A tiny part of me perks up. But most of me just slumps there still.
I turn over and look at the wall. That’s my answer.
“Wow,” says Daddy.
Later, Mom comes in and makes me slurp some soup. She says she knows friendship can be hard and sometimes we all make mistakes, but talking things through will help.
But I’m too ashamed to talk about how I yelled at Victoria. And at how true the things I yelled still feel. I’m a bad person for feeling such bad feelings.
I didn’t think Victoria and I had anything in common, but we do. We’re both rotten.
It gets dark out. Which matches how I feel, which actually makes me feel a bit better.
“I just want to sleep,” I tell Mom. “Thank you for the soup.”
“Quinny? Quinny, wake up.”
Mom’s back. It’s light out again. I scrunch my eyes and moan when she raises my blinds. “Quinny, time to wake up—it’s Sunday. Come on, we let you sleep all morning.”
I pull the covers over my head.
“Quinny, listen. Disco is leaving this afternoon—”
I whip those covers off. “What? Why?”
“You know why.”
“But, Mom, it’s not her fault she’s a rooster.”
“No, it’s not. But he’s getting too loud and aggressive to live here anymore. Mrs. Porridge said he tried to attack Walter again yesterday—”
“That happens all the time. Friendship can be hard—you said it yourself.”
“Walter and Disco are most certainly not friends,” says Mom.
“How do you know? Maybe they just need some help talking things through—”
“Ha.”
“I’m serious!”
“Quinny, if you want to say good-bye, I suggest you get up and go brush your teeth.”
“I’m not saying good-bye.” I roll over and kick the wall.
“Suit yourself. But if you let Disco leave without saying good-bye, you might regret it.”
Mom leaves. I kick the wall again. Then I get up and go brush my teeth.
I pass the empty chalet des poulets and the empty porch coop. Everybody is by Grandpa Gooley’s truck, with a chicken crate that is full of Disco.
“Disco!” I run toward that trapped rooster. “Let her out!”
Mrs. Porridge catches me before I get to Disco.
She holds me in a hug. Then, slowly, she walks me over to Disco’s crate.
“Good-bye, Disco,” I sniffle.
“Screeee-cawreeeeee.”
When Disco and Cha-Cha first got here, I pictured a whole flock of fluffy, friendly chickens, and lots of conversation, and lots of eggs. I thought there’d be fat, happy birds everywhere, acting silly and making us laugh. Now there’s just an empty coop, and one confused chicken in love with a crabby cat, and one noisy rooster who’s getting kicked out.
“So much for raising chickens,” I grump. “Now we have nothing.”
“Let’s look at what we do have, Quinny,” says Mrs. Porridge. “Look how much Cha-Cha loves Walter. I never thought anyone besides me would love Walter, but he’s found someone who does. A friend. And that’s a beautiful thing, even if they aren’t both chickens.”
“What’s going to happen to Disco?” I ask.
“He’s moving to a farm where he’ll get to be who he truly is—he can’t do that here.”
“But Grandpa Gooley built that giant chicken coop.”
“And he did a good job.”
“Just a good job?” says Grandpa Gooley.
“Don’t push your luck, mister,” Mrs. Porridge snaps.
“Can we get more chickens?” I ask.
“Over my dead body,” she declares.
“I think that’s a maybe,” says Grandpa Gooley.
I stare over at the empty chalet des poulets. Cha-Cha and Walter don’t even seem interested in it. “This isn’t how I pictured it would happen.”
“Sometimes you have to let go of what you thought would happen,” says Mrs. Porridge, “and live the life that’s actually happening…the life you’re in.”
“But isn’t that the opposite of ‘dream big’?”
Mrs. Porridge looks confused.
“At school, there is a big sign in the hallway telling us to dream big. But if we just accept whatever happens, that means we’re not dreaming big.”
“Ah, you have to do both, Quinny. The trick to being a person is you have to do both.”
There’s something else I’m worried about, too. I want to believe that Disco is going to a farm where he will boss a whole flock of hens around and be happy. But when grown-ups say an animal went to live on a farm, sometimes they really mean something worse.
“You’re probably just going to drive Disco around the block,” I say to Grandpa Gooley. “And then Mrs. Porridge is going to boil him up for dinner, right?”
Mrs. Porridge looks shocked. “Quinny, first of all, I’m a vegetarian. Second, we searched high and low for a good home for Disco. Are you calling us liars?”
I stare up at Mrs. Porridge’s offended face. “No, ma’am.”
“If I was going to boil Disco up for dinner, believe me, I’d let you know,” she huffs. “Do I look like someone who would lie to protect you from the harsh realities of life? Is that the kind of deceptive, mushy-hearted person you think I am?”
“No, I guess not…except, maybe.”
“Bite your tongue, Quinny,” she snaps. “Bite it hard.”
But I think Mrs. Porridge tries to hide her real personality as much as Hopper does. Luckily, I have special X-ray eyeballs that can see right through to her secret mushy heart.
“Better hit the road,” says Grandpa Gooley.
“Can I have a moment with Disco?” I ask him.
“Of course.”
I sit with that rooster by the pickup truck. “Disco, it’s okay. Go and be your true self. But don’t forget about us here, okay? We still love you, and we’re never going to forget you.”
“Never, ever,” says Piper, coming up to us now. She’s carrying my accordion.
“One last song?” she asks, handing me that accordion.
“One last song,” I agree, slipping it onto my arms. “Any requests?”
“Brrrrrrifff,” says Cha-Cha, nearby. “Buuu bip.”
“Screeeeeeee,” replies Disco.
I play “Let It Be,” my favorite sad song in the world. It fills me up with such sad joy.
I don’t sing the words, but Piper and Mrs. Porridge do. Afterward, Disco lets us hug him and stroke his feathers. Piper cries. Which is actually a good thing, because then I have to be the mature big sister and take care of Piper’s feelings, so I forget to cry myself.
Grandpa Gooley finally drives Disco away.
We wave good-bye one last time. Then we have a very, very, extra-very sad walk home.
I run upstairs to go cry in my bed.
But before I get there, I see a sign in the hall that directs me back to my old room.
And when I arrive at my old room, my old bed looks made up the way it used to be, with my comforter and pillow and everything—like it’s my very own bed again!
Plus there’s a cage by the window. And something is shuffling and scampering inside. It’s furry, with brown and white spots, and a tiny pink nose. Bigger than a hamster, smaller than a kitten. And cuter than anything I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life.
“Mommy, come look—there’s a…what is it? Ooh, is that a guinea pig? Mom, look! There’s a guinea pig in the house! Where on earth did that precious thing come from?”
“Indoor voice, Quinny. It’s from the animal shelter. We’re just fostering him.”
“So you mean he’s not really mine? Or he is?”
“We have to see how Piper reacts, with her allergies. But the doctor seemed to think that one guinea pig wouldn’t be a big issue.”
I stick my fingers into the cage. The piggy sniffs them hello. He looks a little shy, but his eyes are full of love. Like he needs me to love
him back right this very minute.
“Piper, I have a big favor to ask. Please don’t be allergic to this sweet piggy, please?”
“Okay,” she says. “But only if it’s half mine.” She sticks her fingers into the cage, too.
“Can we take him out of the cage?” I ask Mom.
“I guess so, but be careful.”
I take the piggy out of the cage, and he’s cooing and snuffling on my lap and doesn’t even try to run away. I hold him close and Piper pets him, too.
“Let’s see how it goes,” says Mom. “We’ll know more in a few days.”
But I already know. In my heart I know this piggy is here to stay. I had no idea I even wanted a guinea pig, but now I realize this is exactly the pet I’ve always wanted.
“Oh, Mom, I know that doctor is right! Look, Piper’s not even sneezing. Thank you so much from the bottom of my—”
“Don’t thank me, Quinny. This was all Victoria’s idea.”
“Victoria?”
“She saw the guinea pig at the shelter and thought it’d be a good solution for us.”
“She did? Is she here? Victoria?”
“No, but she sent you this.” Mom hands me a note.
A lump bumps up in my throat. I hand Piper the guinea pig so I can read that note. It’s in swoopy cursive on fancy stationery that matches Victoria’s business cards.
Quinny,
I know I did a bad thing with the party. I’m sorry. I will try harder to be a nice friend. Can you please try harder, too? You really hurt my feelings. I wish you were as nice to me as you are to Hopper, because I have a lot to offer. I am fun, creative, and generous. Also, I can make any snack you want if you come over to my house again, even if it has dairy. We just have to ask Masha in advance.
Sincerely,
Victoria Rose Porridge
The note makes me want to write her a note back. Or talk to her, because I’m sorry, too, and I have a lot to say, and it would take a lot of paper to explain it all.
But I’m not sure if I can ever trust Victoria again. Or if she can trust me. I promised Mrs. Porridge I wouldn’t give up on our friendship, but I don’t know if I can fix all this hurt.
I show Victoria’s note to my new piggy and ask for his advice. But he just tries to nibble on it. I show him all around my room, and then the whole world out my window.
And there’s Hopper at his window, looking back at us. He’s got slicked-back, greasy hair, for some reason, like an old-fashioned 1950s Hopper.
I open my window. “Hopper, there you are! Meet my brand-new guinea pig! He’s so new he doesn’t even have a name yet! Also, why is your hair slicked back like that?”
Hopper waves. “Take a wild guess.” He points over to the window next to his, which is a bathroom window. And inside it is Trevor, scowling with a flowery shower cap on his head. Ty is behind him, sitting and getting his hair slimed with conditioner by his mom.
“Oh, Hopper, I’m sorry your family got fleas, too! By the way, Disco’s gone,” I call out. “You missed the whole thing.”
“I said good-bye before, by myself. I’m not supposed to be around people’s heads.”
Oh sure, I know those rules pretty well by now.
The piggy squeaks and purrs in my hands. I hold him up, closer to the window.
“That’s Hopper.” I point. “He’s a little shy, too, so I think you guys will get along great.” I gesture over to those crabby boys in the bathroom window, both wearing puffy, flowery shower caps now. “And those are the bully twins, but you can’t call them that, because it’s rude. Their real names are Ty and Trevor. And tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Walter and Cha-Cha. But they might try to eat you, especially Walter, so be careful at first, okay?”
The piggy whirrs and nestles against my chest, and twitches his tiny little pink nose, and my heart is on fire with joy, joy, joy.
“But right now, our first job is to figure out what your name is.”
I soak up Quinny’s smile as she waves out her window.
Her new guinea pig is cute, but it looks kind of terrified.
I’m not sure what happened Friday night, but I’m glad to see her feeling better.
And I’m glad Mom’s letting us reschedule our pizza party.
In the meantime, I think I’ll go play some video games with my brothers, since all three of us caught lice. Which is not the same thing as fleas, no matter what Quinny says.
THE END
Quinny
But wait! There’s more!
So Hopper’s family finally got rid of those fleas, and life went back to normal, and now, a few weeks later, Hopper and I are finally going to the Brain Expo.
But not just by ourselves.
Hopper
It wasn’t my idea to invite Victoria and Caleb to the Brain Expo. It was you-know-who’s. To tell you the truth, I thought they’d say it sounded boring or stupid. But they said yes. Victoria even switched some party she was planning to a different time so she could come. The four of us are going into New York City today.
Quinny
Make that the eight of us. Because Piper threw a fit and wanted to come, too. And Mrs. Porridge is coming to keep an eye on Victoria—even though I told her that things have been much better lately with us at school.
Since it’s a couple of days before Halloween, we can’t just go in our regular clothes.
Hopper
There are some other people in costumes at the Brain Expo, but we’re definitely the strangest-looking bunch here. We all dressed up because afterward we’re going to a Halloween party at Quinny’s old apartment building in the city.
But first we walk around the Brain Expo.
It’s crowded and thrilling. But I’m surprised that the longest line here isn’t to see the real human brain. It’s to get into an exhibit called It’s All in Your Head, where you get to walk through a giant pretend brain and see what it’s like from the inside.
“That sounds really weird,” says Victoria.
“It sounds kind of cool,” says Caleb.
“Happy birthday, Professor Grey.” Quinny smiles and nudges me.
“Happy Halloween, Dr. Bumble.” I nudge her back.
Quinny’s smile goes gruesome. “Excuse me, my name is Dr. Dead.”
“Welcome to your head, Dr. Dead,” says the man by It’s All in Your Head.
Then I grab Quinny’s hand and Piper’s tiny one, too, and I lead the way inside.
THE REAL END
Adriana Brad Schanen lives in Montclair, New Jersey, with her husband and two very, very, extra-very lively daughters. Visit her online at adrianabradschanen.com.
Charles Santoso is a concept artist and illustrator who loves to draw little things in a little journal. He currently lives in Sydney, Australia. Visit his website at charlessantoso.com.
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