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Just then, I hear more sniffling. It's getting louder, coming closer. When I peek out through the crack, I'm confused. There's a mountain of snow out there. Only it wasn't there before. Where could all that snow have come from? Of course, it isn't snow. It's a bear. A polar bear. Or part of a polar bear, anyhow. I can't see the top or the bottom of him from here-just his giant furry white mountain of a middle. Even crouched over, he's huge. My jaw drops, and every part of me is shaking-my hands, my knees, even my belly. I want to speak, but I know I mustn't. Besides, right now, I don't think my mouth would work. I'm too afraid. My fear is pure and cold and overpowering. Fifteen-year-old Noah Thorpe is spending the school term in George River, in Quebec's far North. The Inuit call Noah a Qallunaaq-the Inuktitut word for a non-Inuit person, someone ignorant of the customs of the North. Noah thinks the Inuit have a strange way of looking at the world, plus they eat raw meat and seal blubber. Most have never left George River-a town that doesn't even have its own doctor, let alone a McDonald's. But Noah's views change when he realizes he will have to learn a few lessons from his Inuit buddies if he wants to survive the North.
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