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snow was still squishy and unfrozen. At one point Andy stepped into a sinkhole and went in up to his knee. When he pulled his leg out it was completely soaked and his boot was covered with muck. He laughed and kept on walking.
    We finally found the cottonwood. Andy quickly climbed the steps up to the treehouse. I shoved Andy’s present into my jacket and followed, testing each step carefully. The nails were more than a year old, and some of the steps wiggled alarmingly. I never liked climbing that tree. Andy outweighed me by a good twenty pounds, so I knew the steps would hold me, but I still didn’t like the climb.
    Inside, the treehouse was dry and cold. A pile of seeds had appeared in one corner, probably stashed there by a squirrel. We threw out the seeds, brushed the snow from the window ledges, and shook out the carpet samples that covered the floor.
    â€œWe should get one of those portable heaters,” Andy said.
    â€œThere’s no place to plug it in.”
    â€œWe could get a really long extension cord.”
    â€œOr we could get a kerosene heater.”
    â€œHow about an air conditioner for the summer?”
    â€œAnd a TV.”
    â€œAnd an elevator, so you don’t have to climb those steps.”
    â€œI hate those steps.”
    Andy laughed. “Oh well.” He pulled a small gift-wrapped package from his jacket pocket. “Merry Christmas, Dougie.”
    I opened that package in about two seconds, and when I saw what it was, I felt incredibly good and incredibly awful all at once.
    â€œAndy … it’s—wow—it’s really nice.”
    â€œI knew you’d like it.”
    I turned the knife in my hands, admiring the smooth, hard red case. “An Explorer,” I said. “Victorinox Explorer. Wow.”
    â€œIt has seventeen tools. That’s your number, right?”
    â€œYeah.” I unfolded the knife blade, the scissors, the screwdriver, the magnifying glass. … “It must have cost you a fortune.” In fact, I knew exactly how much the Swiss Army knife went for: $44.90 plus tax at Pike’s Hardware. Twelve times as much as I’d paid for the bag of Butterfingers.
    Andy shrugged. “I got a deal on it. Pike traded it to me for cleaning out his basement.”
    I folded the tools back into the knife and squeezed it in my fist. “It’s heavy,” I said. “It feels really solid.”
    Andy was grinning, enjoying the moment. I openedthe small knife blade and began to carve the date on the wall. Andy watched me for a few minutes, then asked, “What’s in the box?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œThat box you’ve got.” He pointed at the shoe box with the Butterfingers inside.
    â€œOh. Um … it’s for you.” I pushed it toward him, then watched him peel away the paper and pull the top off.
    His eyes opened wide and he said, “Oh, man, my favorite!” He tore open the bag of candy. “You got me the big size! Awesome!” He ripped into a Butterfinger and took a huge bite, rolling his eyes with pleasure as he crunched away. “I love these things,” he said, his mouth full of gold and brown candy.
    â€œIt’s not as nice as what you gave me,” I said.
    â€œAre you kidding? You can’t eat that knife, can you? Here!” He thrust the bag at me, and I took a Butterfinger for myself.
    I’m making a short story long. The point is, Andy is the one who gave me the Victorinox Explorer seventeen-tool Swiss Army knife that later on got us in so much trouble. But what I really wanted to tell you is why it was the last time we ever climbed up that old cottonwood.

11
TO BUILD A FIRE
    I t was quite cold that day, and Andy’s right leg was soaked with ice-cold water from stepping in the sinkhole. We each ate a couple Butterfingers, which helped me feel not so guilty, but it didn’t really warm us up much. Andy was pretty miserable with his wet foot, so I