active-duty service members, who dance into the arena carrying the eagle staff and various flags. Those will be posted by the head table where the emcee and arena director sit.

  The Head Man and Head Woman dancers who will start out each intertribal and special dance today follow them, along with special guests like tribal leaders.

  After them, the men line up according to age (Elders are always first) and the type of dance they do.

  And finally, the women and the kids do the same behind them. So we stand in the very back, behind the boys.

  With so many Ojibwe families here, there are lots of girls dancing Jingle Dress. Competition for prize money will be fierce today.

  As the host drum begins the song that draws us into the arena, I look at River and my cousins, saying my own small prayer that we’ll dance well for Gchi-Manidoo today. I feel the beat and begin to lift my heels off the ground as we wait our turn to enter. I see Cousin Wenona rush in and join the women farther up in line.

  As the emcee, Mr. Sundown announces who comes into the circle as we all dance into the arena. Grand Entry takes a while. Once we’re all in the arena, the different drum groups take turns playing a flag song, a veterans’ song, and other honor songs.

  After the colors are posted, he officially welcomes everyone and introduces special guests, including tribal leaders and university officials.

  Us cousins are excited to dance together and celebrate Wenona’s graduation during the Student Honor Song after the intertribal dancing. And once Grand Entry ends, we head back to our chairs. We all hug Wenona. She tells us how law school has worn her out. “Less than two months to go, but then I have to study for the bar exam this summer.”

  “Studying in summer?” I ask. That sounds horrible. It’s the opposite of what summer is for.

  “Yep, I won’t even be able to come home. I’m staying here and working part-time at a law firm so I
can study in their law library and in my apartment. I have to pass the Michigan bar exam to be able to practice law. It’s not easy,” Wenona explains.

  We all look at each other wide-eyed. Us cousins look forward to summer adventures together, when everyone comes to stay with us or Nookoomis for a month before River and I head over to Turtle Mountain to hang out with Mama’s side of the family. I’m glad I’m not an adult yet. Seems to be more work and less fun the older you get!

  We take turns dancing and walking through the hallways to eat, shop, and find all the freebies. I take a purple stress ball from the Detroit urban Indian health clinic’s table.

  Lots of Ojibwe people and folks from other tribes live and work in Detroit. Many of them come to this powwow.

  Soon, Mr. Sheldon’s call rings out. “Time to honor our Native students—those at the university, here at Skyline, and elsewhere who are graduating or worthy of honor for their good grades.”

  He calls out students’ names to come and stand in front of the head table, so everyone can see who we will honor when the host drum sings the honor song.

  There are two Native law students called before Wenona—one from Saginaw Indian Chippewa Tribe of Michigan and the other from Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa and Chippewa Indians. The words Chippewa and Ojibwe refer to the same people.

  Then we hear, “Wenona LaPlante, Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians,” and we watch as she joins the other two in front of the table. There are a few more graduate students and almost two dozen undergraduates who are called to join them.

  Then Mr. Sheldon mentions that he’ll call up those on honor rolls. He names several kids. Then I hear, “Amber LaPlante, honor roll at JKL Bahweting School, Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians.”

  I jump up from my chair and look at my family. Mama and Daddy both have big smiles, and River claps and squeals. They are all super sneaky.

  A second surprise? Again, puddles fill my eyes. For a powwow that was supposed to be about celebrating Wenona’s graduation, seeing River dance again, and enjoying time with our family, I end up honored.

  Wow, not what I expected today.

  I pull River up and make her come stand beside me. She would have had good grades if she hadn’t missed so much school because she was sick. We plant ourselves next to Wenona as the drummers begin to sing. All of us follow the Head Man and Head Woman around the arena.