Feather Brain

  Feather Brain

  Feather Brain

  MAUREEN BUSH

  Text copyright © 2008 Maureen Bush

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Bush, Maureen A. (Maureen Averil), 1960-

  Feather Brain/written by Maureen Bush

  (Orca young readers)

  ISBN 978-1-55143-877-1

  1. Dinosaurs--Juvenile fiction. I. Title. II. Series.

  PS8603.U825F42 2008 jC813'.6 C2007-906963-0

  First published in the United States, 2008

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2007940945

  Summary: Lucas gets more than he bargained for when

  he orders a dinosaur-making kit off the Internet.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Typesetting by Bruce Collins

  Cover artwork by Eric Orchard

  Author photo by Barb Yates, Helen Scott Studios

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO BOX 5626, STN. B

  VICTORIA, BC CANADA

  V8R 6S4

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO BOX 468

  CUSTER, WA USA

  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  11 10 09 08 • 4 3 2 1

  For Mark, Adriene and Lia.

  Thanks for keeping me laughing.

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank Brian Cooley and Mary Ann Wilson for their wonderful book Make-a-Saurus: My Life with Raptors and Other Dinosaurs, the inspiration for Feather Brain.

  Thanks to Sarah Harvey for pulling my story out of the slush pile, for the fastest-ever acceptance and for such a careful and gentle edit.

  And many thanks to everyone at Orca for the wonderful work they do.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1 Make-a-Saurus

  CHAPTER 2 Stegy

  CHAPTER 3 Feather Brain

  CHAPTER 4 The Beast Attacks

  CHAPTER 5 Get Rid of It!

  CHAPTER 6 Dinosaurs at the Zoo

  CHAPTER 7 The Cat Came Back

  CHAPTER 8 To Catch a Thief

  CHAPTER 9 Parley

  CHAPTER 10 The Monster from the Lagoon

  CHAPTER 11 howweirdcanyouget.com

  CHAPTER 12 Onion Breath

  CHAPTER 1

  Make-a-Saurus

  “Lucas, mail for you,” Mom called up the stairs.

  “One of my packages?”

  “Both!”

  “All right,” I yelled. I bolted down the stairs and skidded to a halt at the front door.

  Our postie stood on the doorstep, snow melting on her shoulders, holding out two damp packages. Both were addressed to me, Lucas Clarke, in Calgary, Alberta. One was in a big flat envelope; the other, perched on top, was about the size of a large milk carton.

  “Something special?” she asked.

  “Birthday presents,” I said, taking them from her. “I mean, I ordered them with birthday money. They’re for making dinosaurs.”

  She grinned. “Show me when you’re done?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  She walked down the sidewalk, leaving tracks in the wet snow. It was the second Wednesday in March, two weeks after my tenth birthday, and I’d been dying for these packages to come.

  I sat on the stairs and tugged open the envelope. It held a thin book: Make-a-Saurus: My Life with Raptors and Other Dinosaurs, by Brian Cooley and Mary Ann Wilson. Dinosaur models leapt off the cover—a wire model, a clay one and a finished dinosaur, complete with feathers and teeth and claws. It looked totally real.

  I started turning pages, getting more and more excited. The book showed how Brian Cooley makes dinosaur models. Then it explained how kids could make them too.

  “Good book?” Mom asked, sitting beside me on the bottom step.

  “Look at this, Mom. It’s awesome.” I flipped through the book, describing everything.

  She laughed. “You’ve had it for five minutes and you’re already an expert?” She ruffled my hair. We both have red hair—mine short and bright, hers long and dark. “What’s in the box?”

  I was so excited about the book I’d forgotten about the other package—the dinosaur-making kit. Together, they’d be incredible!

  I tore open the box and pulled out a handful of scrunched-up paper. Then another and another. Was there anything inside?

  Finally I found it—one small glass test tube filled with clear liquid, topped with a cork stopper. It was sealed in a ziplock bag, along with a small piece of paper. I held up the bag. “This is it? This is supposed to be a dinosaur-making kit?!”

  Mom bit her lip. “I hate to say I told you so, but...”

  I groaned. “I know. You said, ‘You never know what you’ll get when you order off the Internet.’ But the ad looked so good!” I groaned again, dropped the test tube into the box and stuffed all the paper back on top. What a waste of twenty bucks. At least the book was great.

  I headed up to my room and flopped onto my bed to read. I didn’t stop until I’d finished the book. It was amazing; I couldn’t wait to get started. I grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil and started listing all the things I’d need.

  The dinosaur on the cover was a sinornithosaurus (pronounced sigh-nor-nih-tho-sore-us, according to Brian Cooley). It’s one of the feathered dinosaurs from China. That was what I really wanted to make, but I decided to do something easier for a trial run. I glanced out the window. Fat lazy snowflakes drifted down. Maybe I’d make a fat lazy herbivore.

  I turned back to my list. I’d need wire for the frame. We had wire cutters and masking tape, and I had lots of scraps of colored foam sheets I could use for padding. We had newspaper for papier-mâché, and I had lots of paint.

  I decided to make a stegosaurus and cover it with poppy seeds for the skin texture. I’d need something to use for teeth—what would work for that? What about the spikes for the tail? And the plates that stick out of his back—what could I make those with? Maybe if I wandered through the craft store I’d get some ideas.

  I wrote out everything I needed. Then I put down my pad with a grin. I’d talk Mom or Dad into taking me to the mall tomorrow.

  I spotted the other package where I’d dropped it on my table. Slowly, I unpacked the test tube again. There wasn’t much in it; the test tube was no bigger around than my pinky. The liquid was as clear as water, although it moved more slowly when I shook it. What was I supposed to do with it? I unfolded the piece of paper tucked in the bag:

  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

  And that was it. Weird was right. What a waste of money. I stuffed the paper and the test tube back in the box and tossed the box under my table. Then I dashed downstairs with my list.

  Mom took me to the mall after school on Thursday. It was snowing again. Mom shook snow off herself and brushed snow off my hair as we walked into the mall. I’d al
ready found something for dinosaur teeth when I was walking to school that morning. Gravel had been spread over the roads when they were icy. I kicked the snow away and picked out a dozen small rocks the same shape as my back teeth, but much smaller.

  I found a white comb at the dollar store for spikes on the tail, but nothing for the plates along the back of the stegosaurus.

  Mom had to buy some birthday cards, so she left me at the craft store with orders to meet her at the card shop when I was done. I wandered all through the store: yarn, embroidery floss, beads in tubes not much bigger than my dinosaur-kit test tube, pipe cleaners. I found wire, but nothing for back plates. I kept wandering. I could cut colored foam sheets into the shape I needed, but they’d be soft. Some scientists think the plates on stegosauruses were soft, for heating and cooling instead of for defense, but that didn’t sound very exciting.

  What would be hard enough? Cardboard, wood. What about the wooden cutout pieces? I rummaged through the bags: teddy bears, flowers, leaves, hearts. Come on! Why not just plain triangles? Then I took another look at the hearts. If I set them in upside down, there’d be just a point showing. That would work!

  Fishing in my jacket pocket for the money Mom had given me, I carried the wire and the bag of wooden hearts to the front desk. I counted out five dollars and looked around while the clerk rang it up. A kid with shaggy blond hair was leaning against a pillar outside the store. I held my breath. Let it not be Kyle, I prayed, let it be anyone but Kyle! He turned; I groaned. It was Kyle.

  He was the meanest boy in my class, maybe even in all of grade four, and he especially hated me. He’d hated me ever since I first came to the school last September. “Red curls?” he’d said, looking me over. “Hey, Lucas has girly curls.” Which is why I keep my hair short, too short to curl. But Kyle always finds something to bug me about.

  I turned my back and hunched over the counter. There was no way I wanted him to know I was buying hearts! When the clerk handed me my bag, I took a deep breath and tried to look tough as I sauntered out of the store.

  Kyle stepped right in front of me. He was taller and heavier than me, and he knew it. “Shopping in the craft store, Clarke? What a girl!”

  I flushed and tried to stuff the bag into my pocket. I could feel the little wooden hearts sending out flashing messages: Clarke bought wooden hearts. Clarke bought wooden hearts.

  I swear Kyle heard them. He reached for the bag. “What have you got in there?”

  I pulled it back, close to my chest. He grabbed at it, tearing the bag.

  I pushed him away. “Back off, Kyle. What I buy is none of your business.” I sounded tough, but I could feel my face becoming as red as my hair. Of course Kyle noticed.

  He imitated me, in a high-pitched voice, “‘What I buy is none of your business.’”

  I just turned and walked away, clutching my bag and thanking the Great Stegosaurus in the Sky that Kyle hadn’t seen those wooden hearts.

  I checked over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following me and smacked straight into Mom. She caught me, and then checked to see what I’d been looking at.

  “Is that a boy from school you were talking to? Why don’t you invite him over? You should have friends over sometimes.”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “I see him at school all the time. I’d rather just work on my models at home.” In fact, Kyle was the reason I never invited anyone over. He was the reason I had no friends at all. No one dared to be friends with me, not with Kyle around.

  But I really did like working on my models. As soon as I got home, I cleared off my table. I have a work table under my window, instead of a desk, for making models. Under the table are three plastic boxes full of dinosaur-making supplies. Finished models live all around my room, on the shelves and hanging from the ceiling. I also have dinosaur footprints on the floor and dinosaur posters on the walls.

  The book said to start with a sketch. I searched through all my dinosaur books until I found a good side view of a stegosaurus skeleton, and I made a rough sketch from that. Then I pulled out the wire to start the frame.

  I checked the book again. It said, “To make two hind legs and two arms, just make the same limb twice, except in mirror image. You don’t want a dinosaur with two right hind legs, otherwise it will walk around in circles!” I laughed. If I could have a dinosaur that walked, I wouldn’t mind if it walked in circles.

  But I didn’t laugh much after that. Working with wire is nasty. I had five scratches and two holes in my fingers by bedtime. And my dinosaur still kept falling on its nose.

  I got up early Friday morning, threw on some clothes and worked until Mom made me come down for breakfast. At least she didn’t complain when I gulped down my cereal and ran back to my room. By the time I had to leave for school, I finally had a frame I liked. I walked to school happy, even though I had to trudge through six inches of wet snow.

  After school I pulled out a bag of colored foam bits and started padding the dinosaur. The legs were easy; I just imagined elephant legs. But the body was awful. I struggled to make it big enough without it looking like a fat lump.

  I had to pad it a bit but not shape it totally, because I’d be adding papier-mâché. I didn’t put any foam on the head. Stegosauruses had really small heads and tiny brains. I figured wire and papier-mâché would be enough for that.

  When I was done, it looked like some lumpy multi-colored weirdness, not like a dinosaur at all. How could this possibly work?

  CHAPTER 2

  Stegy

  Dad rented a video for Friday night so I wouldn’t disappear into my bedroom right after dinner. Saturday after breakfast, Mom made me clean my room and do my homework. Then Dad insisted I help him shovel the walks, which took forever because the snow was so deep. We both groaned about spring in Calgary. At least the sun came out, and it was warm.

  By afternoon, they were ready to leave me alone, and I got to work. I tore up strips of paper, filled a red plastic tub with water and set it on an old towel on the table. I pulled out a green plastic bowl and half filled it with water. Then I searched for my white glue.

  While I was groping around in my plastic boxes, I spotted the dinosaur-making kit behind them. Should I use it? Why bother, I thought as I straightened up with the glue in my hand. I opened the top and turned the glue bottle upside down over the bowl. The dinosaur kit was just junk. My hand tightened in anger, and a huge blob of glue oozed out and blorped into the water. I groaned. That was way too much. I stirred it in with a paint brush; it was definitely too thick.

  I glared down at the kit. “It’s all your fault,” I muttered. “Maybe I will use you, just to thin out my gloop.” I grabbed the box, yanked out all the packing paper and pulled the test tube out of the bag. I was going to dump it all in. Then I remembered the note said it could make one large or three small projects, so I slowed myself down and poured carefully. I was hoping it would do something interesting, like smoke or bubble, but all it did was drip. I poured one-third of the liquid into the bowl, stuffed the cork back into the test tube and stirred the potion into the watery glue. It was still too thick. I slowly added water until it was just the right consistency.

  All afternoon I dipped newspaper strips in the watery glue and carefully wrapped them around my model. Soon I had sticky water dripping off my elbows, paper bits stuck to the back of my hands, and an itchy nose I didn’t dare scratch. I rubbed it on my sleeve and kept working.

  Once I’d finished the first layer, I cut slits in the wet papier-mâché. I wasn’t sure if I should do it right away or when the paper was dry, but if I waited and was wrong, I couldn’t go back. I cut the slits with scissors and set in the wooden hearts, upside down so only the pointy part stuck out. My dinosaur books couldn’t agree on whether the plates pointed straight up or if they alternated, pointing up to the left and then up to the right, all down the spine, so I picked alternating because I thought it would look good. Then I set the dinosaur on the windowsill to dry.

 
; It wasn’t ready for another layer of papier-mâché until Sunday morning. I did a second, thinner coat and left it in the sun to dry while Mom, Dad and I went tobogganing.

  We walked down to Confederation Park, all layered up in ski jackets and pants and boots, not because it was cold, but because the snow was melting and we knew we’d get soaked. Dad picked a north-facing slope because the snow was already gone in patches on the sunny side of the park.

  We had an awesome time, whipping down the hill. The snow was really fast because it was so wet. When we hit the bottom, water sprayed all around us. Then we got cold—the wind had a bite to it, and it cut through our wet clothes right to the skin. We didn’t care. This was probably our last chance before spring really took hold, and we didn’t want to waste it.

  Until Kyle arrived. He roared down the hill, not caring who was below him, blasting past us with a whoop. I tugged my toque down over my hair, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me. But Mom’s long red braid was bouncing against her back. He seemed to hate red hair. What if he recognized hers?

  “Let’s go,” I said as we slowed at the bottom. I wanted to be walking away before Kyle headed back up the hill. “I’m wet, and I can’t wait for some hot chocolate.”

  Mom and Dad glanced at each other, surprised at such a sudden change. Then they shrugged and smiled at me.

  “Sure, hon, whatever you want,” Mom said.

  Dad chased me while Mom pulled the toboggan behind us. I dashed up the hill out of the park, glancing over my shoulder. Kyle was trudging up the slope, looking down. He hadn’t seen me!

  We came home soaked, red-cheeked and happy. After changing into dry clothes and warming up with mugs of Dad’s special hot chocolate, I went upstairs to add one more layer of papier-mâché. I shaped the head, creating eyebrows and a nose, and then I thickened the legs at the knees.