Feather Brain (7 page)

The next days were great. The weather was great, the blue sky was great, even the greening-up grass was great. I was free! Kyle was horrible, but I just rubbed the scars on my arms and was thankful I only had Kyle to deal with.

Dad kept me practicing times tables, but since the beast was gone I could remember things again. He was so pleased with my improvement that he stopped insisting we practice every night.

For weeks, life was great, until one night near the end of April. Mom was frantic, with only days left to finish her clients' tax returns. Dad was tired of doing all the cooking and cleaning, so he'd ordered Indian take-out.

I had just served myself a big pile of palao rice and butter chicken when we heard screeching in the garden. We turned to the French doors leading out to the backyard. All we could see was a flurry of movement and then a fluttering of feathers on the deck.

“An owl must have caught a bird,” my dad said, turning back to his supper.

But I wasn't so sure. Most of the feathers were black and white and small, like from a chickadee, but one larger feather was soft brown, a lot like the feathers I'd bought for making the beast. I looked around the yard and glimpsed something slipping into the bushes. It didn't look much like an owl.

Suddenly I felt so sick I couldn't swallow my mouthful of butter chicken. I ran to the bathroom and spat it into the toilet. I rinsed out my mouth and washed my hands while I talked to myself in the mirror. “What if the beast is back? How could he be? Not from the zoo—that's too far!”

All through dinner I was hyperalert, twitching at every sound from outside. All I could eat was rice and naan bread; just the thought of eating anything else turned my stomach.

After I carried my plate to the kitchen counter, I walked back to the French doors and stared outside.
I couldn't see a thing out of place in the backyard, except the sprinkling of feathers on the deck. But that was enough. A bird had died, and I was pretty sure it was because of me.

Then I heard a yowl. It came from the front of the house, not the backyard. I ran to the living room window, searching for what had made the sound. There, in the far corner of the yard, near the sidewalk, was Mr. Garner's ginger cat, back arched, hissing at a bush. She clawed at something and then leapt forward. My heart surged; maybe she was hunting the beast! Maybe she could stop him! She and the beast rolled out of the bush, clawing and scratching at each other. She was bigger; surely she would win. But then, with a terrible yowl, she jumped free and raced across the road.

The beast sat back, and I swear he smirked. He was back! How did he get here from the zoo? Why was he alive to other animals, but not for all humans?

I felt like I was living in some horror version of that song “The Cat Came Back.” When I was little I'd sing the chorus with Dad. We'd end all slow and sad, “But the cat came back, he just wouldn't stay away.”

It was a favorite of my dad's, and I used to like it. Not anymore. How had he found me? What was I going to do?

When the beast disappeared into the bushes, I yelled for Dad. “There's something in the front yard. It scared Mr. Garner's cat. Come look with me?”

He walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He stood beside me, peering out the window. “I don't see anything.”

“There, by the bushes,” I said, pointing. “Mr. Garner's cat attacked something. Then he ran away, yowling.”

“Let's have a look, then,” Dad said as he put down the towel.

We slipped on our shoes and walked into the front yard. I held back while Dad walked straight to the far corner of the yard. He laughed and leaned down. When he stood he was holding the beast.

“Do you think this scared her?” he asked, still laughing. “Maybe you shouldn't make them so realistic,” he said as he handed the beast to me.

Maybe not, I thought, stifling an hysterical laugh.

As we walked back into the house, I said, “Come up to my room? I'd like to talk about what I might make next.”

Dad shook his head. “Sorry, Lucas, but I have to finish in the kitchen. Your mom's already back at work.”

I sighed and turned to go upstairs. Then I changed my mind and followed Dad into the kitchen, grabbed a cookie and headed upstairs.

As soon as I was out of Dad's sight, the beast came to life. He tightened his claws on my hand. Then he turned and glared at me. I swear he looked just like Kyle planning something nasty.

Hesitantly, I held out the cookie. I'd only ever seen him eat meat, but maybe he liked gingersnaps. The beast sniffed at it, snatched it up and ate it, cookie bits flying. He was like the Cookie Monster gone to the dark side. I shuddered as I scrambled up the stairs and into my room. He just stared at me while he devoured his cookie.

I dashed to my closet, but the doors were closed. I set the beast down on my bed with the cookie, hip-checked the bedroom door shut and nudged Stegy into his box with my foot. I opened the closet doors and grabbed a plastic box from under the table. I dumped out all the craft supplies, buttons rolling everywhere, and dropped the box over the beast. He shrieked, but I ignored him. I slid a sheet of cardboard underneath the box and carried the whole thing to the closet. I set it on the closet floor and shut the doors, my hands shaking.

Once the beast was safely in the closet, with my dresser pushed in front of the doors again, I knelt by Stegy's box and pulled him out. He was quivering; so was I. I petted him. Then I set him down so he could wander. I sat in a daze, not having a clue what to do. But I had to do something! I couldn't live like this.

Stegy's box, the box the dinosaur-making potion came in, lay beside me on the floor. I glared at it, hating the potion that started all this.

Then I started to think. Maybe if I reread the instructions I could figure out what to do. I jumped up, excited. Maybe my answer lay on that little bit of paper! But where was it?

I prayed while I searched: please, please, please let there be an answer on the paper. I finally found the test tube in its Baggie at the bottom of a plastic box, surrounded by loose buttons and escaped googly eyes.

I grabbed the Baggie and pulled out the paper with shaking hands. I almost couldn't bear to read it—what if it didn't help? Slowly I unfolded it, closed my eyes for a moment, and read:

Make A Dinosaur Come To Life

Mix the solution with your papiermâché goop (glue or flour paste) and make a papier-mâché dinosaur. There is enough for three small projects or one large. You will be astounded at how lifelike your dinosaur will become for you. But be warned: what you create is yours for life unless it is stolen from you.
www.howweirdcanyouget.com

My heart dropped to the floor. No one would ever steal it! I was stuck with it for life!

I imagined years of torn sweatshirts and dirty jeans and a stinky closet. I imagined Mom more and more mad at me. And if I tried to tell my parents, they'd never believe me, because he was never alive when they saw him! I sat at my desk, slumped in misery.

I finally moved when I heard whistling. I looked out my window and saw Kyle walking by. He stopped right in front of my house but was staring across the street. What was he looking at? He glanced at my house, turned back and lobbed a rock at Mr. Garner's cat.
What a creep!
He'd
steal the beast, if he could. He was mean enough! I didn't think he'd break into my house, but if he could steal it at school, say, he would. I just bet he would!

Then I thought about it. Kyle would steal the beast. Could I leave him somewhere, accidentally? Someplace Kyle would walk by? Then the beast would be gone from my life and—bonus—Kyle would be stuck with him! How cool was that? But how could I do it?

I planned all night while Mom and Dad thought I was sleeping. As soon as it was light, I jumped out of bed and set to work. First, I snuck downstairs for lettuce, a carrot and sliced roast beef. I'd convinced my parents I wanted roast beef for lunch every day, so I had a regular supply for the beast. I dug an old leather bag Mom never used out of the hall cupboard.

I fed Stegy and then let him wander while I made my bed and packed up my backpack. I put on a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, with my torn sweatshirt over top. If I sent any more torn clothes to the laundry, Mom was sure to notice, even in tax season.

Then I pushed Stegy into his box and set Mom's leather bag by the closet doors with a slice of roast beef in the bottom and some more nearby. I pulled on my
bike helmet and leather gloves. Then, and only then, I pushed aside my dresser and opened the closet doors just a crack. I slipped a piece of meat in and dropped it to the floor. The beast pounced before I heard the meat land.

While he was eating, I yanked open the closet doors and dropped the bag over his head. He shrieked and fought while I tried to stuff him deep into the bag; I wished I'd remembered to turn on my radio.

“Lucas?” Mom called from down the hall.

“Just practicing dinosaur calls,” I yelled back.

“A little quieter, please. It sounds like something's dying in there.”

“I'll try,” I said, struggling to push the beast further into the bag. He sank his teeth into my thumb and clung. I pushed him down with that hand, while his teeth were busy, and grabbed him with my other hand through the bag and squeezed. He let go of my thumb with a shriek.

“Lucas!”

I quickly tied up the bag. “Sorry!”

The beast finally settled down to gorge on the roast beef I'd left in the bottom of the bag.

I looked at the blood oozing from the row of holes on my thumb. The thought of the roast beef on the
beast's teeth ground into my flesh was disgusting. I scrubbed my thumb, sprayed it and wrapped it in a bandage.

Only then, when the beast couldn't do any more damage, did I change into my black tyrannosaurus rex T-shirt, the one with the white skull across the front and a dark gray head rising up behind it. I wanted to get Kyle's attention first thing.

It worked. Kyle stopped me in the schoolyard. “Trying to look tough, Lark?” he said. “No more feather-brain dinosaurs?”

I stared back at him, trying not to smile. I'd teach him about feather-brain dinosaurs!

All day Kyle glared at anyone who came near me. I didn't care. Soon I'd be free of the beast, and Kyle would be stuck with him! I just knew my plan would work.

I made sure he saw what was in the bag. At lunch-time I lifted out the beast while Kyle was grabbing his lunch. He pretended not to be interested, but I could feel him watching me put the beast back into the bag.

After school I loaded up my backpack with all the junk from my desk: dinosaur drawings, books, work
I'd finished and didn't need at school anymore. Soon my backpack was stuffed. I slung it on my back, carried the leather bag with the beast in my left hand and cradled a pile of dinosaur books in my right arm.