Feather Brain (4 page)

Then he put his head down and grunted. I wasn't sure why, until I clued in. He was pooping. My first thought was, Oh, gross! but that was immediately followed by, Coprolites! I have my own coprolites. That's dinosaur poop. Of course, I quickly learned the difference between fossilized dinosaur poop and the fresh stuff. But still, dinosaur poop!

I sat, warm in the sun, enjoying Stegy and his poop, until Kyle came by.

“Playing with your cow, Feather Brain?” he called from the sidewalk. “Moo, moo!” He doubled over, laughing.

I glanced at Stegy; he was motionless, just a model.

Mom walked around the corner of the house, holding a pruning saw in gloved hands, bits of leaves clinging to her long red hair.

Kyle stopped suddenly and stared at Mom. When she smiled at him, he looked startled; he slowly smiled back. Then he turned to me, his face still. “See you later, Clarke,” he said as he turned and walked away.

Mom watched Kyle leave; then she looked at me sitting on the grass with Stegy. She squatted near me, folded up her pruning saw and tugged off her leather gloves.

“I worry about you, Lucas,” she said, touching my head. “Always alone. Why didn't you invite your friend in? You never have friends over, not since we moved here. You do know they're welcome, don't you? Even if I'm working when you get home, I won't mind.”

“I know, Mom,” I said. “He's not someone I want to get to know better.”

“Is there anyone else? You really need a friend.”

I squirmed. Sure, I thought, but with Kyle around I'll never have one. I sighed. It wasn't like I could tell her,
Mom, Kyle hates me, and everyone else is afraid of him
,
so they can't be my friends
. My stomach knotted around the words. Mom would be horrified. She'd march straight to the school—and all that would happen is that Kyle would hate me even more.

“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.

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 wood. 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.