Feather Brain Page 3

  “I’ll see, Mom,” I said. “I do hang out with kids at school—in class and at recess.”

  “Okay,” she said, smiling. She patted Stegy and stood. Then she saw the crocuses, tips chewed right down to the dirt. “Look at these! They were just coming up—the first flowers of the year. They look like they’ve been eaten!” She scowled, looking around the yard for the culprit.

  I pushed Stegy behind me. “I saw a rabbit crossing the street early this morning,” I said, hoping to divert her.

  She scowled again and stomped off, muttering about rabbit stew.

  Sunday morning I painted my sinornithosaurus brown. I planned to add details around the face and nails later; first, I needed a basecoat.

  I spent all afternoon fussing with the details. I cut the small teeth off my white comb for dinosaur teeth and carefully set in each one. But what could I use for toenails? I sat fiddling with the comb, wondering if a black one might work. Then I remembered the feathers I’d bought on Saturday. I dumped out the bag on my bed and picked out the largest feathers. Carefully I cut off all the long, dark ends and set them into my sinornithosaurus’s feet. They looked wicked—sharp and curving.

  Feathering the dinosaur was absolutely the worst part. First I had to sort the feathers. I laid them out on my bed by size and color. Then I had to arrange them all over again when a gust of wind from the open window scattered them across my room.

  I had to glue them on in rows, starting at the bottom of the legs and along the belly, then slowly working up the body. Feathers stuck to the glue on my fingers and flew up my nose. I kept rubbing my itchy nose on my sleeve and ended up with glue on my nose and feathers on my sleeve.

  Finally, I was done. Monday morning before school I did the final paint touchup, mostly black around the toes and eyes. Then I set it on the windowsill to dry completely and raced to school. I’d never felt happier. I knew nothing Kyle could do would touch me; I was invincible.

  It was a beautiful day. Somehow Kyle must have known he wouldn’t be able to get to me, because he left me alone, even at recess. I talked to a couple of guys about dinosaurs and told them more about my new book. They admired my black T-shirt with the growling glow-in-the-dark dinosaur head. It’s my Don’t Mess With Me T-shirt, and it worked.

  I was happy all day. After school I shot out the door. I couldn’t wait to get home.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Beast Attacks

  As soon as I stepped into the house, Mom stormed out of her office, a sheaf of tax papers forgotten in one hand. “Lucas! Lucas Clarke! I want to talk to you!”

  Oh, no! Had she found Stegy? I put down my backpack with a thump and slipped off my runners, watching her out of the corner of my eye.

  “Your room is a complete mess! I brought up your clean laundry, and your room is a disaster! I didn’t even try to clean it up. If you want your room to be private, there are going to be some rules! Number one: KEEP IT CLEAN. Number two: Bring your dirty laundry to the laundry room every morning. Number three: No food in your room. Number four: Put away your clean laundry. Is that perfectly clear?”

  I stood there, petrified. Of her, of course—my mom’s scary when she’s mad. Maybe I should sic her on Kyle! But even more than that, I was petrified that she had seen something—what if she found out Stegy was alive?

  I squeaked, “Sorry, Mom. Yeah, I’ll clean it all up and I’ll follow the rules. I promise.”

  She stomped back into her office, looking disappointed she couldn’t yell at me anymore, and I raced upstairs. My room wasn’t that bad, was it?

  It was. It was totally trashed: bedding dragged off the bed, pillow spewing feathers, models knocked off the shelves. What had happened? The sinornithosaurus was sitting on the windowsill, just where I’d left him, facing the window. Where was Stegy? Could he have done all this?

  I searched my room and finally found him under my table, cowering inside the dinosaur-kit box. The edge was damaged; it looked like it had been chewed. I reached inside to pull Stegy out. He roared and growled.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” I said in a soft voice. I laid my hand inside the box so he could sniff it. “It’s just me. What have you been doing? My room is a total mess. How could you do this all by yourself?” While I spoke, I slid my hand under his belly and pulled him forward.

  Then something hit my back. I dropped Stegy and leapt up, but whatever it was clung to me, scratching and clawing. I screamed and shook it loose. I could hear it drop to the floor behind me. I spun around, and my new sinornithosaurus reared up on the rug, screeching. He launched himself at me again, raking his claws down my arm. I grabbed a book and beat him back. When he was on the floor on the far side of the bed, I dashed out the door, slamming it behind me. I leaned against it, panting, while he screamed and clawed at the door. What had I done?

  I remembered how hungry Stegy had been the first day and how thirsty he was. Maybe the sinornithosaurus was hungry. I dashed downstairs and checked out the fridge. Cheese, milk, bread. He was a carnivore. Was there any meat? I found some sliced roast beef for sandwiches. I grabbed five slices, some lettuce for Stegy, a bowl and a glass of water. Then I crept back up the stairs, hoping Mom wouldn’t see me taking food up.

  “Lucas, what’s with all the noise?” Mom called from her office.

  “I’m practicing something for school,” I said, praying she wouldn’t get up from her desk.

  “Just keep it to a dull roar, would you?”

  Usually I hate tax season, when Mom is too busy for anything but work, but for once I was thankful her desk was piled high with tax forms.

  The scratches on my back stung as I slipped upstairs. I paused at the door, listening to figure out if it was safe to go in. I heard thumping, then shrieks. Stegy!!! I’d forgotten about him!

  I yanked open the door and rushed into the room, sloshing water onto my socks. The sinornithosaurus was rearing and hissing, his teeth viciously sharp, his claws like daggers. Stegy was cornered—head down, plates deflecting the blows. I was so glad I’d made them strong! Stegy turned and swung his tail at the beast. He landed a hit I could hear, a huge thump. The spikes dragged down the beast’s front leg. The beast shrieked and backed off, blood beading along the cut. They stood panting, staring at each other.

  I dropped the meat into the bowl, put it on the floor and used a book to push it close to the beast. Stegy stayed on the alert, tail swishing. The beast jerked his head to the side for a moment and then again as he sniffed. He backed away from Stegy, strode over to the bowl and lunged at the meat.

  He didn’t really eat it; he ripped and tore and dismembered it, meat hanging from his mouth, bits flying when he shook pieces to tear them. It reminded me of nature shows where lions tear antelopes apart. Except this was smaller and on my bedroom rug. My stomach heaved. There was no way I was eating meat for dinner.

  Once the beast had devoured the meat, I poured some water into the bowl. He lapped it up. Then he lay down beside the bowl with a sigh and fell asleep.

  He looked kind of sweet sleeping.

  I carried Stegy outside to eat, away from the beast. By the time he’d grazed for half an hour on new grass, he’d stopped shaking. I hadn’t.

  The beast slept all evening. I pushed him over to the wall so I wouldn’t bump into him by accident; then I made a safe nest for Stegy inside the dinosaur-kit box. Then I went to bed, wondering how I was going to cope with two dinosaur pets.

  I didn’t sleep long. In the middle of the night, something landed on my head with a screech. I threw up my hands and yanked it off; it was the beast. He didn’t like being grabbed. He attacked, teeth and claws scratching my face and tearing my pajamas. I leapt out of bed, trying to beat him off with my pillow. Feathers flew across the room. Finally, I pinned him between my pillow and the bed. I scooped him up with the pillow, flung the beast and the pillow into my closet and slammed the doors shut.

  He launched himself at the doors, roaring and screeching. I could hear his claws raking down the wo
od. I pushed my dresser in front of the closet doors, pinning them shut. I didn’t want that thing escaping.

  I didn’t sleep again. I lay in bed, listening to every bump and howl, all the scratches on my body stinging. What was I going to do?

  What I finally did was slide meat on a plastic lid under the closet doors twice every day. I used a straw to fill another plastic lid with water. I wore the same jeans for two weeks because I didn’t dare go into my closet for clean ones. I wore long-sleeved shirts every day. I figured Mom and Dad and Miss Dubois would be okay with scratches on my hands, but if they saw my arms, they’d start to ask questions. And I put a new sign on my door:

  Special Project Under Way

  Private

  Stay Out

  Mom and Dad, this means you!

  I know the rules

  Every day when I fed the beast, he scrabbled to get at my fingers under the closet doors. And every day I had to get a new straw after he attacked and shredded the one I was using. I could’ve just let him starve and die of thirst, but that seemed too cruel, even for a monster.

  Sometimes he’d pull the plastic lids too far away for me to reach; then I’d have to send in a new one. After a while my room began to smell of rotting meat and dinosaur poop, but I didn’t dare go into the closet to clean it up.

  I learned to turn on my radio whenever I fed him or whenever he was noisy, which was a lot of the time. Otherwise Mom or Dad would bang on the door and ask exactly what my special project involved.

  “Just practicing dinosaur cries,” I said.

  Stegy became quieter and quieter. The only time he seemed happy was when I took him outside. He loved grazing on fresh grass and the shoots of plants coming up in the garden.

  I learned to like being at school more than being at home. That was weird. Even Kyle didn’t seem so awful.

  And then, one Friday morning, I couldn’t find my jeans. I’d been dropping them on the floor every night and pulling them on again in the morning. But they were gone. The closet was still blocked by my dresser, so the beast couldn’t have done it. Stegy was snoring in his box. Mom? Oh, no—laundry!

  I raced downstairs. Sure enough, my jeans were whirling around in the washer in a flurry of soap bubbles. I looked down. I was wearing pajamas; little dinosaurs danced down my legs. Definitely not for Kyle’s eyes. Could I convince Mom I was sick?

  “You’ll have to wear something else today,” her voice announced from behind me. I spun around.

  She smiled. “Your jeans will be clean and dry tomorrow. Today you need to choose something else.” She pushed me toward the stairs. “Go on.”

  I dragged myself up the stairs, considering my options. Wear dinosaur pajamas to school? Kyle would love that. Convince Mom I was too sick to go to school until my jeans were dry? No chance. Tell her about my dinosaurs? She’d never believe me because they were just models to her. I’d only be in more trouble.

  Could I ask her to go into my closet? But she’d see the mess and never let me keep my door closed. Then the beast would tear apart the whole house when Mom and Dad weren’t looking. Maybe I could just throw myself out my window and break a leg. Then I wouldn’t have to go to school. But I’d have to stay home with the beast. I finally decided I had to go into the closet.

  I shut my door, turned on the radio and packed Stegy away inside two boxes so he’d be totally out of reach of the beast. I pulled on an old sweatshirt and tugged on a pillowcase like a helmet, the pillow still inside.

  I unpacked one of my plastic boxes to drop on top of him. I pushed my dresser to one side and picked up the plastic container. Taking a deep breath, I pulled open the closet doors, ready to drop the box on top of the beast.

  But he was too fast. In a flash, he was out of the closet, racing around the room, hissing and clawing. He must have smelled Stegy, because he attacked Stegy’s boxes with a roar. I chased after him with my container, dropping it down on him, but I only caught one leg. He yanked it free and turned on me.

  The pillow protected my head, but he scratched my cheeks, clawed holes in my sweatshirt and tore right through my pajama pants. Finally I trapped him with the plastic container while he was trying to shred my feet. I stood with one foot on top of the box, ignoring his shrieks, while I pulled jeans and clean pajamas out of my closet. Then I scooped out all the plastic lids and bits of rotting meat, and pushed the plastic box inside the closet. But how was I going to get it off him and still keep him trapped?

  Maybe I could just leave him in it. I sighed—it really was too small. I wasn’t that mean, even if he was. I pulled the closet doors almost shut; then I used a ruler to flip over the box. While the beast attacked the doors, I pushed them shut and dragged my dresser back into place.

  Finally I sat on my bed with a thump and checked out the damage. Sweatshirt and pajama bottoms— trashed. Stegy safe. Room stinking of meat. I opened the window and bagged up the garbage.

  Me? I snuck into the bathroom to check. Scratched face, arms, chest and legs. Bleeding feet. I scrubbed and sprayed all the scrapes. We were almost out of antiseptic spray; I’d have to make up a story for Mom. Luckily she was drowning in tax returns, so she might not pay attention.

  I pulled on clean jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, even though it was nice out. Nothing else would cover my scratches. Then I made up a story at breakfast.

  “What happened to your face?” Mom asked, turning my head to examine my cheek.

  “I tripped and fell” I said. “I tore my dinosaur pajama pants too. I know you’re busy right now—you don’t have to try to fix them. I have others.”

  She looked at me, puzzled. I was usually fanatical about anything with dinosaurs on them. But she really was busy, so she let it go and went back to making coffee.

  “I cleaned the scrape,” I said. “We’re almost out of antiseptic spray.”

  “I’ll put it on the shopping list,” she said, jotting it on the list on the fridge. Then she stood, pencil in hand, looking around the kitchen.

  “Coffee,” I said. “You were making coffee.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, hon. I’m a little distracted these days.”

  “I know,” I said. “Tax season.”

  But I guess she wasn’t as distracted as I thought. After dinner I heard her talking to Dad. “I called Lucas’s teacher today, Miss Dubois. I’m worried he doesn’t have any friends. Miss Dubois says he’s a nice boy who gets along well with most of the kids.”

  Dad said, “He’s just quiet. Don’t worry so much.”

  “But I do worry. And Miss Dubois agreed to help. She said there’s another boy in the class who doesn’t seem to have any close friends, and she’ll try to encourage them to work together.”

  Kyle, I thought as I listened from the stairs. He was the only other kid in the class who didn’t have friends. Everyone was afraid of him, afraid they’d become his next target. I couldn’t cope with Kyle and the beast. And since I couldn’t do anything about Kyle, I was going to have to get rid of the beast. Somehow.

  CHAPTER 5

  Get Rid of It!

  Saturday morning I tackled the beast. Literally. I waited until Mom was working in her office and Dad was vacuuming. I found a cardboard box in the garage and borrowed a roll of packing tape. I pushed Stegy into his box, shut the window and the door, and turned on the radio, loud. Then I dressed in my torn sweatshirt and pulled my ragged pajama pants over my jeans, strapped on my bike helmet and pulled on Mom’s leather gardening gloves.

  I tried to pretend I was a brave gladiator, but I didn’t feel very brave when I pushed the dresser away from the closet doors. Mostly I felt queasy.

  I squared my shoulders, picked up my box and tried to feel tough. Slowly, I eased open the closet doors a crack. Maybe the beast was sleeping and I could trap him easily.

  But suddenly he was smashing against the doors, screeching and clawing. When I didn’t open them any further, he roared with fury and launched himself at the doors again. He pulled back and threw himself
at them, over and over. The rhythm gave me an idea. I set the box right by the opening and waited. He smashed against the doors, drew back and smashed again. When he drew back once more, I opened the doors so that instead of hitting the doors, he flew past them, right into the box. Yes!

  I flipped over one flap, then turned the box upright and scrambled for the others. He clawed past them. I pushed him in and pulled down another flap. He ripped at my gloves but the leather protected me. He tried again, higher this time, and tore a gouge down my wrist. I stifled a scream, shook him off and pushed him back down again. Then I held all four flaps in place with one hand while I groped for the packing tape with the other.

  I tugged off a leather glove with my teeth and held the tape between my knees while I tried to find the end. My other hand was fighting to keep the beast in the box. Finally I stood, with one foot on the top of the box, so I could get both hands on the roll of tape. I ran my fingers around and around the roll until I found an end. I picked it loose and unrolled a length of tape. Kneeling, I started strapping up the box. The beast sank his teeth into my bare fingers as they passed by the opening between the flaps. I poked him in the eye with my other hand, and he let go with a shriek. Quickly I taped up the opening. Then I wrapped tape around and around the box.

  Feeling clever, I wiped the blood off my hands with a tissue and snuck down the stairs with the shrieking box. I carried it out to the garbage bin outside the back fence and dropped it into a can with a thump. You can go live at the dump, I thought. There’ll be lots of food and it’ll be far from me! I banged down the lid on the can, dropped down the lid of the bin and bounced back to the house. I had done it. I was free of the beast!

  I hung out in my room all morning. I cleaned up the closet floor, opened the windows and let Stegy wander. He wouldn’t go near the closet, but he loved exploring the rest of the room. After lunch, I took him out to the yard. He feasted on dandelion greens, tiny shoots of chives and long crabgrass spears. Together we explored the garden, finding every plant that was pushing its way out of the dirt. We had a great day.