Night of the Zombie Chickens (16 page)

A
fter
texting with Margaret, I keep pacing back and forth in my room, going over what I should say and do when she comes over. I feel an overwhelming urge to talk to my mother. I figure she's probably busy counting her chickens or something, but when I walk downstairs she's sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing her temples. She looks worried and I suddenly feel funny barging in on her. It looks like she doesn't need yet another headache. I'm just about to back out the door when she glances up and smiles at me.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi.” I sit down, wondering why she looks so tired. “Is something wrong?”

She hesitates, then shrugs. “I lost my biggest restaurant client today. They're closing their doors.”

“Burberry's is closing?”

She nods. “And the sales figures for last month aren't what I'd hoped. And some of the hens have a fungal infection—” She shoots a quick glance at me and smiles. “Sorry. I promise, no medical details.”

“It's okay. You can talk about that stuff. I overreacted.”

My mother shakes her head. “No, you were right. I've been so busy trying to make this business work I got too caught up in it. I forgot I have a more important job.”

I'm confused. “Another job?”

“Being a mom.” She smiles ruefully. “You know, Kate, I always wished I could live on a farm when I was your age. I loved animals, but your grandmother was allergic to everything. The only pet I ever had was a fish. I wanted to give you and Derek a chance to enjoy all the things I missed.” She glances wistfully around the kitchen. “I guess one person's dream is another's nightmare. I've dragged you both out into the country, away from everything. And now you have these problems with your friends.” She gives a deep sigh. “I'm starting to think this was all a big mistake.”

I'm tempted to agree with her. It's on the tip of my tongue to blurt
Does that mean we can lose the chickens and move back to
town?

But I bite back the thought. The sadness in her face reminds me of how I felt when I thought I had to give up on my movie. When I lost my best friend. It's true that my mother's heavenly hens have turned out to be devils in disguise. Instead of a movie about zombie chickens, I should have made a flick about gangster hens, hatching eggs by day and criminal plots by night. On the other hand, Alyssa and I had a lot of fun chasing after them. Hens aren't the easiest animal in the world to direct, but some of our biggest laughs came from trying.

It's nice to hear that she still thinks being our mom is an important job. It's nice that she's worried about me. Maybe the hens haven't won her over to the dark side yet. Maybe my mom doesn't hate me as much as I thought. Maybe she doesn't even hate me at all.

“Without the hens I wouldn't have my movie,” I point out. “And you'd still be stuck at a job you didn't like.”

And then it hits me—my mother and I are trying to do the same thing. We've gotten on each other's nerves and we've gotten in each other's way. We've both run into roadblocks. But all this time, we've both been trying to follow our passion. Okay, hers is a little weird, but some people could say the same about making a movie.

Instead of backing her up, I've spent all my energy hating her new business and complaining about it. Now she's thinking about calling it quits, and I might be partly to blame. I guess I have to add
being a bad daughter
to my list of accomplishments. I'm glad the day is almost over. I don't think I can stand to find too many more character defects.

I remember how excited my mother was when she announced her new business to us and lit her old clothes on fire. It hurts when you have a dream and it gets squashed. I've learned all about that. So I take a deep breath.

“You can't quit now, Mom. Derek and I are surviving just fine. This is your dream. You have to go for it. If you don't do it now, when will you ever do it? You and Dad aren't getting any younger.”

My mother mock frowns at me. “Are you calling me old?”

I shrug. “I'm just saying.”

She looks me right in the eye. “Are you sure, Kate?”

For a second, I have a flicker of doubt. This is my chance to get rid of those hens once and for all. If I'm lucky, Spike might end up in a can of chicken soup....

I meet her gaze. “I'm sure.”

She gives me a relieved smile. “Don't worry, I'm not throwing in the towel yet. But thanks for the pep talk. I definitely needed to hear that.” She gives me a searching look. “Now, how about you? How's your movie coming along?”

“It's okay.” I nervously fidget with a lock of hair. Now that I'm sitting in front of her, I'm not sure what to say.

She gives me one of her concerned-mom looks. “Anything wrong?”

A lump rises in my throat as I nod. Then, it all comes spilling out. Sort of. “I have these two friends and they had a fight. One friend...borrowed something. The other friend doesn't know about it, but she ended up getting in trouble because of it.” I avoid her gaze. I know I'm not fooling her with the two-friends bit.

My mother nods thoughtfully. “Did your friend ask before borrowing the item?”

I shake my head. I can feel my cheeks reddening.

“Then that's a little like stealing,” my mother says gently. “I would advise the borrower to return the item and then tell her friend what she did.”

“What if she tells her friend and then the friend hates her forever?”

My mother takes my hand and squeezes it. “It's hard to do the right thing.” She gazes at my fingernails, which are nibbled down to nubs, and for a moment I think she's going to lecture me. Instead, she gives my hand another squeeze. “You know, Kate, all of us get busy building our careers, building our families, our friendships. It's easy to forget that we're also building who we are. We do it every day. It's not what other people think of us that defines us. It's what we do and how we act. I guess your friend has to decide what kind of person she wants to be.”

I nod. I expected my mother to freak out and demand to know what got stolen and how I'm involved. Instead, she leans over, strokes my hair, and asks if I want a cookie.

It reminds me of when I was young, when a kiss from her along with a homemade chocolate chip cookie used to cure just about anything. I'm twelve now, though. Does my mother really think a cookie can help?

“I'm not hungry,” I tell her. She kisses my forehead as she gets up to go, leaving me to ponder the horrible person I've become.

“Are they chocolate chip?” I ask, just out of curiosity.

Because even though a cookie won't help, I decide it won't hurt, either.

W
hen Alyssa shows up at our door Sunday afternoon, my mother practically screams with excitement. She's so happy that I realize she must have been a lot more worried about our fight than she let on.

“It's so nice to see you again,” she gushes. “I think you've grown since the last time you were here. How's your mom? Would you like a snack?”

It's kind of embarrassing, but it's also kind of sweet. Finally I rescue Alyssa and we escape upstairs. Then we're standing alone in my room, looking everywhere except at each other. Alyssa starts in and says she's sorry again. She's playing with the stuff on my dresser, but she suddenly turns toward me. “Hitch, I really didn't take the wig. Everyone thinks I did, but I didn't.” She hesitates. “I was in the music room to meet Jake Knowles. He sent me a note, but then he didn't show up.”

If it were me, I would have walked right up to Jake and asked him why he stood me up. But then again, I don't have a crush on him. Alyssa gets tongue-tied whenever she's near Jake, so I guess that's why she hasn't asked him.

I can feel the guilt balloon rising up inside me again. I know I should tell Alyssa. It's the right thing to do. Still, part of my brain is screaming,
Don
'
t do it!
I think about what my mother said and I take a deep breath. And another. Then a few more.

“I know about Jake,” I finally tell her.

She looks surprised. “Did he tell you?”

The balloon is huge. It's pressing against my chest. If I tell Alyssa, I'll be in a boatload of trouble. When she tells everyone what really happened, they will hate me. Mr. Cantrell will hate me. My classmates will think I'm a lying, stealing, two-faced, scheming loser. My parents will probably disown me. I think of Margaret and sigh. I know she would do the right thing.

Finally, the balloon in my chest pops. I cover my face with my hands. “I know because I did it!”

Alyssa looks worried. “Did what?”

I can't utter the words. I walk to my closet, dig down, and pull out the plastic bag. I have to move the baby monitor out of the way to reach it. Just seeing the monitor sends a nervous jolt through my body. I'd almost forgotten about my plan to spy on my dad. Is there no low deed I'm not capable of?

I grab the plastic bag, dump out the box, open it, and pull out the Cute Red Wig.

Alyssa gasps. Her eyes go round. A small, twisted part of me wishes I was getting all this on camera. I could use that reaction shot in my movie.

“You took it?” Alyssa shakes her head, looking confused. “Why?”

I tell her the whole terrible story. She gets mad—really mad—when I explain how I wrote the note, used Margaret to deliver it, and made sure Mr. Cantrell was in the hallway to see her.

“Wow, that is so low, I can't even...I can't believe you would...”

“You dumped me for Lydia!” I blurt. “You made my family sound moronic. And you were pathetic, making fun of Margaret. She didn't deserve that.”

“But you did this on purpose,” Alyssa says, her voice shaking. “You set the whole thing up for me to get in trouble. And now everyone hates me.”

She glares at me and I wonder if she might even call the cops. Technically, I'm in possession of stolen property. Alyssa stalks to the door, then turns. Her lower lip trembles. “You have no idea how awful the last weeks have been.”

“Yes, I do,” I say quietly.

She pauses at my words and a funny look comes over her face. Then she slams shut the door. Just as I feared, she's never going to forgive me.

I hear my mother's voice on the landing. “You're not leaving already, are you, Alyssa?”

“Yeah, I have to go, Mrs. Walden.” I can tell Alyssa is making a huge effort to behave normally. There's an unwritten law among us that you only act bad in front of your own parents. In front of other parents, you must always be a perfect angel.

“That's too bad.” My mother's voice sounds tentative. “Kate has really missed you these last couple of weeks.”

I grind my teeth. Trust my mother to say something completely embarrassing. I wait for Alyssa to say something like,
Yeah, she missed me so much she got me accused of stealing and turned the whole school agains
t me.

When she does finally answer, her voice is quiet. “Um, yeah, I missed her, too.”

“Look what I found,” my mother goes on. “I was cleaning out some old drawers and I found this birthday card you made for Kate on her seventh birthday. Isn't it adorable?”

I know the card. It's a cutout of a pink bunny with big ears and pipe cleaners glued on for whiskers. Alyssa wrote a crooked
Happy
on one ear and
Birthday
on the other and across the bunny's belly she scrawled my name with three hearts after it. Most of the pipe cleaners have fallen off. Okay, I'm a little mushy. I like to keep old mementos.

I've got my ear glued to the door. “She kept that?” Alyssa sounds surprised.

I hear my mother laugh and murmur something, then go into her bedroom. Alyssa stomps down the stairs and a moment later the front door slams.

I sink down on the bed, still clutching the wig, feeling sad and numb. It takes five minutes at least before the thought hits me—Alyssa doesn't have a ride home. Her mother isn't coming back for another couple of hours. Could she have started walking home? More likely, she called her mother and is waiting outside for her.

I move to the window, but Alyssa isn't on the front porch or near the garage. I move to my other window and there she is, sitting under a tree in our backyard. She's stuck here when she probably wants to be a million miles away. As I'm trying to decide what to do, she stands up and brushes the grass off her legs. Maybe she's going to walk home after all. It has to be fifteen miles, at least. She must really want to get away from me.

Alyssa walks to the front and stands in the driveway, kicking at gravel. She turns suddenly, but instead of walking toward the road, she comes inside the house. I have my ear glued to my bedroom door, trying to figure out what she's doing. I can't hear a thing. Then the stairs creak. Someone is definitely coming up the stairs. I jump away like the door is white hot, land on my bed, and scoop up a magazine. No, that looks stupid. I run to my desk, but my computer is off, so why would I be sitting at my desk? There's no time to turn it on, so I veer off and end up inside my closet. I've been meaning to clean it out for months. Okay, for about a year. Now would be a good time to start. I hold my breath, listening.

I know I heard Alyssa come upstairs. Every step has a different squeak, so it's impossible to sneak up on anyone. A few seconds pass and I don't hear anything. Is she outside my door, listening? Is she trying to think of some really cutting last words? Is she dialing the police on her cell phone? The door slowly opens. I brace myself for the worst.

Alyssa's eyes are glued to the floor. She clears her throat. “I think what you did really sucks.” She stops and kicks at the carpet, then finally glances up at me. “But what I did was pretty mean, too. I guess that makes us even.”

A huge weight rises off my chest. I nod, not sure what to say. Actually, I do know what to say, but it's amazing how hard it can be to utter two little words. If I don't say them right now, I might never get them out. I take a deep breath. “I'm sorry.”

“Me, too.”

We smile, not quite looking at each other. What do you say after
sorry
? I rack my brain. The silence stretches between us. Then Alyssa's mouth twists. She covers it with her hand but I can see it. She's grinning, and then she's giggling. I'm so relieved I start to laugh, too, and pretty soon we're breathless from nervous, happy laughter.

“It's kind of funny,” Alyssa gasps.

I shake my head. “It's horrible. It's twisted.”

“Yeah. Definitely twisted. But I kind of deserved it, I guess.”

“Only a little.” I'm still not sure if she's going to tell everyone or not.

Alyssa turns to face me. “You can just put back the wig. No one needs to know what happened. I'll help you.”

“We thought about that, but then everyone will still think you took it.”

Alyssa raises her eyebrows. “We?”

“Margaret and Doris.”

“Margaret Dorkel?” she says slowly. “And Doris Drab-burn? Are you serious?”

In the past, I would have giggled at the silly names, but now I just feel sad. “We came up with a plan. I mean, they didn't know about the first plan,” I say quickly. “I told them afterward. They were upset, you know, that I did that. But they offered to help fix things. And we have a new plan.”

I quickly explain our strategy, but Alyssa shakes her head. “Are you crazy? I'm not trying out.”

This takes me by surprise. I thought she couldn't wait to audition. “It's our best chance. After your turn, you can go straight home. We'll make sure someone sees the wig is still missing. Then I'll slip in, put it back, and make sure it gets noticed. Once the Cute Red Wig is returned, everyone will figure it was just some weird practical joke. No one will care who took it.” I only hope this is true.

“I'm NOT trying out,” Alyssa repeats. “Everyone will stare at me and make nasty comments.”

I sigh. “You can wait in the library. I'll text you right before your turn comes up. You can just hurry in, audition, and leave.”

Alyssa is quiet a moment. “We could just tell everyone what happened.”

“We could.” I stare at my hands. I know this will be the social kiss of death for me, but it's Alyssa's call. She has the right to prove to everyone that she isn't the thief. Homeschooling is starting to sound like a definite option.

I can feel Alyssa's gaze on me. “Forget it, bad idea,” she says. “I'll audition.”

I breathe a huge sigh of relief even as I realize that, once again, Margaret was right. I needed to tell Alyssa. It was the right thing to do. Plus, it would have been a disaster Monday afternoon when she didn't show up for auditions. So the plan is back on track. It's not ideal—it will require perfect timing and a lot of luck, but right now it's the only plan we've got.