Text Leveling System

Touching Spirit Bear

RDQ:	2528	Max Word/Sent	36	Total Words	5001		Diff Words	1343
Lex	980	Ave Word/.Sent	10	Hi Freq occurs	3648	72.9%	Hi freq	557	41.5%
AR	5.8	Long Sentences	8.6	Low Freq occurs	368	7.4%	Low freq	256	19.1%

CHAPTER 1
CoLE MATTHEWS KNELT defiantly in the bow of the aluminum skiff as he faced forward into a cold September wind. Worn steel handcuffs bit at his wrists each time the small craft slapped into another wave. Overhead, a gray-matted sky hung like a bad omen. Cole strained at the cuffs even though he had agreed to wear them until he was freed on the island to begin his banishment. Agreeing to spend a whole year alone in Southeast Alaska had been his only way of avoiding a jail cell in Minneapolis.
Two men accompanied Cole on this final leg of his journey. In the middle sat Garvey, the gravelly-voiced, wisecracking Indian parole officer from Minneapolis. Garvey said he was a Tlingit Indian, pronouncing Tlingit proudly with a clicking of his tongue as if saying "Klingkit." He was built like a bulldog with lazy eyes. Cole didn't trust Garvey. He didn't trust anyone who wasn't
afraid of him. Garvey pretended to be a friend, but Cole knew he was nothing more than a paid baby-sitter. This week his job was escorting a violent juvenile offender first from Minneapolis to Seattle, then .to Ketchikan, Alaska, where they boarded a big silver floatplane to the Tlingit village of Drake. Now they were headed for some island in the middle of nowhere.
In the rear of the skiff sat Edwin, a quiet, potbellied Tlingit elder who had helped arrange Cole's banishment. He steered the boat casually, a faded blue T-shirt and baggy jeans his only protection against the wind. Deep-set eyes made it hard to tell what Edwin was thinking. He stared forward with a steely patience, like a wolf waiting. Cole didn't trust him either.
It was Edwin who had built the shelter and made all the preparations on the island where Cole was to stay. When he first met Edwin in Drake, the gruff elder took one look and pointed a finger at him." Go put your clothes on inside out," he ordered.
"Get real, old man," Cole answered.
"You'll wear them reversed for the first two weeks of your banishment to show humility and shame," Edwin said, his voice hard as stone. Then he turned and shuffled up the dock toward his old rusty pickup.
Cole hesitated, eyeing the departing elder. "Just do it," Garvey warned.
Still standing on the dock in front of everyone, Cole smirked as he undressed. He refused to turn his back as he slowly pulled each piece inside out-even his underwear.
Villagers watched from the shore until he finished changing. Bracing himself now against the heavy seas, Cole held that same smirk. His blue jeans, heavy wool shirt, and rain jacket chafed his skin, but it didn't matter. He would have worn a cowbell around his neck if it had meant avoiding jail. He wasn't a Tlingit Indian. He was an innocent-looking, baby-faced fifteen-year-old from Minneapolis who had been in trouble with the law half his life. Everyone thought he felt sorry for what he had done, and going to this island was his way of making things right.
Nothing could be further from the truth. To Cole, this was just another big game. With salt air biting at his face, he turned and glanced at Edwin. The elder eyed him back with a dull stare. Anger welled up inside Cole. He hated that stupid stare. Pretending to aim toward the waves, he spit so the wind would catch the thick saliva and carry it back.
The spit caught Edwin squarely and dragged across his faded shirt. Edwin casually lifted an oily rag from the bottom of the skiff and wiped away the slime, then tossed the rag back under his seat and again fixed his eyes on Cole.
Cole feigned surprise as if he had made a horrible mistake, then twisted at the handcuffs again. What was this old guy's problem anyway? The elder acted fearless, but he had to be afraid of something. Everyone in the world was afraid of something.
Cole thought back to all the people at home who had tried to help him over the years. He hated their fake
concern. They didn't really care what happened to him. They were gutless-he could see it in their eyes. They were afraid, glad to be rid of him. They pretended to help only because they didn't know what else to do.
For years, "help" hid meant sending him to drug counseling and anger therapy sessions. Every few months, Cole found himself being referred to someone else. He discovered early on that "being referred" was the adult term for passing the buck. Already he had seen the inside of a dozen police stations, been through as many counselors, a psychologist, several detention centers, and two residential treatment centers.
Each time he got into trouble, he was warned to shape up because this was his last chance. Even the day he left for the island, several of those who gathered to see him off, including his parents, had warned him, "Don't screw up. This is your last chance." Cole braced himself for the next big wave. Whatever happened, he could always count on having one more last chance.
Not that it really mattered. He had no intention of ever honoring the contract he agreed to during the Circle justice meetings. As soon as they left him alone, this silly game would end. Circle justice was a bunch of bull. They were crazy if they thought he was going to spend a whole year of his life like some animal, trapped on a remote Alaskan island.
Cole twisted at the handcuffs again. Last year at this time, he had never even heard of Circle Justice-he hadn't heard of it until his latest arrest for breaking into a hardware store.
After robbing the place, he had totally trashed it.
The police might not have caught him, but after a week passed, he bragged about the break-in at school. When someone ratted on him, the police questioned Cole. He denied the break-in, of course, and then he beat up the boy who had turned him in.
The kid, Peter Driscal, was a ninth grader Cole had picked on many times before just for the fun of it. Still, no one ratted on Cole Matthews without paying the price. That day, he caught up to Peter in the hallway at school. "You're a dead man," he warned the skinny red-haired boy, giving him a hard shove. He laughed when he saw fear in Peter's eyes.
Later, after school, Cole cornered Peter outside in the parking lot. With anger that had been brewing all day, he attacked him and started hitting him hard in the face with his bare fists. Peter was no match, and soon Cole had pounded him bloody. A dozen students stood watching. When Peter tried to escape, he tripped and fell to the ground. Cole jumped on him again and started smashing his head against the sidewalk. It took six other students to finally pull him away. By then Peter was cowering on the blood-smeared sidewalk, sobbing. Cole laughed and spit at him even as he was held back. Nobody crossed Cole Matthews and got away with it.
Because of his vicious attack on Peter Driscal, Cole had been kept at a detention center while the courts decided what to do with him. His white-walled room was bare except for a bed with a gray, blanket, a toilet without a
cover, a shelf for clothes, a cement table, and a barred window facing onto the center group area. The place smelled like cleaning disinfectant.
Each night guards locked the room's thick steel door. They called this detention space a room, but Cole knew it was really a jail cell. A room didn't need a locked steel door. During the day, guards allowed Cole to go into the central group area with other juveniles if he wanted to. He could read, watch TV, or talk. They expected him to do schoolwork with a tutor that came each day. What a joke. This was no school, and he was no student. Cole did as little as absolutely possible, keeping to himself. The other detainees were a bunch of losers.
Cole figured he wouldn't even be here if Peter Driscal had known how to fight back. Instead, Peter was hospitalized. Doctors' reports warned he might suffer permanent damage. "Serves him right," Cole mumbled when he was first told of Peter's condition.
What angered Cole most after this latest arrest were his parents. In the past they had always come running with a lawyer, offering to pay damages and demanding his release. They had enough money and connections to move mountains. Besides, they had a reputation to protect. What_ parent wanted the world to know their son was a juvenile delinquent? All Cole did was pretend he was sorry for a few days till things blew over. But that was how it had been in the past, before his parents got divorced.
This time, he hadn't been freed. He was told that because of his past record and the violence of this attack,
he would be kept locked up while prosecutors filed a motion to transfer him to adult court. Even Nathaniel Blackwood, the high-priced criminal defense lawyer hired by his dad, told Cole he might be tried as an adult. If convicted, he'd be sent to prison.
Cole couldn't believe his parents were letting this happen to him. What jerks! He hated his parents. His mom acted like a scared Barbie doll, always looking good but never fighting back or standing up to anyone. His dad was a bullheaded drinker with a temper. He figured everything was Cole's fault. Why wasn't his room clean? Why hadn't he emptied the garbage? Why hadn't he mowed the lawn? Why was he even alive?
"I never want to see your ugly faces again," Cole shouted at the lawyer and his parents after finding out he wouldn't be released. But still his parents tried to see him. Because of their divorce, they visited separately. That's how much they thought about themselves and about him, Cole thought.They couldn't even swallow their dumb pride and visit together.
During each visit, Cole relaxed on his bed and pretended to read a newspaper, completely ignoring them. He liked watching his parents, especially his dad, squirm and get frustrated. Some days his dad got so mad, he turned beet red and twitched because he couldn't lay a finger on Cole with the guards watching.
Finally his parents quit trying to visit. Even Nathaniel Blackwood quit stopping by except when hearings and depositions required his presence. Cole didn't like the
lawyer. Blackwood was a stiff man and spoke artificially, as if he were addressing an audience through a microphone. Cole swore he wore starch on everything. Judging by how he walked, that included his underwear.
The only person who insisted on visiting regularly was Garvey, the stocky youth probation officer, who stopped by the detention center almost daily.
Cole couldn't figure Garvey out. He knew the probation officer was super busy, so why did he visit so often? What was his angle? Everybody had an angle -something they wanted. Until Cole could figure out what Garvey wanted, he resented the visits-he didn't need a friend or a baby-sitter.
During one visit, Garvey asked casually," I know you're in control, Champ, but would you ever consider applying for Circle Justice?"
"What's Circle justice?"
"It's a healing form of justice practiced by native cultures for thousands of years."
"I'm no Indian!" Cole said.
Garvey spoke patiently. "You don't have to be Native American or First Nation. Anybody can love, forgive, and heal. Nobody has a corner on that market."
"What's in it for me?"
Garvey shook his head. "If you kill my cat, normally the police fine you and that's it. We still hate each other, I still feel bad about my cat, and you're angry because you have to pay a fine. In Circle justice, you sign a healing contract. You might agree to help me pick out a new kitten
and care for it as part of the sentencing."
"Why would I want to take care of a dumb cat?" "Because you've caused my cat and me harm. By doing something for me and for another cat, you help make things right again."
"What if I don't care about you and your dumb cat?" "Then do it for yourself. You're also a victim. Something terrible has happened to you to make you want to kill a poor small animal."
Cole shrugged. "Feeding a dumb cat beats paying a fine."
Garvey smiled and clapped Cole on the back. "You just don't get it, do you, Champ?"
Cole ducked away from Garvey. He hated being called Champ. And he hated being touched. Nobody ever touched him except to hit him. That's how it had been as long as he could remember.
"Circle justice tries to heal, not punish," Garvey explained. "Your lawyer might take you to a zoo to help you appreciate animals more. The prosecutor might have you watch a veterinarian operate for a day to realize the value of life. The judge might help you on the weekend to make birdhouses as repayment to the animal kingdom for something you destroyed. Even neighbors might help in some way.
"They actually do this stuff here in Minneapolis?" Garvey nodded. "It's a new trial program. Other towns and cities are trying it, too."
"Why go to so much trouble?"
"To heal. Justice should heal, not punish. If you kill my cat, you need to become more sensitive to animals.You and I need to be friends, and I need to forgive you to get over my anger. That's Circle Justice. Everybody is a part of the healing, including people from the community-anybody who cares. But healing is much harder than standard punishment. Healing requires taking responsibility for your actions."
Cole bit at his lip. "So would this get me out of going to jail?"
"It isn't about avoiding jail," Garvey said. "You go to jail angry, you stay angry. Go with love, that's how you come back. This is all about how you do something, not what you do. Even jail can be positive if you go in with a good heart. I will say this, however. Usually the jail sentence, if there is one, is reduced under Circle Justice."
That's all Cole needed to hear. He knew what game to play. "How do I get into this Circle justice stuff?" he asked innocently.
Garvey placed a hand on Cole's shoulder. "I'll get you an application," he said, "but you're the one who starts the process in your heart." He tapped Cole's chest. "If you don't want change, this will never work."
Cole forced himself not to pull away from Garvey's hand. "I really do want change," he said, using the innocent childish voice that had served him well countless times before.
Garvey nodded. "Okay, let's see if you're serious. IT help you with the application."
After Garvey left the detention center that day, Cole jabbed his fist into the air. "Yes!" he exclaimed. The world was made up of suckers and fools, and today Garvey was at the top of the heap.
CHAPTER 2
T
HE HEAVY LOAD of supplies caused the skiff to wallow through the waves. Cole examined the boxes filled with canned foods, clothes, bedroll, ax, cooking gear, heavy rain gear, rubber boots, and even schoolwork he was supposed to complete. He chuckled. Fat chance he'd ever do any schoolwork.
Several weeks earlier, Edwin, the Tlingit elder from Drake, had built a sparse one-room wood shelter for Cole on the island. He described the interior as bare except for
a small wood stove and a bed-a good place for a soul to think and heal.
Cole resented the cabin and all this gear. When his father had agreed to pay all the expenses of banishment, it was just another one of his buyouts. Cole had news for him. This was just a sorry game. He twisted harder at the handcuffs and winced at the pain. He wasn't afraid of pain. He wasn't afraid of anyone or anything. He was only
playing along until he could escape. He glanced back at Garvey. This whole Circle justice thing had been such a joke. Back in Minneapolis, he had been forced to plead guilty and ask the Circle for help changing his life.
Asking for help was a simple con job, but he hadn't liked the idea of pleading guilty. "That's like hanging myself," he had complained to Garvey.
"You can withdraw your guilty plea and go through standard justice any time you want," Garvey said. "But once you go to trial, it's too late for Circle Justice." When Cole hesitated, Garvey added, "I thought you liked being in control, Champ."
Cole didn't trust anyone, but what choice did he have? "Okay," he answered reluctantly. "But if you're lying, you'll be sorry."
Garvey feigned surprise. "Let me get this straight, Champ. You figure if I'm scared of you, you can trust me?" He smiled thinly. "You sure have a lot to learn about trust."
"Quit calling me Champ," Cole mumbled. "That's not my name." Then grudgingly he held his tongue. Nobody was going to make him lose his cool. This was a game he planned to win. "So," he asked, "how soon do I start this Circle justice stuff?"
"You can apply, but that doesn't mean you're automatically accepted. First the Circle committee will visit with you. They'll talk to Peter Driscal and his family, your parents, and others to decide if you're serious about wanting change. It might take weeks." Garvey hesitated. "Remember
something else. You're wasting everybody's time if you don't truly want change."
Cole nodded obediently, like a little puppy that would follow every rule and jump through any hoop. When he reached the island, that would all come to a screeching stop. Then he would prove to the whole world he was nobody's fool.
Cole heard the motor slow and realized that Edwin was guiding the skiff toward a protected bay on the large island ahead. The distant green-black forests were shrouded in gray mist. Cole spotted the tiny shelter that had been built for him near the trees, above the shoreline. Black tar paper covered the small wooden structure. Cole spit again at the waves. If these fossils really thought he was going to live in that shack for a whole year, they were nuts.
As the skiff scraped the rocks, Garvey jumped out and pulled the boat ashore. Still handcuffed, Cole crawled awkwardly over the bow onto the slippery rocks. Edwin began immediately to unload the supplies.
"Why don't you take my handcuffs off and let me help?" Cole asked.
Garvey and Edwin ignored his question. One at a time they carried the heavy cardboard boxes up to the shelter and stacked them inside the door. When they finished, Edwin motioned for Cole to follow him up to the mossy bench of ground above the tide line. Cole moseyed along slowly, not catching up to Edwin until they reached the trees.
Edwin turned to Cole. "Nobody's going to baby-sit you here. If you eat you'll live. If not, you'll die. This land can provide for you or kill you." He pointed into the forest. "Winters are long. Cut plenty of wood or you'll freeze. Keep things dry, because wet kills."
"I'm not afraid of dying," Cole boasted.
Edwin smiled slightly. "If death stares you straight in the face, believe me, son, you'll get scared." He pointed to a tall plant with snakelike branches. "This island is covered with Devil's Club. Don't grab it or hundreds of tiny thistles will infect your hands and make them swell up like ' sausages." Edwin motioned toward the head of the bay, a quarter mile away. "That stream over there is where you get fresh water."
"Why didn't you put my camp closer to the stream?" "Other animals come here for water, too," Edwin said. "How would you feel if a bear made its den beside the stream?"
Cole shrugged. "I'd kill it."
The potbellied elder nodded with a knowing smile. "Animals feel the same way. Don't forget that." He turned to Cole and placed a hand on his shoulder. Cole tried to pull away, but Edwin gripped him like a clamp. "You aren't the only creature here. You're part of a much bigger circle. Learn your place or you'll have a rough time."
"What is there to learn?"
"Patience, gentleness, strength, honesty," Edwin said. He looked up into the trees. "Animals can teach us more about ourselves than any teacher." He stared away toward
the south. "Off the coast of British Columbia, there is a special black bear called the Spirit Bear. It's pure white and has pride, dignity, and honor. More than most people."
"If I saw a Spirit Bear, I'd kill it," Cole said.
Edwin tightened his grip as if in warning. "Whatever you do to the animals, you do to yourself. Remember that."
"You're crazy, old man," Cole said, twisting free of Edwin's grip. Edwin continued speaking calmly as if nothing had happened. "Don't eat anything unless you know what it is. Plants, berries, and mushrooms can kill you. There's a book in with the supplies to study if you want to learn what. is safe to eat. I suggest you read every word. Life is up to you now. I don't know how it was for you in the big city, but up here you live and die by your actions. We'll be out to check on you in a couple of days. After that, Garvey will head home and I'll drop off supplies every few weeks. Any questions?"
Cole smirked. He didn't plan on eating any shrubs or berries. "Why did you bring me out so far?" he asked mockingly. "Were you afraid I'd escape?"
Edwin looked out across the bay and drew in a deep breath. "Years ago, I was brought here myself when my spirit got lost. This is a good place to find yourself."
"This place sucks!" Cole mumbled.
Edwin pulled out a key and turned Cole roughly around to remove his handcuffs. "Anger keeps you lost," he said, as he started back toward the shelter. "You can find yourself here, but only if you search."
Rubbing at the raw skin on his wrists, Cole followed. Garvey stood outside the shelter as they walked up to it. He held out a small bundle to Cole.
"What's this?" Cole asked, unfolding a heavy wool blanket, woven with colorful blue-and-red images of a totem pole.
"Tlingits call it atoow." "Atoow?" Cole repeated.
"Like `a towel' without the L," Garvey said. "Atoow is something you inherit. This blanket has been handed down for many generations in my family. It once belonged to one of our chiefs and is a link to our ancestors. You can't own atoow. You are only its caretaker for a time. If you accept this atoow from me, you must promise to care for it and someday pass it on to someone else you trust." "You saying you trust me?"
Garvey nodded. "If you promise to care for it, I'll believe you. A man is only as good as his word." Garvey looked Cole in the eyes. "Do you promise me you'll care for this atoow?"
Cole tucked the blanket under his arm. "Yeah, sure, whatever you want."
Sadly, Garvey placed a hand on Cole's shoulder, "Don't waste this chance, Cole."
Cole felt a sudden rush of anger and jerked away. Why did everybody always have to touch him? He didn't need anyone's help. What he needed was for the world to butt out. "Aren't you guys ever leaving?" he snapped.
Edwin and Garvey turned and walked to the skiff.
Edwin crawled aboard first. When he was seated, Garvey. shoved the small boat off the slick gray rocks and jumped aboard himself. Edwin yanked the starter rope, and the outboard roared to life.
As the skiff motored from the bay, the fading whine of the engine floated out across the choppy waters. In the distance, Garvey waved good-bye. Cole waved back, grinning. This far away, they couldn't see the extended middle finger he brandished at them.
Cole watched as the boat faded to a mere speck outside the bay, then he reached down and picked up a rock. He threw it toward the horizon with a hard grunt. Finally he was alone. For almost three months, he had been kept in detention, guarded twenty-four hours a day. For almost three months, he had put up with the adults from the Circle justice committee. What fools. They had kept stopping by, asking questions that were a joke. Any moron could figure out what they wanted to hear.
"Why should we believe you're sincere?" several committee members had asked during their visits.
Cole wanted to say, "'Cause if you don't, I'll knock your fat heads off." Instead, he meekly said, "You shouldn't," keeping his face as serious as he could. "I've really screwed things up. Hurting someone really made me think a lot." He'd pause for effect, then add, "I wish I could trade places with Peter. I really do. That's what I deserve."
Cole had grown impatient watching the visitors jot notes in their silly little folders. What a waste of time. They
were probably afraid to try him as an adult and send him to jail.
"Why can't they make up their minds?" he complained to Garvey during one of his visits. "What are they waiting for?"
"Things take time," Garvey answered. "The Circle needs to know if you're committed to wanting change. Some think you still have an attitude." Garvey grinned. "I can't imagine where they got that idea, Champ. Can you?" "I told them I wanted to change," Cole said, his voice edgy. "What more do they want?"
"Talk is cheap. They want you to walk your talk." "How can I prove anything sitting in this stinking place?"
"Think about it, Einstein. What if it turns out you're nothing more than a baby-faced con? What then?" Garvey threw up his hands. "A lot of people have already paid dearly for your anger and lies. You have bigger problems than getting out of this place."
"Yeah, like what?"
"If you're accepted for Circle justice, who's going to be your sponsor? The committee requires some person to go through the process with you."
"I thought you would help me," Cole said, letting his irritation show.
Garvey shook his head. "I don't invest time in losers. Unless you're one hundred and ten percent committed to this change, you're wasting my time and everybody else's you're better off in jail." Garvey gave Cole a playful shove.
"Make up your mind, Champ. The world's getting tired of waiting."
Cole wanted to punch Garvey's teeth into the next county, but instead he forced a smile. After Garvey left, Cole's fists tightened until his knuckles turned white.
It was late afternoon when the boat's outline disappeared and the faint moaning of the outboard melted into the quiet. Sudden hot tears clouded Cole's vision. This was called Circle justice, but it was no different than being in a jail. Once again he was being abandoned by people who wanted to get rid of him. His parents were probably glad he was a million miles from their world. They wanted him locked up like a caged animal.
Cole felt a familiar rage building inside him. The last time he had felt like this was back in his small detention cell. One afternoon, after he had refused to do the schoolwork they brought to him, his television privileges had been revoked. Cole purposely isolated himself in his room, sitting sullenly. His anger smoldered like a lit fuse.
He fantasized about how he would get even with everybody if he ever got free. His rage ignited. Cole jumped to his feet and stormed across the cell. He tipped over his metal-framed bed and started hitting the wall harder and harder. Soon blood from his scraped knuckles smeared the concrete.
Finally Cole fell to the floor beside the toilet, sobbing. He stared at his bleeding knuckles. Somebody would pay for this.
He was still huddled on the cell floor hours later when Garvey had stopped by. Garvey walked thoughtfully around the overturned bed, then headed back toward the door.
Cole looked up. "Leaving already?"
"I'm tired of being around someone who blames the world for all his problems."
"So you think it's my fault?"
"I think the world isn't always a fair place. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the sooner you can get on with your life."
"So does this mean you're not going to be my sponsor?" Cole blurted.
Garvey shrugged. "It means you need to make up your mind if you want change."
"I already told you I did," Cole said.
Garvey glanced down at Cole's bruised and swollen knuckles. "Are the walls getting the best of your fights?" "I fell," Cole said, wishing he could wipe the corny smile off Garvey's face and show him what fists were really for. "I hurt them falling." He took a deep breath. He wasn't going to let Garvey sucker him into getting mad and blowing this chance to avoid jail. "Are you going to be my sponsor or not?" he demanded." I'm not going to beg.
Garvey stopped in the doorway and turned. He looked Cole straight in the eyes. "I'll help you, but don't waste my time. You understand? I don't have time for losers."
Cole mustered a serious face. "I won't."

Subjective Criteria

Illustrations: No support

Vocabulary: Some difficult words

Language: Few descriptive words

Sentences: Multiple phrases

Text structure: Blend of written/oral

Inferences: Several Implications

Concepts: Abstract/Complex Social

Mature concepts: With common experiences or clear fantasy

Features

Character traits

Character development

Integral Setting - Cultural/Regional

Complex Problem/Solution

Clear cause/effect

Symbolism

Present Tense

Topic

Challenges

Cause/Effect

Fighting

*Community

*Animals

Survival

Anger

Choices

Jail/Prison

Punishment

*Citizenship & Laws

*Feelings, Behaviors

Native Americans

Bears

Low Frequency Words

abandoned	aboard	absolutely	accepted	accompanied
aluminum	ancestors	angle	application	appreciate
artificially	atoow	audience	banishment	blurted
boarded	bracing	brandished	brewing	bullheaded
buyouts	calmly	caretaker	casually	chafed
cole	cole's	committed	committee	community
concern	concrete	convicted	counseling	counselors
countless	cowbell	cowering	cultures	defiantly
delinquent	denied	departing	depositions	deserve
detainees	detention	devil's	dignity	disinfectant
divorce	drinker	driscal	edgy	edwin's
effect	einstein	elder	emptied	escorting
expenses	eyed	eyeing	familiar	fantasized
fault	feigned	floatplane	freed	frustrated
further	fuse	garvey	garvey's	generations
gentleness	gravelly	gripped	grudgingly	grunt
guarded	guiding	guilty	gutless	guy's
haired	handcuffs	hardware	healing	hearings
hesitated	honesty	honor	honoring	horizon
humility	ignited	ignored	ignoring	immediately
impatient	inherit	innocent	intention	interior
invest	irritation	isolated	jeans	judge
judging	juvenile	juveniles	ketchikan	kingdom
klingkit	knelt	knowing	knuckles	lawyer
mattered	meekly	mere	microphone	minneapolis
mockingly	moron	moseyed	motion	motioned
motor	mowed	mushrooms	mustered	nathaniel
nation	neighbors	ninth	nowhere	obediently
offender	omen	operate	ourselves	outboard
outline	overturned	parole	patience	patiently
pause	percent	permanent	plea	pleading
positive	potbellied	practiced	preparations	presence
priced	prison	privileges	probation	process
pronouncing	prosecutor	prosecutors	protection	prove
psychologist	pure	purposely	questioned	ratted
realize	referred	refused	regularly	reluctantly
repayment	reputation	required	requires	resented
residential	responsibility	rough	roughly	saliva
sausages	schoolwork	seattle	sensitive	sentencing
separately	sessions	shoreline	shove	shoved
shrouded	shrubs	shrugged	shuffled	sincere
skiff	smirk	smirked	smoldered	soul
southeast	sparse	sponsor	squarely	squirm
stations	steely	stocky	structure	suggest
sullenly	supplies	swallow	swollen	therapy
thistles	thoughtfully	tightened	tlingit	tlingits
totem	transfer	treatment	trial	truly
tutor	twitched	underwear	unfolding	veterinarian
vicious	villagers	violence	violent	vision
voiced	walled	wallow	warned	whine
winced	wisecracking	woven	wrists	yanked
youth