Feather Brain Page 2

  When I was done, I set it out to dry while I worked on my homework. As soon as I got Make-a-Saurus, I knew I had to use it for my book report. The kids in my class liked dinosaurs; I figured they’d love this report. And Kyle couldn’t stop it, not with our teacher there.

  On Monday I wore my dark green dinosaur T-shirt, the one with a picture of a dinosaur skeleton in the middle and Paleontologist in Training written underneath. And I brought Make-a-Saurus and my almost-finished stegosaurus. On the way to school I named him Stegy.

  I’d wanted to bring a finished model, but it turned out bringing a partially done one was a better way to explain the book. The whole class seemed interested, even Kyle, except he tried to hide it. I could tell everyone liked it by the silence, and by their eyes—intent on me, my T-shirt, the book and Stegy. But when it was time for questions, Kyle crossed his arms and glowered, and suddenly everyone was looking down.

  My teacher, Miss Dubois, said, “What? No questions? I thought you guys would be bursting with them after such an interesting book report.”

  Kyle shot rays of hate out of his eyes at me. Everyone else kept their eyes glued to their desks. So Miss Dubois asked a couple of questions; then I sat down.

  I was so mad. I could tell by the glances from the kids around me that they were really interested in Stegy. I sat and stroked his back. I carefully packed him in my backpack at recess so no one could take a look while I wasn’t there. If they didn’t have the guts to disobey Kyle, I wasn’t going to let them touch Stegy.

  After school, Kyle stood on the steps, glowering at anyone who glanced my way. Stegy and I walked home alone.

  I went right back to work on Stegy when I got home. He’d be great, and no one at school would ever see him again!

  I cut four large teeth from the comb for spikes on the tail, putting my anger into every cut. I hate Kyle—snip. I hate Kyle—snip. When I picked up Stegy I calmed down; I wasn’t angry with him. I used a big needle to poke holes for the spikes and glued the spikes into place. Using the tip of my scissors, I dug out larger holes in his mouth and glued in bits of gravel for teeth. Then I glued on some googly eyes, the kind that rattle when you shake them.

  I got the jar of poppy seeds Mom said was in the back of the fridge and used a paintbrush to coat Stegy in glue. Carefully, I sprinkled poppy seeds onto the wet glue, but I should have worked on one section at a time. The glue dried too fast, and I had to put on more glue near places poppy seeds were already sticking. Soon I had poppy seeds in my glue and glue in the poppy seeds. I guess the extras weren’t going back in the fridge! Eventually, Stegy was all gray from little seeds, and I could soak my brush and hands to clean up while the glue dried.

  After supper I dug out my paint, four paintbrushes of different sizes, a cup for water and a roll of paper towels. I flipped through my books until I found a colored stegosaurus painting I really liked and set to work.

  I started by painting most of the body green. While the paint dried, I worked on my spelling list. Then I used beige paint, mostly along the spine, with some trickling down between the back plates. I let it dry another hour while I finished a page of math and had a shower. Just before bed I pulled out the red paint. I painted red edges on the back plates and red stripes on the white spikes. I added a little red around the mouth and below the eyes and set him to dry overnight.

  In the morning I painted the toes black and added a touch of black around the mouth. He looked awesome! He was a bit lumpy, like Mr. Garner across the street, but I didn’t care.

  I took Stegy down to breakfast so Mom and Dad could admire him and not be mad about the gluey jar of poppy seeds. Mom just laughed and added poppy seeds to the shopping list. She said I could leave Stegy in the middle of the table as a centerpiece, but I took him back to my room. I set him in the middle of my table—he was my best model ever.

  I raced to school, thrilled by how well Stegy had turned out. It finally felt like spring: warm and gentle. Most of the grass was still dull brown from the winter, but I could see little bits of green around the bases of trees.

  In class, I put up my hand to tell Miss Dubois I’d finished Stegy, and I described how I’d done it. She grinned and asked the class if they’d like me to bring him in. But Kyle cleared his throat and hunched his shoulders, and everyone kept their eyes down and their mouths shut.

  Every moment of free time, all day, Kyle stalked around, his eyes narrowed, looking for the right moment to torment me. No one dared ask about Stegy.

  I dragged myself through the rest of the day and slipped out quickly after school. The sun was gone, the sky was gray and the wind was cold and biting. I pulled my jacket close around me and hurried home, shivering.

  I raced upstairs to check on Stegy and slid to a halt in the middle of my room. He wasn’t where I’d left him on the table. Had Mom cleaned my room and moved him? Slowly I turned, looking on every surface in the room. Where was he?

  Then I spotted him, behind the dinosaur-kit box I’d left on the corner of the table. “How did you get there?” I muttered as I picked him up. Then I dropped him right back down on the table. He was warm. I glanced out the window; the sky was dark with clouds. “How could you be warm?” I asked.

  I picked him up again and gasped. He was moving! Not from me picking him up, but...from breathing? I held him in my hands and stared. His sides really were moving, very slightly, in and out, in and out. He looked better than when I’d made him, leaner and stronger somehow. And more real. This was weird.

  As I started to set him down, he turned his head and looked at me. I yelped and dropped him. How could he be alive? I reached out to touch him and he spun away from me and swung his tail. I snatched back my hand; those spikes were a lot sharper than teeth from a comb!

  I knelt and looked at him. He stared back. I held out my hand, slowly, and laid it on the table in front of him. He looked at me, and then he stepped up to my hand. He sniffed it, stepped back and gazed at me. I smiled. “Hi,” I said.

  He turned away. I watched him walk all around the table top, stopping to sniff at everything. When he got to the plastic bowl, he leaned in and licked the water pooled in the bottom.

  “Are you thirsty?” I asked. “Of course you are. Probably hungry too.”

  I glanced around my room. What would a stegosaurus eat? Plants. There wasn’t much green in the garden yet. Maybe I could raid the fridge.

  I raced downstairs, slipped into the kitchen and grabbed a bowl of water and a handful of lettuce leaves. Then I ran upstairs, so excited I could hardly breathe. As I stepped into my room, I closed my door. I didn’t want anyone to know about this!

  “Hey, Stegy,” I said in a soft voice. He backed away from me, tail waving. I walked up to him, holding out a lettuce leaf in one hand and the water in the other. I set the bowl on the table with the leaf beside it and stood back. Stegy watched me for a moment and then stepped toward the water. He sniffed and bent down for a long drink. He drank again; then he looked up at me, still wary.

  “Go on, try the lettuce,” I said. I knew he didn’t understand me, but he nibbled an edge and then settled down to eat. He ate slowly, chewing carefully just like Mom says I should. He kept going, only stopping when every bit of lettuce was gone. Then he went back to exploring the table.

  When he got too near the edge, I picked him up. He growled and swung his tail. I grabbed it and lowered him to the floor. Then I let go and jumped back. “I just thought you’d like to explore some more,” I said. “And I don’t want you falling off the table.”

  I put the water down near him and sat on my bed to watch. Slowly, he checked out my whole room. He sniffed at my shoes; then he disappeared under my bed and came out dusty and sneezing. I gave him a ball to play with, but he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

  Mom knocked and, before I could say anything, opened the door. I spun around to block her view of Stegy sniffing the ball. “Dinner’s ready. Have you done your homework yet?”

  “I—uh—don’t have much
—just my spelling list. I’ll do it after supper.”

  “Okay. Come on down.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” I waited until she closed the door. Then I turned back to Stegy. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back soon. And I’ll bring you something more to eat.” Stegy snorted gently against the side of the ball. I patted him and left, closing my door behind me.

  For the first time in my life, I asked for more vegetables at dinner. I’d grabbed a Baggie and sat with it tucked between my legs. Whenever my parents looked away, I dropped something into the bag. Spoonfuls of corn. Cooked carrots. Chunks of potatoes.

  Mom was astounded. “When did you start to eat vegetables?”

  I just grinned and squirmed. “I don’t know. Are potatoes vegetables?”

  Dad laughed and served me more. “Yes, they are.”

  Stegy didn’t think much of cooked food. I had to sneak down for raw carrots and more lettuce before he’d eat again.

  Wednesday after school I took Stegy out to play. White clouds raced across the sky, and sunshine warmed our backs. I carried Stegy into the backyard, where lots of snow had melted, and let him graze on the little bits of bright green grass around the apple tree at the back of the garden. He chowed down on the grass, eating all the green spears. Then he kept going, grazing on dried grass. I lay back, propped on one elbow, and watched him. It was a bit like having a tiny pet cow.

  “Hi, Lucas,” called my dad. I sat up with a jerk. He came striding across the lawn, too fast for me to hide Stegy. I just sat there, stunned. This was my secret. I didn’t want anyone else to know!

  Dad sat beside me and as he sat, he grabbed Stegy. “Wow, he looks so good!”

  I reached out for Stegy, knowing Dad would drop him as soon as he realized he was alive.

  But Dad hung on. He turned Stegy over, examining him carefully. “This is cool. You did an incredible job. I’m really proud of you.”

  I just sat there, open mouthed, waiting.

  “You should take it to school, to class. I bet lots of kids would be interested in how you did it.”

  Yeah, right, I thought. Not with Kyle around.

  Dad put Stegy back on the ground, jumped up and turned away. “Dinner in half an hour,” he called over his shoulder.

  I sat staring. How could he not have noticed? I looked down at Stegy. He glanced up at me and then turned back to grazing. I thought about what Stegy had done when Dad was here—nothing. Absolutely nothing. He hadn’t moved at all. Was I the only one who could see him alive?

  Just before dinner, I took Stegy back upstairs. I made sure he had water. Then I pulled out the dinosaur kit and shook the test tube gently. Enough for three small projects. I grinned and read the directions again, muttering. “‘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.’”

  I sure was astounded! I kind of liked the part about him being mine for life; why would that need to be a warning? This was the best birthday present ever! And I wasn’t going to share him with anyone. Not ever! As I went down for dinner, I shut my door and hung a sign on my doorknob:

  Special Project Underway

  Do Not Enter

  CHAPTER 3

  Feather Brain

  On Thursday I put on another dinosaur T-shirt: white with three feathered dinosaurs on the front. Maybe that would get the other kids talking to me. If they knew about Stegy, they’d all want to be my friends, but I wasn’t about to share him. Not now. Besides, I wasn’t sure who else could see that he was alive. If any adult knew what I had, I was pretty sure they wouldn’t let me keep him.

  It was cool in the schoolyard before the bell rang, but I took my jacket off anyway, to show off my T-shirt. A couple of guys gathered around to look at it. I started to describe the recent discoveries about feathered dinosaurs. They were really interested, until Kyle arrived.

  He swaggered up in his too-big black jacket, blue eyes snapping as he realized kids were talking to me.

  “Hey, Clarke!” he called out, standing just beyond the circle of kids. They turned at his voice and slowly drew back from me, leaving me alone to face Kyle.

  He stood with the sun behind him; I squinted up at him, trying to see his face.

  “What’s that on your T-shirt? Feathered dinosaurs?” He laughed. “Yeah, right. Dinosaurs fly? Only a feather brain would come up with something that stupid.”

  He grinned and looked around. The other kids shuffled their feet, but no one told him he was the feather brain.

  “Let’s see. Lucas Clarke. Luke Clarke. Lark! Hey, Lark! Hey, Feather Brain!”

  I knew he wanted me to take a swing at him, but I just stood there, totally still. I told myself that he was the idiot, that I was bigger than this. But my face gave me away. I could feel the flush start at my neck and surge up into my face.

  Kyle grinned; he knew he’d won. “Hey, what’s that on your face, Lark?” He leaned closer to me. “Those spots—are they—are they splashes of bird crud?” He flicked my cheek with one finger.

  Freckles—he was talking about my freckles! I turned bright red, my face matching my hair. Kyle laughed and sauntered off, and all the kids slipped away while I stood flaming in embarrassment.

  I spent the day feeling angry and humiliated. Kyle’s the idiot, I thought over and over all day. No one would look me in the eye, and they all stayed away from me at recess and lunch. After school I stomped home in fury.

  I knew I’d have friends if it weren’t for Kyle. Every step home I muttered, “I hate Kyle. I hate Kyle. I hate Kyle!”

  As soon as I got home, I started to work on a new dinosaur. This time I wasn’t going to make a nice little grass eater, a placid cow. I wanted something fierce, something nasty, something strong enough to take on Kyle.

  I sketched in great dark slashes and cut wire with a chant for every snip. I hate Kyle—snip. I hate Kyle— snip.

  This time I was making a sinornithosaurus. I had to double-check how to pronounce it: Sigh-nor-nihtho-sore-us. It meant Chinese reptile bird. But what it really meant was Eat your words, Kyle. I’d show him he didn’t know anything about feathered dinosaurs. I was going to make a nasty, carnivorous, feathered dinosaur, take it to school and teach the whole class how wrong Kyle was.

  I used the model in Make-a-Saurus to base my sketch on, so I could move on to the wire structure really quickly. It was easier this time. I had a better idea of how to work with the wire, and I was so mad I didn’t mind getting poked. I just rubbed away the blood and kept working all Thursday evening and every moment I could on Friday.

  I struggled to get the limbs just right to support the body; it kept falling over. Stegy wandered over, curious. I pushed him away. I needed to concentrate. I kept at it until it would stand, but then it looked too tame. I wanted something wild, like on the cover of the book. I looked carefully at the picture and adjusted my model, trying to imagine it covered in papier-mâché and painted. Finally, I had it. It looked ferocious— absolutely perfect.

  I worked all weekend. Saturday morning I wrapped it in layers of foam, much thinner than for Stegy. Then I made up more papier-mâché goop, carefully dripping in exactly half of the liquid left in my test tube. Hands shaking, I slowly stirred it into the glue-and-water mix. I felt great, like I was creating life.

  I tore the paper into thinner strips and went more slowly than I had with Stegy. It had to be just right. This time I took Brian Cooley’s suggestion about using dryer lint for details like shaping the shoulders, eyelids and throat. Mom didn’t even blink when I told her what I wanted. She’s used to my projects.

  Saturday afternoon I set the sinornithosaurus in the sun on the windowsill to dry. I opened the window to a warm breeze. The world was still brown, with only a few bits of green grass showing, but it felt like spring.

  “Stegy, do you want to go outside?” I asked. He gazed up at me, dark eyes gleaming. I smiled and picked him up. A lot of my anger
at Kyle had been used up in making the sinornithosaurus.

  I took Stegy out to the front garden. First he grazed on the new grass along the edge of the front flower bed. Then he wandered into the bed and began eating the tips of crocus bulbs. It looked like he loved them; he settled in for a long, slow dinner.

  Then he put his head down and grunted. I wasn’t sure why, until I clued in. He was pooping. My first thought was, Oh, gross! but that was immediately followed by, Coprolites! I have my own coprolites. That’s dinosaur poop. Of course, I quickly learned the difference between fossilized dinosaur poop and the fresh stuff. But still, dinosaur poop!

  I sat, warm in the sun, enjoying Stegy and his poop, until Kyle came by.

  “Playing with your cow, Feather Brain?” he called from the sidewalk. “Moo, moo!” He doubled over, laughing.

  I glanced at Stegy; he was motionless, just a model.

  Mom walked around the corner of the house, holding a pruning saw in gloved hands, bits of leaves clinging to her long red hair.

  Kyle stopped suddenly and stared at Mom. When she smiled at him, he looked startled; he slowly smiled back. Then he turned to me, his face still. “See you later, Clarke,” he said as he turned and walked away.

  Mom watched Kyle leave; then she looked at me sitting on the grass with Stegy. She squatted near me, folded up her pruning saw and tugged off her leather gloves.

  “I worry about you, Lucas,” she said, touching my head. “Always alone. Why didn’t you invite your friend in? You never have friends over, not since we moved here. You do know they’re welcome, don’t you? Even if I’m working when you get home, I won’t mind.”

  “I know, Mom,” I said. “He’s not someone I want to get to know better.”

  “Is there anyone else? You really need a friend.”

  I squirmed. Sure, I thought, but with Kyle around I’ll never have one. I sighed. It wasn’t like I could tell her, Mom, Kyle hates me, and everyone else is afraid of him, so they can’t be my friends. My stomach knotted around the words. Mom would be horrified. She’d march straight to the school—and all that would happen is that Kyle would hate me even more.