Chicken Chicken (5 page)

I gasped.

Feathers!

He had white feathers poking out from his neck and shoulders.

“Cole—when did this happen?” I shrieked.

“BLUCCCK BLUUUCK BUCCCCK,” he clucked, his eyes wide with horror.

“Stop it!” I cried angrily. “This is no time for your stupid clucking!”

And then I realized that he had tricked me again. The feathers weren’t really
growing from his body. He had glued them on or something.

“BLUUUCK. I… can’t… stop the clucking!” he choked out, rubbing his
throat.

“Yeah. Sure,” I replied, rolling my eyes. I reached out and plucked a white
feather from the back of his neck.

I expected the fake feather to slide off easily.

But my brother’s hands shot up. “OUCH!” he screamed.

The tip of the feather left a small hole in his skin. I grabbed a big feather
on his shoulder—and pulled it.

“Hey—careful!” Cole cried, moving away from me. “BLUUUCK CLUUUCK. That really hurts!”

“Oh, no!” I gasped. “They’re real! You… you’re really growing—
click click
—feathers!”

“Uh… uh… uh…” Cole started to whimper. His feathery shoulders shook
up and down.

“Take it easy,” I told him. I guided him gently into his room. “I’ll pull
them off. I’ll be really careful. You’ll be okay.”

I made him sit down on the edge of the bed. I leaned over him and started to
pluck out the white feathers. I tried to be as gentle as I could. But he jumped
each time I tugged one out.

“We’ve got to tell Mom and Dad,” he said softly, his eyes lowered to the
floor. “Ouch.”

“They’re almost all out,” I told him. I plucked a long one off the back of
his neck. He jumped. “No problem. You will look perfectly normal.”

“But we’ve still got to tell Mom and Dad,” he insisted.

“Do you think they’ll believe us?” I asked. My hard lips clicked with each
word.

Cole gazed up at me. “Hey—what’s up with your lips?”

“Oh—I—uh…” I covered them with one hand. “Just chapped,” I said. “Very
chapped.”

I don’t know why. I didn’t want to let him know that weird things were
happening to me, too.

“You look disgusting!” Cole exclaimed. “Yuck!”

It seemed to cheer him up a lot.

I tugged the last two feathers out as hard as I could.

“Hey—!” he cried out angrily. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

I stepped back. White feathers covered the bed and floor. “You’d better pick
them up,” I clicked.

He clucked in reply.

I still had one hand over my mouth. I didn’t need any more comments from him
about how disgusting my lips looked. I hurried to the bathroom to find some
cream for them.

Mom and Dad stayed out very late. Cole and I tried to stay awake because we
wanted to talk to them. But finally, we gave up and went to bed.

Sunday morning I woke up late. The sun was already high in the sky. Orange
sunlight washed over my room from the open window. A soft breeze ruffled my
feathers.

Huh? Feathers?

“Ohhhh.” I sat up with a groan. My neck itched like crazy. My arms itched,
too.

I blinked myself awake. And stared at the white feathers up and down my arms.

I opened my mouth to scream. But all that came out was a choked
“goggle
goggle goggle.”
Like a clucking hen.

I leaped out of bed and hurtled to the dresser mirror. I pulled down the top
of my nightshirt and gasped. My shoulders and arms were covered with fluffy, white and brown
feathers.

I brushed my hand over my lips. They had grown even harder. Hard as bone.

I saw something move in the mirror. I twirled around to find Cole in my
bedroom doorway.

“Crystal—” he clucked. He staggered into the room. White feathers bristled
on his shoulders and under his chin. They had grown back.

“Look at me!” I clicked.

“BLUCCK BLUCCCCK,” Cole replied.

I turned back to the mirror and started frantically pulling off my feathers.
It hurt each time. But I didn’t care. I wanted them
off
!

It didn’t take long. I plucked them all off. Then I gathered them up and
tossed them into the wastebasket. Then I helped Cole remove his feathers.

His lips had hardened during the night. His fingernails had grown. His hands
suddenly looked sort of like claws.

“Vanessa,” he murmured.

I stared at him. I knew instantly what he meant.

I had been thinking the same thing all along. Remembering the horrible moment
we spilled Vanessa’s groceries.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to believe it. But
Vanessa did this to us. Vanessa is BLUUUUCCK BLUCCCK turning us into chickens.”

“Chicken chicken,” he clucked.

I heard clattering sounds downstairs in the kitchen. Mom and Dad!

“We have to BLUUUUCK tell them!” I cried. “We have to tell them everything!”

Cole and I both bolted for the bedroom door at the same time. We squeezed
through together. Then we ran side by side down the hall.

I could hear Mom’s voice from the kitchen.

Cole and I started calling to her as we hurried down the stairs.

“Mom—we need BLUUUCCK help!” I cried. “It’s Vanessa. She really
does
have BLUUUCCK CLUUCK powers!”

“She’s turning us into chickens!” Cole called to Mom as we reached the
downstairs hall and went running to the kitchen. “We’re growing feathers and
everything!”

“It’s the truth!” I cried. “You’ve got to help us. Cole and I—BLUUUCK—we’re both turning into chickens!”

“That’s good news,” Mom replied calmly “I need two more chickens for the
barbecue this afternoon.”

“Huh?”

“Barbecue us?”

Cole and I both gasped. Was Mom joking?

As soon as we burst into the kitchen, I realized that Mom wasn’t talking to
us. She was on the phone. She had her back to us and was drumming her
fingernails on the Formica counter beside the phone.

My eyes swept over the kitchen. It was cluttered with pans and serving bowls,
cut-up lettuce and tomatoes, a bag of potatoes, bottles of barbecue sauce, and a
pile of chicken parts on a tray beside the sink.

What a mess!

“Mom—we… we CLUUUCK BLUUUCK have to talk to you!” I sputtered.

She turned, still talking, and waved. She said a few more words, then hung up
the phone. “You two slept so late,” she said, frowning at the wall clock. “It’s nearly noon, and our guests will be here in an hour or two.”

“Mom—” I started.

She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and moved toward the sink.
“Did you forget we’re having a big barbecue this afternoon? We’re having at
least twenty guests, and—and—” She gestured to the pile of chicken parts.

The sight of them made my stomach turn.

“Cluuucck bluuuck,” Cole murmured.

I stepped over to the sink. “We have to talk to you,” I said, taking Mom’s
arm. “Cole and I—we have a problem. A real problem.”

“About the chorus practice you missed this morning?” Mom interrupted. She
took a small brush and began slapping barbecue sauce on the chicken parts. Then
she tossed each part in a big china bowl.

“No, Mom. I—”

“That was Mrs. Mellon on the phone,” Mom continued. “She wondered where you
were. She was calling to make sure you two were okay.”

“We’re
not
okay,” I said solemnly.

“She’s such a nice woman. She’s bringing two barbecued chickens of her own
this afternoon. For people who don’t like them hot and spicy the way I make
them.”

She turned to me. “Crystal, you can help me cut up the peppers.”

“Mom—please!” Cole cried. “Stop talking about the chickens!”

“We have something to tell you,” I said.

“Your dad is out back, getting the barbecue grills ready,” Mom said, brushing
red sauce on a wing. “Oh! Ice! We have to remember to buy ice!”

“Mom—Cole and I are turning into chickens,” I told her.

She laughed. “Ice and paper plates,” she murmured. “I don’t want to use real
plates. Too much of a mess.”

“No. Really!” I grabbed her arm. The brush fell into the chicken bowl.

“Crystal—I really don’t have time,” Mom sighed. She blew a strand of hair
off her forehead and picked up the brush. “You and Cole should get yourself some
breakfast—or lunch. Then see if you can help your dad.”

“BLUUUUCK!” Cole exclaimed.

“Listen to me, Mom,” I begged. “Do you hear Cole clucking like that?”

“Yes. Very nice clucking,” she murmured, tossing a leg into the bowl.

“Do you see my lips?” I demanded. “Vanessa is doing this to us. We bumped
Vanessa and spilled her groceries. So she is turning us CLUUUUCK into chickens.”

“Please, you two,” Mom groaned. “Can’t you see how frantic I am? I don’t have
time to—”

She stopped when she glimpsed my lips. “Yuck! Those are really chapped.”

“They’re not chapped!” I screamed. “I’m growing a beak!”

“CLUUUCK BLUUUCK,” Cole added.

Mom tossed up her hands. “Go put some cream on your lips, Crystal. And keep
out of my way, okay? I don’t have time for jokes today. If you’re not going to
help, just don’t make more trouble.”

I turned to Cole. He shook his head unhappily.

We both slumped out of the room. “Do you think Dad will listen to us?” Cole
asked weakly.

I clicked my lips. “I don’t think so,” I muttered. “He’s as busy as Mom is.”

“Then what can we do?” Cole asked. He scratched his neck. Were the feathers
growing back already?

An idea popped into my head. “Anthony!” I cried.

“Huh? What about him?” Cole demanded.

“Anthony was with us!” I explained. “The same thing is probably happening to
him. He’s probably changing into a chicken like us.”

Cole rubbed his chin hard. “Cluuuuck. Bluuuuck. Yeah. Probably.”

“So if
all three
of us tell our story to Mom and Dad, then maybe
they’ll believe us!” I cried.

“It’s worth a try,” Cole agreed excitedly. “Let’s hurry over to Anthony’s
house.”

We each grabbed a glass of orange juice. And a Pop-Tart, which we ate raw.

Then we ran out the front door and headed to Anthony’s house.

We had run less than a block when we bumped into Vanessa.

Well. This time we didn’t really bump into her.

I saw her before Cole did, hurrying toward us on the other side of the
street. Despite the heat, she was dressed all in black. She wore a black cotton
shawl over the shoulders of her black dress. It fluttered behind her as she
strode along the sidewalk.

“Oh—it’s
her!
” Cole whispered, poking me in the side.

We both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared open-mouthed as she
approached.

Would she say something to us?

Could I work up the nerve to say something to her?

My heart pounded. My lips clicked nervously.

Cole’s head started bobbing up and down on his neck. Just like a chicken. He
let out a frightened cluck.

My poor brother.

Seeing him like that made me forget my fear. “Vanessa—!” I shouted.

She kept walking, taking those long, gliding strides of hers. Her shawl
fluttered behind her.

“Vanessa—!” I repeated her name.

She had a look of solemn concentration on her face. I don’t think she had
even seen Cole and me.

Finally, she stopped. She stared across the street at us as if she didn’t
recognize us.

“BLUUUUCK BLUUUCK!” my brother clucked angrily.

That brought a smile to her black-lipsticked lips. She laughed, and her dark
eyes flashed.

She brushed back her straight, black hair. “Bluck bluck to you, too!” she
called. “Chicken chicken!” Then she turned and hurried along the sidewalk.

“Bluuuck—wait!” Cole called after her. His head bobbed frantically up and
down.

“You have to
help
us!” I cried, my hard lips clicking.

Vanessa began walking faster. Her black hair flew behind her. She didn’t look
back.

We found Anthony fiddling around with a golf club in his front yard. He had
borrowed one of his dad’s putters. And he had scooped out a hole in the middle
of the grass.

We watched him sink a long putt as we ran across the front lawn. He flashed us two thumbs up. “Awesome, huh? I’ve been
practicing.”

“Awesome,” I muttered. I was still thinking about Vanessa, still feeling
really upset and frightened.

“Bluuck buuck,” Cole said.

Anthony narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s up, guys? My parents are going to
your barbecue. But I have soccer practice.”

Anthony pulled the ball from the hole and carried it a few feet away. He set
it down, then leaned over the putter and prepared to putt again.

“Anthony, has anything weird been happening to you?” I blurted out.

“Yeah,” Cole chimed in. “In the last two days—anything really weird?”

Anthony swung the golf club. It made a solid
thwock
as the club hit
the ball. The ball sailed across the grass and stopped a few inches from the
hole.

Anthony raised his eyes to us. “Yeah,” he replied. “Something weird
has
been happening. How did you know?”

“Because BLUUUCK the same weird thing has been happening to us,” I told him.

He stared hard at me. “Huh?”

Cole and I nodded.

Anthony made a face. He pretended to study his golf club. “You mean you suddenly started putting really well, too?” he
asked.

It was our turn to be surprised. “Putting? What does putting have to do with
it?” I cried.

“Well, that’s what’s so weird,” Anthony replied. “Before this weekend, I was
a lousy putter. Really bad news. I couldn’t even play mini-golf!”

“So what?” Cole chimed in.

“So this weekend I’m really good at it,” Anthony continued. He twirled the
club in his hand. “All of a sudden, I’m not a bad putter. Don’t you think that’s
weird?”