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Randy waited impatiently in the English classroom for Brant. He'd not eaten lunch in the cafeteria, but grabbed a hamburger on the way back to school after driving his father back to the university from the dealership where the Bentley had been left for service. He leaned over as soon as Brant took his seat. "I've got a surprise for you."

"What?"

"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise. Come to the house tomorrow about five." He looked at other students beginning to enter the room. "I'll tell you one thing, it's something this bunch of dorks won't ever see." He straightened in his seat as the teacher began to call roll.

Brant let his attention wander during class, wondering what lay behind Randy's smug expression. When the bell rang, he followed him into the hall. "Okay, what's up?"

"The old man's having his grad students over for a cook-out like he used to. He told me to make sure you were there."

"Hey, that's great. I didn't think he did it any more."

"He hasn't since mom died. But that's not the real surprise."

"You aren't going to tell me?"

Randy grinned. "No way. Just come on around back, and wear jeans and a sweater. We'll be outside and it's supposed to be cool."

Two young men stood near the open gates with doubtful expressions, when Brant started to turn in.

"Is this Dr. von den Acker's place?" One of them asked.

"You in his class?"

"Yeah."

"This is it. Come on."

Brant led the way to the back lawn next to the carriage house. Randy was setting out food on a long table as Maria passed it through the kitchen door, while a slender black-haired boy, slightly darker skinned than Randy, tended the grill. Students stood in small groups talking.

Randy motioned Brant over. "Hey, buddy. This is Maria's son Angel. Angel, Brant." The boy nodded and turned back to the hamburgers. "Why don't you stake out a couple of places on the fountain. I'll fix your plate. You want some of everything?"

Brant looked at the assortment. "Sure. All the way on my burger."

He dropped to the raised coping on the other side of the fountain from two girls already seated there and propped his crutches beside him. Randy's father waved at him. Brant waved back, surprised to see him wearing jeans and a heavy flannel shirt instead of a suit.

"Is he going to ask us questions about his course?" One of the girls asked the other. Brant recognized her as the waitress from the coffee shop.

"Somebody said he always did when he used to have cookouts every year." The other answered.

"I don't think it's fair to have a party and make us work."

"Didn't you get the word? This is a class. I think it's nice of Doctor von den Acker to have it with a cookout; it's good to get away from school."

"What kind of questions does he ask?"

"One of the guys that took his class last year said he brought out Indian artifacts and asked you to identify them." She caught Brant's attention. "You don't know do you?"

He shook his head. "I'm not in his class."

The waitress looked closer. "Haven't you been in the coffee shop with his son?"

"Yeah. Randy and I are friends."

"Is he really an Indian?"

"No. He's Native American."

"Isn't it the same thing?"

"Not to them."

"But how? I mean is he adopted or something? Dr. von den Acker sure isn't an Indian."

Brant squirmed. "You'd better ask Randy."

"No way. He's the sexiest stud I've ever seen, but he's got a real problem. I don't see how you can stand that nasty disposition of his. All he does is snarl if anybody says anything to him when he comes in the coffee shop."

The other girl pointed to Angel. "Is that him."

"No. He's the tall one, but the little one looks more like an Indian to me."

"You know if he asks questions they'll count as a test, don't you?" The other girl said.

"Oh, Lord, my grades are bad enough already; I need to ... " She broke off as Randy walked over to hand Brant his plate and a beer.

"Be back soon as I get mine."

When he took his seat beside Brant, Randy looked at the girls for the first time and groaned.

"What's wrong?" Brant asked.

"It's that waitress from the club," Randy whispered. "I didn't know she was in the old man's class. Maybe I can freak her out."

"How?"

Randy grinned and shook his head. "Part of the surprise. Wait and see."

When most of the students had finished eating and dusk had faded to near darkness, Dr. von den Acker added more wood to the fire burning in a circle of bricks then called Randy.

"I've got to get ready. Be back in a few minutes."

After he changed, Randy stood inside the kitchen while his father finished talking to his students and waved them back to clear a space around the fire, then seated himself on a low stool, a drum steadied between his legs. Randy moved silently through the door and stood out of sight behind a clump of the large boxwoods. He wore his breech-clout and moccasins, his face and chest patterned precisely with black and white cosmetic paint. Around each ankle was a circlet of small feathers concealing tiny bells; his hair flowed free beneath a beaded headband with an eagle feather attached. His medicine pouch hung from the leather thong around his neck.

At the first thump of the drum, he sprang into the cleared space with a sharp cry, moving his feet to the rhythm of the drum and his father's chant in Cherokee.

A burning log broke, sparks swirled in the heated air, flames blazed up. A writhing shadow loomed over them from the wall of the carriage house. Brant felt the spirits of the Old-ones; seeing, knowing, a palpable presence. He shrank back in awe. Jingling bells, thump of drum, broken ululations, weaving shadow filled the blanket of darkness. His eyes focused on Randy: feet lifting, pausing, pounding the earth with dull thuds, bell jingles. When the flames began to die down, the pace eased. A final cry, thump of drum, thud of feet, then silence.

Soft exhalations of held breaths filled the air as the magic faded.

"Oh!" One of the girls exclaimed softly, but full awareness of his surroundings returned to Brant only when Randy dropped to the coping beside him, his sweat gleaming body reflecting the last flickers of the fire.

"Wha' did ya think?"

"It was beautiful, but a little scary. I almost didn't recognize you. Where'd you learn?"

"From grandfather. About ten years ago dad asked the tribal council for permission to video-tape the sacred dances. We don't usually let anyone but our own people see them because they're part of our religion, but the council finally agreed because the Old-ones who know how to do them right are dying out and it's the only way they can be preserved. Grandfather taught me two of the ones he knows, but last year was the first time I danced before anybody but him.

"Dad and I go to the clan gathering every year so we can be with mother's people. Last year two other guys and I each did one of the old dances to try to get some of the kids interested in learning. I danced tonight because it's the first time he's asked me to help him with a regular class."

"Didn't it bother you to do it in front of his students?"

"What do they know? They're white. None of 'em would know whether I screwed up or not. This was nothing compared to dancing before the tribal elders. I really had to concentrate on getting it right, then. None of these turkeys will ever know what it means to us."

"What do you feel when you're doing it?"

Randy bit his lower lip and stared off into the darkness for a few moments. "I don't always understand, but I have to do it because it's an important part of my life as an Indian, even if I don't know how it fits in at the time. But, yeah, when I'm dancing it's another world, like when I'm at the cabin. You remember how you felt when you played with the orchestra, there was nothing but the music? It's sort of like that."

"It makes sense now, because with your shadow on the wall I felt like I was part of it."

Randy's forehead creased, the black laser gaze boring into Brant. "You trying to tell me you felt something inside while I was dancing?"

Brant nodded reflectively. "It was like I was out in space looking down on the whole thing. I could feel the spirits all around me in the darkness. It was weird."

Randy grabbed him in a hug. "No wonder you thought it was scary. I'm glad you felt the spirits when I danced, but I'm surprised. It's Indians in touch with themselves that should feel them. Maybe now you'll feel a little of what I do when we go back to the cabin. I'll help you much as I can, because most people just see trees, they don't feel them, become part of them. That's why I'm never afraid in the woods; why I like to be there alone sometimes." He shook his head. "I guess you've been around me so much you're beginning to think like an Indian. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Maybe a little, but if it helps me be your brother it's important. What did the dance mean?"

"Sssh. Listen to the old man."

Dr. von den Acker was calling out: "I want you each to write down the following items: first, the significance of the dance Sequoyah performed; second, I want you to identify the type and period of the drum I used. You may examine it, if necessary. Third, I want you to identify the item Sequoyah wears around his neck and the significance of it. Because it is of the highest personal importance to the individual, you may not, I repeat not, touch it. Turn in your papers to me when you've finished. Need I add that you may not consult one another?"

A chorus of groans arose as the students scrambled for paper and pens, sat scratching their heads, and finally wrote their guesses. Randy helped his father collect their papers and handed them to him when he resumed his place by the dying embers and looked around. "Miss Anders, may I have your evaluation?"

The girl who had been talking with the waitress stood. "As it's April, sir, I believe it was the dance for planting time, The First New Moon of Spring. From its decoration, I believe the drum dates from the mid-nineteenth century. As it is a skin covering over a large earthenware crock, it would be a supplication for a bountiful harvest. I think it would have been played by a medicine man."

von den Acker smiled. "Are you interested in dance as an art form?"

"Yes, sir. I've done some study in ethnic dance."

"Do you know which particular crop they would want to be bountiful above all others?"

"Corn, sir."

"Excellent! You are correct in each instance. The dance is The First New Moon of Spring, and this particular drum was made in eighteen forty for the use of a shaman, not a medicine man."

Groans arose from several students.

"Let me finish. I will not count medicine man as an incorrect answer as you have not yet studied the differences between them. Now, what about the personal item Sequoyah is wearing that I asked you to identify?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I have no idea."

"Anyone?"

When there were no guesses, Randy's father continued. "For your next class, then, I would like a short paper on the significance to a Native American of his medicine pouch. Let me emphasize that the dance you witnessed is historically authentic and was taught to Sequoyah by a tribal elder. You have been honored, because this has been the only opportunity any of you will have to see one of the sacred dances performed in the traditional way. The dances performed before tourists and visitors to the reservation are non-sacred or a meaningless composite of steps." His gaze sought out Randy. "Sequoyah, I wish your grandfather could have been here. He would be proud."

Randy blushed and turned his face toward Brant.

"Why is corn so important to Indians?" Brant asked.

"It was a gift from the earth mother, Selu. It's the traditionally the most important food to Indians because it grows most anywhere."

"Oh. Do you have anything on under the breech-clout?"

Randy winked. "Don't you know that's like asking a Scotsman what he's got on under his kilt? We don't tell. But as it's you, yeah. I've got on a jock dyed tan so it doesn't show. If I didn't, it would all hang out. You saw the way I jump during the dance. I'll let you in on a little secret. It's only the young guys who wear a breech-clout when there's a ceremony. Older guys wear something like a kilt or leggings or both."

"I was wondering. In the pictures I've seen in your dad's books and National Geographic they always seem to have on lots of clothes. So why've you just got your breech-clout on?"

Randy grinned. "It's appropriate for guys my age in dances like this one, but mostly because the old man likes to tease his students a little. You can bet he'll ask 'em in class if there was anything wrong with the way I was dressed, just to see if anybody's sharp enough to pick up on it. He said if I didn't look a little like a movie Indian, they'd never believe it."

"Is that why you've got bells on your ankles instead of rattles?"

Randy shook his head. "There are two types of rattles. Some are held in your hands, but the ceremonial rattles are worn by women on their legs. It's mostly women who use them. The bells came mostly from the unakas but we use them sometimes." He stood. "Stick around. I've got to help Angel clean up."

A stocky guy wearing a letter jacket walked over as Randy got up. "Hey, man, you're good. I don't guess you'd teach me to dance like that."

"No!" Randy snapped.

"Why not? Dr. von den Acker wants us to learn stuff like that."

"Learn to identify, not do. It's part of our religion, not entertainment for palefaces."

"You really are Indian?"

"No. Native American." Randy growled.

"Oh."

Randy's hostile gaze followed him as he walked away. "Scheissekopf," he growled under his breath before turning back to Brant. "How much you want to bet he flunks the old man's course. After what dad said when I finished the dance, he should have known better than ask. Makes you wonder if he ever listens to anything the old man says. Hell, even after dad warned them, he tried to grab my medicine pouch when I leaned over to pick up his paper. I came damn near slugging 'im. Anybody that stupid shouldn't be taking cultural anthropology. He even thought Angel was the Indian." Randy's expression became one of shock. "Oh, hell!"

"What?"

"The old man would have a conniption fit if he'd heard me just now. A lot of Hispanics are part Indian."

"Oh. So what did that guy say to make you so mad?"

"You heard him ask me to teach him the dance, like it was something for fun. Besides, it was his attitude. You know it pisses me off when somebody treats me like a curiosity. Damn it, Indians are people, too, and our culture is older than his, if he's got any." He shook his head. "Jeez, I'm beginning to sound like the old man."

"You're probably the first Indian he's ever seen and you don't really look much like one unless you're dressed like now. I didn't know either until somebody told me."

"Yeah. He's a dumb-assed jock thinking the old man's course is easy credit. I've seen one or two of 'em before. Boy, is he in for a surprise when he sees the old man's final exam. It's a bitch." He smirked. "Of course, I can pass it with no problem, but I'm Ani-yunwi-ya." He walked away to help Angel and Maria clear away the remaining food.

As the students left, Brant remained by the pool. Seconds later, Dammit bounded up and gave him a wet kiss. "Ugh!" Brant wiped his face with a paper napkin and roughhoused with the husky until Randy returned.

"Let's go in. I've got to get this paint off. Makes me itch if I wear it too long."

"Too bad. The way you look now, you oughta be in a movie. I can just see you riding one of those Indian ponies bareback."

"Ha!" Randy snorted. "This is one Indian you won't see riding a sogwili. I hate 'em. I rode one one time and the sonofabitch ran away with me. Broke my leg when he threw me. The only use I've got for 'em is in the stuff I feed Dammit. Come on." He pulled Brant up.

After Randy had showered and put on jeans and a sweatshirt, his father called them into his study and put his hands on Randy's shoulders. "You danced accurately before the clan last year, but not as beautifully. I believe you surpassed your grandfather tonight, even when he was at his best. What was it?"

"Because I was doing it for you and Brant. I wanted Brant to see how he makes me feel."

"He obviously inspired you. You say you did it for me, also?"

Randy nodded. "This is the first time you've ever asked me to help you with a class other than what I did on the dig."

"I've neglected your talents for too long, son and, until now, underestimated your maturity. But with your attitude toward most whites, I thought it a bit risky to have you stand in front of my students as representative of another race. What did you think of the dance, Brant?"

"It was scary with the fire and shadows and all, like I'd gone back in time. I used to wonder why Randy said I wouldn't be able to understand a lot of things about his being Cherokee, but I didn't even recognize him at first... I mean the difference between us was ..."

"He felt the spirits, dad! I can't believe how much he's learned."

"Then it's no wonder you've been good for Sequoyah, Brant. You've sincerely tried to understand his heritage and feelings where most others are simply curious or condemn. Since his mother's passing, he's needed someone as attuned to his needs as you. I'm more proud of you both than I can say."

When they were in bed, they snuggled together. "I'm glad you asked me to come see you dance. It helps me know more about you."

"I was hoping it would help you understand a little about the old ways and it did. But, my brother, it's just a beginning. If you want, I'll pull some of the really good books about us and our history from the old man's collection for you to read."

"Great. Maybe I know enough to understand them, now."