Chicken Chicken (6 page)

“But—but—but—” I sputtered.

“What about growing feathers?” Cole demanded. “And what about your lips?”

Anthony’s face filled with confusion. Then he turned to me. “What’s with your
brother? Is he going totally mental or what?”

“Are you clucking all the time?” Cole asked Anthony.

Anthony laughed. He cut it short quickly. “I don’t get it. Is this a joke or
something, guys?”

I pulled my brother to the driveway. “He doesn’t know what we’re talking
about,” I whispered. “For some reason, it isn’t happening to him.”

Cole’s head bobbed up and down. He let out a low cluck.

“Let’s go,” I said. “Anthony isn’t going to be any help.”

“I don’t get the joke,” Anthony repeated.

“See you BLUUUCK later!” I called to him. I started pulling Cole down the
street. “We’ve got to help out with the barbecue.”

“Maybe I can come after soccer practice,” Anthony called. “Save me some
chicken!”

“Yeah. Sure,” I muttered unhappily.

Guests were already arriving for the barbecue. I recognized my aunt Norma’s
red Honda in the driveway. And I saw the Walker family from down the block,
heading around the side of the house to the back.

I ducked in through the front door and ran up to my room. I wanted to tell
Mom what was happening to Cole and me. But I knew she was too busy. She wouldn’t
listen.

I closed the bedroom door carefully behind me. I didn’t want anyone to see me
until I checked myself out.

Sure enough, I found white and brown feathers sticking out from my neck and
shoulders.

The feathers had just poked through the skin. So it was really hard to pull
them out. I had to use tweezers for the smaller ones.

Pluck.

Pluck.

Pluck….

Ow. Did that hurt!

I heard voices from down in the backyard. And through my bedroom window, I
could see swirling smoke from the barbecue grills.

Ugh. I had always loved the aroma of barbecuing chicken. But now it sickened
me. I felt my stomach lurch. I gagged. I held my hand over my mouth—my beak!—and waited for the nausea to fade.

I’ll stay up in my room, I decided. I won’t go downstairs.

But then I heard Mom calling me from the kitchen.

“Com-ing!” I yelled. I had no choice. I had to go down there.

I crossed my fingers on both hands. My fingers suddenly felt so bony, so
scraggly. My nails were long and pointed. Maybe no one will notice what is
happening to me, I prayed.

I made my way slowly downstairs to the kitchen. Mom had her hair tied up in a
bun. She wore a long white apron, covered with barbecue sauce stains.

She was mixing a big bowl of salad. But she stopped when I slipped into the
room. “Crystal, where have you been? Guests are arriving. I need you to go out
and be a hostess while I finish up in here.”

“Okay, Mom. No problem,” I replied. I let out a couple of soft clucks.

“See if there is enough ice,” Mom instructed. “And tell your dad he may need
more charcoal. We—”

She stopped suddenly, with a gasp.

She stared out the window. “Crystal—what on earth is your brother doing out
there?”

I stepped up beside her and gazed out the window. “Oh, no!” I cried.

I couldn’t
believe
what I saw.

Cole had climbed into the area fenced off for the chickens. He was down on
his elbows and knees. There were chickens all around him.

“What is he
doing
?” Mom repeated, raising a hand to one cheek.

I knew what he was doing. But I knew this wasn’t the time to tell Mom. Not
with twenty guests waiting for their dinner.

I peered out the window. Cole was pecking seeds off the ground.

I watched him lower his head to the gravel. I watched his lips open and his
tongue slide out. I watched him suck up some chicken feed. His head bobbed up as
he swallowed it down.

“Why is your brother acting so dumb in front of company?” Mom asked, shaking
her head. “Does he think that’s
funny
?”

“I don’t know, Mom,” I replied. Cole’s head lowered, and he sucked up more
seed from the gravel.

People were laughing at him. Some just stared in confusion.

“Well, go out there and stop him,” Mom ordered, turning back to the salad
bowl. “Pull him away from the chickens and drag him into the house, Crystal. I
want an explanation from him.”

“Okay, Mom,” I murmured.

I watched Cole pecking at seeds for a few seconds more. Then I made my way
out the kitchen door and crossed the yard to the chicken area.

“Cole?” I called softly. I stepped over the wire fence. “Cluuuck Cluuuck
Cole?”

I really did plan to bring him into the house to Mom.

I really did plan to drag him away from there.

But those seeds looked so delicious!

I bumped some chickens out of the way. Then I dropped down on my knees,
lowered my head—and started pecking away.

The next day in school, I don’t think I heard a word anyone said. I couldn’t
stop thinking about the barbecue.

Of course, all of our guests thought what Cole and I did was some kind of a
joke. They didn’t
get
the joke. But they knew it had to be a joke.

Mom and Dad were really angry. They needed us to help out. But we were too
busy pecking seeds with the chickens.

Later, Mom was really upset when Cole and I refused to eat any of her barbecued chicken. “It was always your favorite!”
she cried.

Not anymore, I thought sadly.

The idea of eating a chicken made my insides feel as if they were turning
inside out!

The next morning, I needed Cole’s help in pulling all the feathers from my
neck and shoulders. Some big white feathers had poked out of my back, and I
couldn’t reach them.

It took us each twenty minutes to pluck out all the feathers that had grown
during the night. We hid them in my sweater drawer. We didn’t want Mom or Dad to
see them before we had a chance to explain.

The school day went so slowly. My neck and back kept itching. I prayed that
feathers wouldn’t grow while I was in school.

And I prayed that none of my teachers would call on me in class. I was
clucking more and more. It was becoming a real struggle to talk.

My team had a basketball game in the gym after school against a girls’ team
from the next county. I had looked forward to it all week. But now I just wanted
to hurry home before any kids saw me clucking or pecking seeds from the
playground.

I dropped my books in my locker. And I was sneaking to the front door of the
school—when Coach Clay turned the corner. “Crystal, I was
looking
for
you!” she cried.

“Cluck?” I replied.

“Hilary has a bad cold. I’m going to let you start at forward today,” she
told me.

“Cluck—” I started.

But she didn’t give me a chance to reply. She placed her hands on my
shoulders, turned me around, and marched me to the locker room. “I know you’re
going to be great,” she said. “Go get changed.”

“Cluck,” I told her. Normally, I’d be totally pumped! I was going to be the
starting forward. This is what I had dreamed about all year!

As I changed into my uniform, the other girls all came over to slap me high
fives and wish me good luck.

Maybe I can do it, I told myself. Maybe I will play really well. Maybe I
can
show them just how good a player I am.

But as soon as the game started, I knew I was in trouble.

Big trouble.

Our team won the opening jump. I turned and began running to the other team’s
basket.

I leaned forward as I ran. My head bobbed up and down.

Up and down. Up and down.

Low clucks escaped my throat.

I tried to straighten up. But I couldn’t.

Our center took a shot. Missed. We all started to run back to the other
basket.

“Nooooo,” I moaned.

To my horror, I realized that I couldn’t run without bobbing my head.

I glanced to the sideline—and saw Coach Clay staring at me. “Crystal—what
are you
doing
?” she called.

I heard some kids laughing at me.

“Crystal—stop goofing,” Gina, the other forward, scolded me.

The action moved to our opponents’ basket, and I ran down court. My head
bobbed up and down. I realized I was running stiff-legged. My knees no longer bent!

The ball came sailing toward me.

I couldn’t catch it. My hands were tucked under my armpits. My elbows were
poked out like wings.

I let out a loud cluck as the ball bounced off my shoulder.

My head bobbed up and down.

My teammates were yelling angrily at me. On the sideline, I saw Coach Clay
shaking her head. Girls on the other team were laughing.

Down the court. I tried to pry my hands from my armpits as I ran. My head
bobbed. My lips clicked.

I glanced down—and stopped.

No!

My legs.

White feathers were sprouting up and down my legs.

And everyone could see them.

I heard a whistle blow. The referee called a time out.

My teammates ran toward our bench. I took off in the other direction. I ran
out of the gym and out of the school.

I wanted to run and run and never stop.

I hid in my room during dinner. I was so depressed—and frightened. I wanted
to tell Mom and Dad everything. But what if they didn’t believe me? What if they thought
it was all a joke?

After dinner, Mom and Dad had to go to school for a Parents Association
meeting. Cole and I waited until we heard the car pull away. Then we waddled
downstairs to the living room.

We were down on our knees, pecking crumbs in the rug.

My body was covered with white and brown feathers. It would take hours to
pull them all off.

“I—CLUUUUCK—I’m so scared,” Cole stammered.

“Me, too,” I confessed. I pecked at a big chunk of lint.

“Crystal, what are we going to do?” Cole asked softly.

I started to say, “I don’t know.”

But I suddenly knew exactly what we had to do.

We crept out into a cool, windy night. The swirling wind ruffled my feathers.
Up above, a pale half-moon kept sliding behind wispy clouds.

Cole and I walked along the street that led to town. We tried to hurry. But
our legs felt stiff, and our knees were hard to bend.

Car headlights swept over the street toward us. We slipped behind a low hedge
and hid, clucking softly. We didn’t want anyone to see us like this. And we
didn’t want anyone to ask us where we were going.

We passed through town, making our way along the backs of stores. Trees
hissed and shook as the wind picked up. The air grew heavy and moist. I felt a
few raindrops on my forehead.

A sweet aroma made me take a deep breath. It came from the bakery. I realized
that Mrs. Wagner must be baking doughnuts for tomorrow morning.

A sad cry escaped my beak. Would I ever be able to taste a doughnut again? Or would I spend the rest of my life pecking
my food off the ground?

Cole and I turned onto the dirt path that led to Vanessa’s old farmhouse. The
night grew darker—and colder—as soon as we moved away from town.

Our shoes plodded heavily over the hard dirt path. A few minutes later, I
could see the black outline of Vanessa’s house against the gray sky.

“What are we CLUUUCK going to say to her?” Cole demanded softly.

I brushed a raindrop off my eyebrow. My hand felt rough and scratchy, my
fingers hard as bone.

“I’m going to BLUUUCK tell her how sorry we are,” I replied. “I’m going to
tell her we didn’t mean to knock over her groceries. That it was all a big
accident. And we’re sorry we didn’t stay and help her pick them up. CLUUUUCK.”

We stepped up to Vanessa’s wooden fence. The gate had been left open. It
banged in the wind.

I raised my eyes to the house. It hung over the tall grass like a low, dark
creature. No lights on anywhere.

Had she already gone to sleep?

“I—I don’t bluuuck think she’s home,” Cole whispered.

“Of course she’s home,” I replied sharply. “Where else would she cluuuuck be?
There’s nowhere to go at night in Goshen Falls.”

We stepped through the gate. I tried to latch it behind us to stop it from
banging. But the latch was broken.

“What do we say after we apologize?” Cole asked, hanging back.

I placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him along with me to the front
door.

“Then we beg her to remove the spell,” I clucked. “We beg her to change us
back to the way we were.”

“Do you think she’ll do it?” he asked in a tiny voice.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “But we’ll soon find out.”

I knocked on the front door.

No answer.

The gate banged behind us. Startled, Cole and I both jumped.

I took a deep breath and pounded my scraggly fist on the door again.

We waited, staring straight ahead. Listening to the harsh whisper of the
trees, and to the banging gate.

Silence in the house.

I uttered a sigh of disappointment and turned to my brother. “You were right.
Vanessa isn’t home.”

We backed away from the house. Clouds floated away from the moon. The front
window glinted with silvery moonlight.

“Let’s peek inside,” I urged.

We made our way to the window. Standing on tiptoes, we peered into the living
room.

In the silvery light, I stared at the dark shapes of furniture.
Old-fashioned, high-back chairs. A long couch covered with pillows. Bookshelves from floor to ceiling.

Everything was very old-looking. But I didn’t see anything strange or
frightening.

Then a stack of books caught my eye. They were piled on a small, square table
beside the couch. The books were big and thick. And even in the pale light, I
could see that their covers were old and cracked.