Double Vision (2 page)

I had to get back!

I started toward the barn doors, but then I saw that lever again. If only I had walked away and joined my class, the rest of this adventure never would've happened.

But that lever was just asking to be pushed, right?

I went over there and pushed it, sending a cloud of white feathers swirling around the barn like a tornado.
“Baaaawwwkkkk!”
The cackling was so loud, I swore it nearly broke my eardrums before I hurried out through the barn doors.

But then, so did the chickens. Dozens and dozens of bawking, squawking chickens, clawing their way to freedom. I got away from the hens and ran to the field, where Mrs. Valdez was lining up the kids. She looked horrified and waved her arms.

Farmer Johnson walked out of the house only to be hit by the chickens full force. They were digging their nails into his arms, legs, and back. Farmer Johnson started screaming like a little kid.

I laughed. Let's be honest, the guy deserved it for cramming them in cages like that. But then a few of the chickens started attacking me.

I ran in circles, trying to get away from those mad hens. “Shoo!” I yelled. “Get back!” But the chickens were looking at me like I was a great big bowl of chicken feed. The entire class was now staring at me.

“Help, it's a chicken attack!” I yelled.

But instead of helping me, the kids backed away. Sam started laughing.

“This is not funny!” I yelled. More chickens surrounded me and pecked my toes.
“Oweeee!”
I hollered, bouncing on my feet, making the class crack up even more. Then one chicken managed to land on my shoulder. And another on my head. White feathers flew all around me.

The chicken on my head turned, digging its nails into my scalp. It chirped, and I knew what came after that. You remember, right? Chirp, poop.

I howled. And the chicken pooped, all down my face. Down my eyelashes and on my nose.

The class broke out laughing and screaming. “Hey,” Daryl called from the back of the line. “It's Linc the Chicken Boy! Bawk, bawk!”

I WILL SPARE YOU THE DETAILS OF HOW
long it took to get the chickens to stop pecking at my head (very long) and how hard it was to rinse the chicken poop from my hair (very hard). Mrs. Valdez and I helped Mr. Johnson get the chickens back in the barn, but it was just a giant, white feathery and poopy mess in the end.

We left at twelve thirty, while Mr. Johnson was still looking for half a dozen missing hens. I secretly hoped they flew far, far away and were free to lay eggs wherever they pleased.

Mrs. Valdez made me sit in front with her for the ride back to school. The bus driver wrinkled his nose when he smelled me, but he didn't say anything.

“Well,” Mrs. Valdez said after giving me the silent treatment most of the way, “I'm sure that will go down in history as the worst field trip ever.”

I shrank down in my seat. “Worse than the tomato food fight?”

“Yes.”

“Worse than the Code Adam alert?”

Mrs. Valdez made a groaning noise that sounded like she was falling apart.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Valdez?” I felt bad now. Mrs. Valdez had stuck her neck out for me many times, bargaining for me with the principal, giving me second, third, fourth chances. She sighed and was silent for what seemed like forever. “You know, Lincoln, if anyone asked me who my favorite student is, I would say it was you.”

I laughed, but then realized she wasn't kidding. “But my grades are awful.” I looked over at Mrs. Valdez. There was a tiny white feather stuck in her graying hair. “I'm your worst student.”

“It's not just about grades, though, Lincoln. Sure, there are those kids who get the As, and that's wonderful. But none are as sharp as you. You see your knowledge in the context of the world.”

“I don't even know what that means.” The bus stopped in front of the school.

Mrs. Valdez gave me a sad and tired smile. “It doesn't matter.” She sighed. Again. “I can't help you anymore—do you understand that? It's too big this time, the trouble you've caused.”

Mrs. Valdez got off the bus, leaving me there, smelling like chicken poop. Sam high-fived me as he passed.

“Chicken Boyyy!” Daryl called as he rushed past, careful not to touch me. “That was awesome.”

For some reason, I didn't feel so good about my Linc disaster. I waved and laughed along with my friends, but I had a feeling in my gut that maybe I'd overdone it this time.

My feeling was right.

Dad was waiting when I finally got off the bus. He wore his baggy brown carpenter pants that looked like they belonged to someone else and a white T-shirt with Baker Autos on it. Dad jingled his keys, the ones on the giant key chain with the small metal compass clipped on it, the compass Grandpa gave him when he was in Boy Scouts. He pushed his black plastic-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. I couldn't tell if he was mad, but figured he had to be.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Lincoln.” He studied my head. “Did those chickens break your skin?”

“Yeah.” I rubbed my scalp, where I could feel tiny scabs.

“You're lucky you've already had your tetanus shot.” He opened the passenger-side door. “We better get you home and get some alcohol on that. Mom's orders.”

“You told her about today?”

Dad smiled, but it wasn't a happy kind of smile. “The school called her. At work.”

I groaned as we both got in the car. I tossed my backpack and skateboard on the backseat. “What'd she say?”

Dad started the car but waited before putting it in drive. “I would yell at you right now, but I know that your mom will do enough of that for both of us.” He drove away from the school. “Just answer me one thing: Why did you think it was a good idea to let a barn full of chickens out?”

Honestly, after all the commotion of the day, I had no idea what had possessed me. I shrugged. “I don't know.”

Dad nodded. I don't know if he got it, but he didn't ask any more questions the rest of the way home. We just listened to some old geezer rock and let the wind blow through the car so neither one of us had to smell me.

Mom is a nurse, which means she works weird hours and always walks like she's in a hurry. Plus she's working on her degree to be a nurse-practitioner, so between work and school, she pretty much runs all the time. Mom had just come off her shift when we got home around one, and she was waiting in my room, ready to let me have it.

I'll save you the whole Linc-Is-in-Trouble-Again speech, because if you've ever been in trouble, you know what those sound like.

Here's the recap.

“So what am I supposed to do for the rest of the year?” I sounded a little whiny, I'll admit, but then what
was
I supposed to do?

“Read those books Grandpa bought you for your birthday.” Mom pointed to my bookshelf to
The History of Crime
, volumes one, two, and three. I could hardly wait. “Oh, and you'll help me when I have to take Grandpa to his appointments.” This was the opposite of fun.

I moaned. Bad move.

“You have yourself to thank for this. You're suspended from school, Linc. Indefinitely.” Mom tucked her hair behind her ears. She looked stressed out, but then that was probably my fault. “We have a meeting with the principal on Monday. I can only hope they'll take you back. I wouldn't.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You're welcome.” She got up and touched my face. “I love you, Lincoln. But you sure are a handful. And take a shower—you smell.”

So I did. Once I was no longer smelly, I cleaned my room (pure guilt and sucking up to Mom), only taking a break at six because it was time for dinner. All that afternoon, the phone was ringing, but I didn't think anything of it. Not until I clearly heard some guy leave a message on the machine about an appointment regarding an “urgent legal matter.”

“What's with that?” I asked Mom as she was stirring the spaghetti sauce for dinner.

“The appointment is tonight, with a lawyer. We're getting sued.” She looked at me, and for the first time since I could remember, she looked scared. “That farmer wants us to pay for the chicken farm damages.”

I felt like someone had punched me in the chest. “He can't do that. Right?”

Mom didn't answer me but turned her attention to dinner.

“He can't do that,” I repeated, but of course he could. This is America. “What's going to happen?”

“I've never been sued before, Linc, so I don't know.” Mom put the spoon down. “I guess we'll find out soon enough.”

The doorbell rang, making me jump. “I'll get it,” I said, trying to be helpful and suck up.

I made my way to the door. When I opened it, I heard the noise and laughter before I saw them. Chickens—or at least two kids in homemade chicken suits, with feathers taped to paper plates or something. A boom box played the chicken dance song.

“Hey, Chicken Boy!” I recognized Daryl's voice. “Wanna dance?” The other chicken suit broke out laughing. That was Sam.

All right, so that was pretty funny, right? I could've come up with that prank myself if it had been Daryl or Sam getting into chicken farm trouble. But for some reason, monkeying around with my friends was the last thing I wanted to do. “Funny, guys.” I slammed the door, but I could still hear them laughing and cackling.

“Who's that at the door?” Grandpa asked. He glanced over my shoulder, out the little window next to the front door. Grandpa is old, but he can sneak up on you like a ninja. Very creepy.

“It's just my friends.”

“Huh.” Grandpa shrugged, then shuffled away.

The chicken dance music stopped. When I was sure they were gone, I walked to the kitchen, hoping to find some snacks to fill the pit inside my stomach.

“Dinner's on the table in twenty minutes,” Mom said behind me when she saw me rummaging inside the fridge. “No snacking.”

“Wasn't there a cheese ball in here the other day?” I picked up a carton of eggs to see the back of the fridge.

“No snacking!” She closed the fridge, leaving me in the snack-free kitchen, holding a carton of eggs. The doorbell rang. Again.

“Oh no, you don't,” I mumbled, laughing. I walked to the door, opening up the egg carton. I took out four of them, two in each hand. I placed the carton near the door for extra ammo and opened the door.

And threw the eggs. “Crack this, you suckers!” I laughed.

It wasn't until I turned on the porch light that I realized it wasn't my friends who had rung the doorbell. There was a guy, bald, in a black suit, and a tall woman, also in a black suit, with brown hair in a bun.

“Is this the Baker residence?” Egg yolk was dripping down the bald man's face.

“Um. Yeah?”

“We're government agents.” He flashed a badge. “Are you Lincoln Baker?”

I'D JUST EGGED THE GOVERNMENT, SO I
apologized.

“Let's cut the nonsense. Is there somewhere we can talk?” Guy Agent asked. “Privately?”

“Um, I dunno.” I should explain my domestic situation. My house is basically a rectangle, three bedrooms, one bathroom, an eat-in kitchen, and small living room, where Dad was watching TV just then. So when the government agent asked if there was somewhere private we could talk, I almost laughed. “How about right here?”

Lady Agent settled at the end of the porch, looking miffed.

“Lincoln Baker,” Guy Agent said, like he was still not sure.

“In the flesh.”

“I'm Agent Fullerton.” He shook my hand, quick but firm enough to hurt. “This is Agent Stark,” he said, waving behind him. Agent Stark just stared at me. “We're with a top secret special ops team called Pandora.”

“You're spies?”

“We prefer ‘secret agents.'”

Could this be a joke? If so, it was a good one. “So what's so top secret that brings you here? Did someone lose Pandora's box?”

Agent Fullerton kept studying my face with a smile. “It's uncanny. Isn't it, Stark?” He looked over his shoulder.

Agent Stark stood, holding a small yellow pad, looking cranky. “Uncanny,” Agent Fullerton mumbled, still staring at me. He whipped out a tape measure. “Can you stand up a little straighter?” I stretched out my arms, like that would help. “Shy two inches.”