Feather Brain Read online

  We carried the ash back to the vegetable patch and set it beside our lake. Except it wasn’t a lake anymore; the water had drained out, leaving a muddy hole. We liked the idea of a mud pit, so while I filled the hole with water, Kyle stirred the dirt with a broken branch, making a thick, dark soup.

  Mom wandered over to take a look, and I realized that was the perfect time to take out the beast. She stood near the hole, holding a bucket filled with dead leaves and gardening tools. I hid the bag behind some raspberry canes so she wouldn’t see how gross it had become. The beast clawed at my hands as I untied the bag. Then he became still as I turned toward Mom. Before she could stop me, I took what she thought was my beautiful feathered dinosaur model and dropped him into the mud. Mom gasped.

  Kyle grabbed the bag of ash and spoke in a low, rumbly voice. “The beast fell into a pit of mud. On a normal day he might have been able to escape—but on this day—this fateful day—the great volcano Kylealuke erupted, burying the dinosaur’s world in ash.”

  Mom started to laugh.

  Then Kyle turned the bag of ash upside down and dumped. Wind caught the ash and blew it into our faces. We choked and jumped back and watched as maybe half of it settled on the surface of the mud.

  Mom jumped back too. “Oh, you guys—this is gross!” But she was so pleased I was being gross outside with a friend instead of sitting alone in my room that she smiled when she said it. And she didn’t say a thing about the ash and clay in her garden.

  Then Kyle added, still using his voice of doom, “Now, we wait, to see if the dinosaur can survive this terrible disaster.”

  Mom shrugged. “Well, it’s not going to crawl out on its own, is it?”

  I choked and turned away so she couldn’t see my face. Kyle kicked me and turned back to the ash pit. When we just stood there, waiting, Mom got bored and went back to work.

  Kyle and I stood frozen, watching, waiting for movement, for some sign of life. We knew he wouldn’t be able to move until Mom was gone, so perhaps now he would crawl out. But he didn’t. The ash settled in a gray layer, swirling in little whirlpools when the wind gusted, but nothing rose from below.

  I smiled, just a little. “Maybe this’ll really work,” I muttered.

  “Just wait,” said Kyle, but he smiled too.

  “The longer he’s down there, the more likely he’ll die,” I said. “He can’t breathe mud.” I was barely breathing myself, waiting, hoping.

  And still nothing moved. We smiled at each other. As the ash pit stayed quiet, we started to grin.

  “We’ve done it,” I whispered. “We’ve done it!”

  Kyle’s eyes started to shine. “You really think so?”

  “Oh, yeah. He couldn’t possibly live that long without air!”

  And then the mud burped. Kyle and I jumped back in horror. He hadn’t died—he was still alive—how could that be? He really must be some kind of monster. We stared at the pile of ash; my stomach felt like a mud pit.

  As we watched, the ash shifted, the mud burbled and one foot emerged.

  Just like in a horror movie, one arm reached out, coated in mud and ash, then another foot and then the head. The beast looked all around until he spotted us. He stared, his eyes filled with hate.

  CHAPTER 11

  howweirdcanyouget.com

  Kyle and I looked at each other in horror. The beast was alive!

  He crawled up the lip of the mud pit, through the ash, and hung on the side of the pool, coated in black ooze, staring at us. I stared back, unable to move, to speak, to think. Finally Kyle elbowed me.

  “What should we do?” he whispered.

  I hadn’t a clue. I was so tired of the beast, so tired of fighting him. But when he lifted his head and started to roar, I knew I had to do something.

  “Mom,” I bellowed. Then I whispered to Kyle, “If Mom’s here, he’ll be a model, and we can put him in the bag.” Then I yelled again. “Mom!”

  She came running. “What is it?” she said, panting slightly. She looked all around, trying to figure out what the panic was.

  “Look,” I said. “He’s alive!”

  She took one look at the beast, frozen at the side of the pond, mud-caked arms and head emerging from the goo, and started to laugh. “You guys are so weird,” she said as she turned away.

  I made a face at Kyle to keep her talking. Kyle made a face back; he didn’t want to do it. C’mon, I mimed. You have to. At least that’s what I tried to say with waving hands and scrunched-up face.

  Kyle sighed and called out, “Mrs. Clarke?”

  Mom turned and took a few steps back toward us. “Yes, Kyle?”

  I bent down to grab the leather bag.

  “Um, could I get the recipe for your double chocolate cookies? They’re really good.”

  “Your mom likes to bake?”

  He shook his head. “I live with my dad.”

  Mom nodded. “Sure. I’ll photocopy the recipe for you.”

  While they were talking, I scooped up the beast and dropped him into the leather bag, struggling to keep the beast in view of Mom, but the bag out of her sight.

  Kyle and I dragged ourselves inside and scrubbed off the mud. We went back outside when Mom called us to clean the ash and clay out of her garden. Then she sent us in to scrub again and have a few more cookies. Finally we headed upstairs to figure out a new plan.

  Kyle dropped the bag on the floor and shut my door, while I flipped on the radio to cover the beast’s shrieks of rage. Kyle and I flopped on my bed, side by side.

  “What are we going to do now?” Kyle grumbled.

  I groaned. “No idea.”

  We both sighed.

  “How did we get into this in the first place?” Kyle asked, shaking his head.

  “All from some stupid website,” I moaned.

  Kyle sat up suddenly. “Show me.”

  “What?”

  “Show me the website. Maybe it’ll give us some ideas.”

  We raced downstairs into the office. Kyle stopped at the doorway to look around, but I ignored Mom’s desk and filing cabinets and went straight to the computer table. I sat at the keyboard, and Kyle pulled up another chair. I logged on and got onto the Internet. In just a few minutes the home page for howweirdcanyouget.com was loading.

  Kyle watched in silence. I glanced over as I waited. He had a funny look on his face. “What?” I asked.

  “I wish I had a computer at home,” he said softly. “You have no idea how lucky you are.”

  I shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal of it.

  Once we were on the website, Kyle and I started to skim through the ads.

  “There’s the kit I ordered,” I said, pointing at the roaring dinosaur over the text. “Make a Dinosaur Come to Life, nineteen ninety-five.”

  We kept going, muttering as we read the ads.

  “Turn your skateboard into a hoverboard.”

  “Talking masks.”

  “Hey, how about this one?” I said with an excited squeak. “Dinosaur Too Lively?” The picture with this ad was of a dinosaur rising up on its hind legs, claws slashing, mouth open in what looked like a gigantic roar.

  Kyle leaned forward to read the small print. “What is alive will be still, but only if sprayed, when alive, by the creator or owner. Only sixty-nine ninety-five.”

  “What?” I said, indignant. “Twenty bucks to get into trouble, and seventy to get out? What a rip-off!”

  Kyle laughed. “Kind of clever, don’t you think? It’s not like we won’t buy it!” Then he paused. “You can buy it, can’t you?”

  “I don’t have seventy dollars,” I said. “I have some allowance money, but I spent all my birthday money on the last kit and a book. I spend all my money on dinosaur stuff. How much do you have?”

  Kyle flushed. I stared. I’d never seen him turn red before. He turned away and mumbled, “I spent all my money too. I don’t have a thing.”

  “Nothing?” I asked, not believing him. He must have some change in
a piggy bank, at least. “C’mon, Kyle, we have to do this. I can’t pay for it all.”

  He muttered something.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I don’t have any money,” he said, his voice tight. “I don’t get an allowance, and I have NO money.”

  I just sat there, staring. “No allowance?”

  Kyle shook his head. “My dad doesn’t make enough. He struggles just to pay rent and buy food. So no nice house, no computer, no allowance. Get it?” He sounded angry.

  And then, finally, I got it. Now it was my turn to flush. I reached around the computer to turn on the printer so Kyle wouldn’t see my face.

  “Okay,” I said while I printed out the ad. “Let’s count up what I have and then figure out how we can earn some more. Maybe Mom will pay us to dig the rest of the garden.”

  Dad came home while we were logging out. He poked his head in to say hi and tried to hide his surprise that I wasn’t alone. I heard him in the kitchen while we were walking up the stairs.

  “Lucas has a friend over?”

  “Mmm,” Mom answered. “They made a huge mess in the garden, killing off his new feathered dinosaur. It’s the first time he’s ever damaged one of his models. But they were having so much fun I just fed them more cookies.”

  “See,” Dad said, “I told you he’d find a friend.”

  I hurried Kyle up the stairs, hoping he hadn’t heard any of it, but I could tell by the red on the back of his neck that he understood too much.

  I emptied my piggy bank on my bed, and Kyle and I counted out my change. $17.32. I sighed and shook my head. “I guess we’ll be digging,” I said.

  As we left my room, I saw Kyle hesitate for just a moment and then stop to pick up the beast’s bag.

  “You can leave him here,” I said, hating every word I spoke.

  Kyle shook his head. “No, I don’t have any money, but I can do this.”

  I followed him down the stairs, blinking. “Thanks, Kyle.”

  We headed into the kitchen, where Mom and Dad were cooking dinner together. “Mom, Kyle and I need some money for dinosaur stuff. Would you pay us to dig the vegetable garden for you?”

  I tried to sound excited about the possibility. She smiled down at me and ruffled my hair. “Sure. Just not as deep as your lake today, okay? I don’t want any clay mixed in with my soil.” Then she turned to Kyle. “Do you want to stay for dinner, Kyle? Chicken stir-fry!”

  Kyle looked surprised and then uncomfortable. “I’d like to, but my dad will be expecting me.”

  “Another time, then,” Mom said with a smile.

  Kyle nodded and smiled back, just a little. I knew he was thinking about getting home to cook dinner for his dad.

  As he left, the bag over his shoulder, I told him to wait while I dashed into the garage. When I came back, I handed him an old pair of leather gloves. “Mom buys a new pair every year. Just watch out for the holes in the fingertips.”

  Kyle and I worked every day after school. We dug the garden and helped Mom clean out the flower beds. When she saw how hard we were working, she let me order the kit on her credit card. “But it’s coming to me, and I won’t let you have it until you’ve paid me back, in full,” she warned.

  Then she sent us out to turn the compost. When it rained, we cleaned the garage. We washed the van and then vacuumed and cleaned it inside. Every day she had a new job for us, and every day she marked off $5.00 for each of us against the loan.

  On Friday, when Kyle and I got home from school, dreading our next job, Mom just smiled and handed us a package. “Look what arrived today!”

  “We still owe you a little,” I said. My hands trembled as I held the box.

  “I know. But you guys have really impressed me with how hard you’ve worked, so the last bit is my treat.”

  I grinned. “Thanks, Mom! You have no idea how great this is!” Then Kyle and I raced each other up the stairs.

  CHAPTER 12

  Onion Breath

  We sat on my bed and unwrapped the box. It was larger than the last one, like a medium-sized shoebox. It was wrapped in brown paper and thoroughly taped. We struggled with the tape; finally I grabbed some scissors and cut it. Then we set the box between us on the bed and looked at each other. Together, we lifted off the lid.

  All we saw was scrunched-up paper. But when we pulled it out, we found a plastic spray bottle filled with a milky white liquid.

  “What is this?” Kyle asked, holding it up to the window. It was so dense we couldn’t see light through it at all, and yet it didn’t seem that thick when we just looked into the bottle. When we tipped it, it moved like water.

  I rummaged around under the rest of the scrunched-up paper and found an instruction sheet. I unfolded it and started to read out loud:

  Dinosaur Too Lively?

  What is alive will be still,

  but only if sprayed, when alive,

  by the creator/owner.

  We glanced at each other. “I’m the creator, and you’re the owner, so I guess we both have to do it,” I said.

  Kyle nodded. He took the sheet from me and continued reading:

  Spray all parts.

  Warning: It is essential not to spray

  anything you want to be able to move.

  Cover your skin.

  I could feel my eyes bugging out as I listened. Kyle suddenly looked pale.

  “Are you sure we should do this?” I asked.

  “Clarke, nothing else has worked,” he said. “I think we both have to do it, and no one else can help us or he won’t be alive when we spray him.” He gulped. “But I think we’d better do it very carefully!”

  So Kyle and I collected gear. Long-sleeved shirts, pants, runners, bike helmets, gardening gloves, bandanas for our faces, ski goggles and a second spray bottle. We stuffed everything into a gym bag, told Mom we were going to Kyle’s for a bit before dinner and headed to his house.

  We put on our gear in Kyle’s dingy kitchen. We helped each other tie on the bandanas, anchored them with the ski goggles and pulled up our collars to protect our necks. We looked silly, like four year olds pretending to be knights. We laughed at each other, but not very hard.

  The trickiest bit was pouring half the solution into the second spray bottle. Kyle didn’t have a funnel, so he just poured very, very carefully. He worked at the sink, with gloves on and Baggies over the gloves, but we still held our breath while he poured. Three drops crawled down the outside of the bottle. I carefully wiped them off with a paper towel and stuffed the paper towel into a garbage bag. Then we stood, looking at each other, neither of us wanting to start.

  “We can do this,” I said, trying to sound brave.

  “Sure we can,” said Kyle. “We can beat one weeny little dinosaur.”

  I could tell from the look in his eyes that he didn’t really think the beast was weeny, and neither did I, but we were both ready to pretend.

  “Yeah,” I said. “We’re much tougher than he is.” I took a deep breath and let out my best dinosaur roar.

  Kyle looked shocked; then he grinned. “I can roar louder than that!” He threw back his head and let loose a thundering roar that echoed around the room. I joined in, the two of us sounding like rampaging dinosaurs. Then we heard an echoing cry from down the hall. We looked at each other, suddenly silent and weak-kneed.

  We gave each other a final check, tucking sleeves into gloves and adjusting our bandanas; then we picked up our spray bottles and walked down the hall to Kyle’s bedroom.

  Kyle’s room was disgusting. It smelled like rotting meat, and the floor was covered in dirty clothes and torn papers. I couldn’t tell how much mess was normal and how much was from the beast. I could hear him banging in a bottom drawer.

  “I figured a drawer would work almost as well as a closet,” Kyle whispered, “so I put food and water inside it. The beast leaps around the room in a rage, and when he gets hungry he goes into the drawer. Then I slam it shut.”

  I knelt by t
he drawer and held out my spray bottle. Kyle stood directly in front of the drawer, legs wide, mouth firm, spray bottle pointed at the drawer. Then he nodded.

  Slowly, I opened the drawer, just a little. The beast screeched and clawed at the open edge. We both started squirting. It took a few pumps for my bottle to start to work. Then white spray flew from it. It hit the beast’s claw as he groped for a way out of the drawer. We heard a slight hissing when the spray hit his foot; suddenly, the foot stopped. It just totally stopped, like it was frozen or something. The beast screamed and pulled his frozen foot back into the drawer.

  Kyle and I glanced at each other, wondering what to do next. The beast screamed again and threw his body against the drawer. The drawer tipped open just enough for the beast to climb out, screeching and leaping on three legs.

  We jumped back and took aim again. We started squeezing frantically, but he moved so fast he was hard to hit. Kyle and I danced around the room, trying to keep out of his reach and spray the beast but not each other.

  It was a good thing there were no plants in the room. Spray went everywhere. Whenever it hit something not alive, it was like spraying milk. But when the spray touched the beast, we could hear hissing.

  I felt the spray hit my helmet, and I got Kyle in the back. But we were covered and the beast wasn’t.

  The beast leapt at my legs, and in his fury he climbed right up my pants. I jumped back in a panic and hit at him with the base of my spray bottle, trying to make him let go. Finally he dropped to the floor, shrieking, and gathered himself up for another leap. Kyle and I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed until we had no spray left and were pumping air.