Feather Brain Read online

  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?

  CHAPTER 8

  To Catch a Thief

  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. K
yle 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.

  I made sure Kyle was around when I left the school; I kept glancing back at him, as if I was afraid and didn’t want him to follow me. Of course he did. Which was perfect, absolutely perfect.

  I walked around the school, and just before the corner, where there are lots of bushes growing under the windows, I accidentally-on-purpose tripped, flinging my books into the air and giving the leather bag a toss into the bushes. I scrambled around on my knees, picking up my books, glancing back at Kyle, who stood and watched with a huge grin on his face. Then I limped around the corner, clinging to my stack of books.

  As soon as I was out of sight, I stopped and leaned against the school wall, panting. Then I peeked around the corner. I laughed at Kyle’s blue-jeaned bum sticking out from the bushes. He straightened up with the leather bag in his hand and a smile on his face. I ducked back as he glanced around to make sure no one had seen him. He headed home, whistling, and I walked off in the other direction, whistling just like Kyle.

  The next day Kyle came to school looking haunted. His face was pale, except for dark smudges under his eyes. He had scratches down his cheek, a gouge on his neck his collar couldn’t quite hide and bandages on his hands. His arms were hidden by his long-sleeved shirt.

  And he twitched. He jumped at every little sound.

  I started explaining dinosaur cries to Jacob just so I could let out a screech like the beast’s. Kyle leapt from his chair, hands up to guard his face, looking frantically around the room. I tried to look innocent when he glared at me, but I had trouble hiding my grin.

  The next days were awesome. Kyle wore pants and long-sleeved shirts every day, even though it was spring and warm outside. Everyone else wore T-shirts and shorts, except me, of course. But I didn’t care. My scratches were healing; I knew he was getting new ones every day.

  His hands were a mess. Miss Dubois started to fuss over him, but he told her something about climbing trees, and she believed him enough to drop it. I just shook my head. Why didn’t he wear leather gloves? And lock the beast in his closet? I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  The best thing was that Kyle stopped bugging me. He’d sit at his desk and glower, but as long as he sat, he didn’t scare the other kids and they started to talk to me. Every day I wore a different dinosaur T-shirt, and every day they were admired. I brought books, too—my favorite books on dinosaurs—and at lunchtime I taught Jacob and Ian how to draw dinosaurs. They needed to pay more attention to how dinosaurs really looked, so I pulled out the books and we talked about skeletons while we drew.

  And sometimes I just sat back and enjoyed it. I had read somewhere that revenge is sweet, but I didn’t really understand, until now. It’s true. Revenge is very, very sweet.

  Then I learned that revenge is tricky too.

  We had an early May heat wave, and everyone dug out their summer clothes and came to school in shorts and sandals. Everyone except Kyle and me. Together, we sweated in our long-sleeved shirts and jeans. Neither of us wore sandals. I had nasty scratches on my feet that were healing really slowly, and I guessed that Kyle had fresh ones.

  While I was sweating and feeling cranky from the heat, I felt a twinge of sympathy for Kyle. But it didn’t last long. He deserved it!

  Kyle looked worse every day. He just didn’t seem to be learning how to protect himself from the beast. Every day he had new gouges on his hands and scratches on his face. Why wasn’t he keeping the beast locked away? And why didn’t he wear gloves? What was his problem?

  Kyle grew more and more pale, the shadows under his eyes darker and darker. Every day he had new scratches. Miss Dubois became really concerned, but Kyle made up a story for her.

  “I want to be a tree-climbing champion,” he said, trying to smile at her. “So I climb every day. Sometimes I get scratched a bit, but I haven’t fallen yet!” He said that with a flash of the old Kyle, and she smiled.

  “Just be careful, okay?” she said. “I don’t want you in here with a broken leg.”

  I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care, that he deserved it, but that got harder and harder. I started to hear the beast in my dreams, screaming and scratching, but at Kyle instead of me. I’d pull my pillow tight against my head, trying to silence the cries, but they echoed in my sleep.

  And then one morning when we were playing basketball, Kyle’s sleeve fell back and I saw his left arm. It was covered in a maze of red lines, some shallow, some deep. It looked like he hadn’t cleaned them prop-erly—they were raised and red, like the welts Mom gets from pruning. I could hardly see any normal skin between the scratches. He yanked his sleeve down and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. I just knelt to tie my shoelace.

  But all day I felt like the most horrible person in the world. I had done this to him. I had set him up to steal the beast. I knew how to handle the beast, but I hadn’t told Kyle. I’d let him get attacked day after day after day.

  All his meanness suddenly seemed like nothing compared to mine.

  CHAPTER 9

  Parley

  At recess, I waited outside for Kyle. When he came out of the school, I knew he didn’t want to talk to me. I think he was too miserable to want to talk to anyone. But I stood in his path and said, “You need to come to my house. I have something to show you.”

  Kyle was immediately suspicious. “Why would I want to go to your house?”

  I yanked up his sleeve, exposing the long scratches up his arm. “That’s why.”

  He flushed and tugged down his sleeve. “That’s none of your business,” he said, his voice angry.

  I rolled up my right sleeve. When he saw the partially healed scratches up my arm, his mouth fell open and he stared at me in silence.

  I pushed his chin up to close his mouth and said, “My place, after school.”

  He gulped and nodded.

  I walked away shaking—why did I do that? I really didn’t want to have anything to do with Kyle or the beast. Maybe he won’t come, I thought, and that was my only comfort all afternoon.

  But Kyle was waiting for me after school. We walked to my house without talking. It was another great day, sunny and clear. But I stared down all the way home, wondering how I was going to explain this to Kyle, how he’d react, what he’d do when he realized I’d set him up.

  Mom was in the front yard raking. When she saw us, she leaned on her rake and smiled.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said. “Is it okay if Kyle comes over? We need to work on a project.”

  “Of course you can have a friend over,” Mom said, trying to control her grin. “If I’d known, I’d have baked some cookies.” She reached down to pick up a green garbage bag. “Make sure you guys have a snack before you head upstairs.”

  She knelt by a pile of dead grass and called out to us as we walked away. “Kyle, does your mom know where you are?”

  Kyle flushed and then muttered, “I’ll tell my dad.”

  As we walked into the kitchen, I pointed at the phone. “Need to use the phone?”

  Kyle looked blank.

  “To call your dad?”

  “Oh, I’ll call him later.”

  I shru
gged and opened the fridge. “What do you want to eat?”

  This time Kyle shrugged. “Anything’s fine.”

  “No, really, would you like crackers? Fruit? Cookies?”

  “Whatever,” he said, staring at the floor.

  I rolled my eyes, grabbed a bag of chocolate chip cookies and poured two glasses of milk.

  When I sat at the table, Kyle crossed his arms and glared at me. “Clarke, I didn’t come here for milk and cookies,” he said.

  I pushed a glass toward him. “Yeah, I know, but I’m really hungry and Mom won’t let me take food up to my room. So eat. Then we’ll go upstairs. I have something to show you.”

  Kyle sat with a sigh, gulped down the milk and devoured seven cookies. While he ate, he looked around the kitchen. Mom had just cleaned it, in her annual post-tax-season cleaning binge. “Nice place,” said Kyle. I wasn’t sure what I heard in his voice; it almost sounded like envy.

  “Yeah, it’s okay,” I said, shrugging. It seemed pretty regular to me.

  “Is your mom home all the time?” he asked.

  “She works from home,” I said. “She’s an accountant. She just finished tax season, so now she has time for other things.”

  Kyle stuffed in another cookie. “And your dad?”

  “He’s an engineer. He works downtown. What does your dad do?”

  “He’s in construction,” Kyle said as he jumped up. “Come on, Clarke, we’ve eaten half the bag of cookies. Let’s get on with it.”

  I could have sat eating cookies all afternoon. Not because I love cookies that much—well, I do—but to avoid telling Kyle what I’d done. My body felt like lead as I dragged it up the stairs.

  We dropped our backpacks inside my bedroom door and I turned on the radio. I figured once I told Kyle what I’d done, it would get as noisy in here as when the beast was loose.

  I wasn’t sure how to explain all this to Kyle. I finally decided to start by telling him about howweirdcan youget.com.