90% Human

by M. C. Berkhousen

  Standing in front of the mirror, I raised my arms and studied the feathers. I wished I could get rid of them. Swimming in tee-shirts was boring. I was sick of worrying about them all the time. More than anything, I wanted to be like the other guys. If I didn’t have these stupid feathers I wouldn’t have to wear a tee-shirt to swim.

  I grabbed a feather and yanked it out. It hurt, a lot. Could I shave them off? Probably not. The shaft of the feather, the thing that connected it to my skin, was too thick for a razor. Grabbing another feather, I yanked again. It felt like I’d been stung by a wasp. I’d never get rid of the feathers out that way. There were too many of them and it hurt too much.

  Then I remembered something. When Gramps was young, he lived on a farm. If his mother wanted to make a chicken dinner, she’d catch one of the chickens and chop off its head. Gramps said the chicken’s body would run around for a few seconds without its head. Then his mother would grab the chicken by the feet and dip it into a pail of very hot water. The hot water loosened up the feathers so they were easier to pluck. According to Gramps, it only took a few minutes to get all the feathers off.

  I ran my hand across the rows of downy feathers under my arms. No way was I going to dunk myself in hot water. Maybe a hot shower would help.

  I showered, lathering myself up with soap and hot water. When I was finished, I dried off and went back to the mirror. I tugged on a feather. Nothing happened. To get it out I had to yank really hard, just as before. The feather finally came lose, but it stung as badly as it had before my shower. I gave up and finished dressing. Before I left the bathhouse, I picked up the three feathers I’d pulled out and rolled them into my towel. By the time I got back to the cabin, the other guys were just getting up.

  While they were showering, I hung my towel on the clothesline. The feathers fell to the ground. Jim, my “buddy,” was just getting back from the bathhouse. His eyes widened when he saw the feathers on the ground.

  “These are eagle feathers, Luke!” He picked them up and rubbed them gently between his fingers. “They’re from a bald eagle. Where did you get them?”

  “I found them near the bathhouse.” It was almost the truth. There was no point in trying to lie about it. Jim was Native American. He’d recognize eagle feathers right away.

  “They’re protected by law,” said Jim. “You’ll have to turn them over to the Fish and Wildlife Service.”

  “I thought Native Americans could have them for religious services.”

  “We can, but we have to apply to the Fish and Wildlife department to get them.” He handed me the feathers. “You’d better give these to a counselor. You can get big fines for keeping them. You can even go to jail.”

  Great. Now I had another worry. If I did yank the feathers out and was caught with them, I could go to jail. I hoped I wouldn’t start molting.

  Jim and I walked together to the dining hall. Breakfast was hot cereal with raisins, walnuts, and brown sugar or cold cereal with bananas. While I was filling my bowl with corn flakes, I spotted Austin. He didn’t look happy. He was staring at the bowl of oatmeal in front of him. Austin didn’t like oatmeal. He preferred omelets with onions, peppers, and cheese for breakfast, with toast and jam and a cup of Court Lodge—a fancy decaf tea. Instead, he was getting mushy porridge and orange juice from a can.

  I felt bad for him. He didn’t want to be here. The only activity Austin liked at camp was the climbing tower. He could climb that thing upside down and backwards, like Batman. I didn’t do the climbing tower because I was afraid of heights. I waved and Austin waved back, his mouth twisted in a half-smile. Several Tracker girls came to sit with him. His face lit up, and the half-smile turned into a first-class grin.

  Campers had to help with getting meals on and off the table. After breakfast, the assigned campers cleared the tables and returned food and dishes to the counter between the kitchen and the dining room. That morning, it was my job. I was heading toward the kitchen with a pile of plates when I heard a familiar female voice.

  “Stop it, Jake!” It was Megan Gifford. Jake Parma was reaching for the necklace she was wearing. The guy was just obnoxious.

  “I just want to see it,” said Jake. “Is that a lizard on that shell? Just let me look at it for a minute.” He stretched out his hand again, and Megan batted it away.

  “I said no! You’ll take it and hide it somewhere, and I’ll never get it back.” She picked up some cereal boxes and brought them to the counter.

  “Hi, Luke.”

  I set my stack of plates on the counter and turned around. Megan grinned at me. She’d grown a little. She was still about four inches shorter than me, but she looked different. Older. Prettier, maybe.

  “I didn’t know you were here,” I said. “Which group are you in?”

  “Trackers,” said Megan. “Section A. I turn thirteen next month, so I really should be in Warriors.” She put down the cereal boxes and took a lunch sack and a water bottle from the counter.

  “Going on a hike?” I asked.

  “Yes. We’re going around the lake to see if we can spot some animals. We can either sketch them or take pictures. I’m taking a camera.”

  She was wearing a necklace made of beads. From it hung a shell, painted with the image of a pink Komodo. I tried not to stare at it, but the shell seemed to be glowing a little, like a dim flashlight.

  “Megan, is that shell changing color?”

  She took it off and gaped at it. “It’s lighting up, like it has a pink bulb inside. I’ve never seen it do that before.”

  I couldn’t help staring at that necklace. I knew where it came from, although I didn’t think Megan did. It was very old and was connected to the mysterious curse that caused us to become zoo animals the previous fall. Gramps told us about the curse and how it happened. He and a friend, Dunn Nikowski, were on Komodo Island, on leave from the U.S. Navy. Dunn poked a Komodo with a stick. It attacked him and bit his leg. Gramps shot the Komodo, then got Dunn to the island’s hospital. Dunn lost his leg and was very ill. A medicine woman came to Dunn’s room and put a necklace made of beads around his neck. Now, fifty years later, Megan Gifford was wearing that same necklace. Before I could ask to see it, another girl called to Megan from across the room.

  “Come on, Megan,” she said. “You can talk to your boyfriend later.”

  Megan’s face flushed from her chin all the way to her forehead.

  “I’m …so sorry,” she stuttered. “I didn’t say you were my boyfriend. I said I wanted to say hi to a friend, that’s all.”

  “No worries.” I kept my tone casual, pretending girls said that stuff about me all the time.

  Megan was already tearing across the dining room. “Thanks for embarrassing me, Louise,” she said as she flew out the door.

  Jim was waiting for me by the counter. He sucked in his cheeks, trying not to laugh.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I muttered. “She’s just a nice kid who’s in Austin’s class at school. She’s only twelve or thirteen years old.”

  The truth was, Megan was more that “just a nice kid.” She had saved my life, and I’d saved hers. We were friends. I didn’t know how to explain all that to Jim. He was still grinning at me.

  “Like I said, she’s just a kid. A lot younger than me,” I explained.

  “She looked older,” said Jim. “And you’d look good together. Pretty red hair—just like yours. Pretty face, pretty…” He started making a woman’s shape in the air with his hands. I glared at him. He held up his hands in surrender.

  “Let’s get back,” I grumbled. “We have inspection in ten minutes.”

  Levi and Terry inspected our cabin every morning. Jim and I had made our beds and tidied our area before we left for breakfast, so there wasn’t much left to do. We just had to make sure our suitcases and storage areas were neat.

  When we arrived at our cabin, the other guys were already inside. Their bunks were made, and their suitcases were open and neatly arranged. But one side o
f the cabin was a mess. The blankets from the upper and lower bunks were tangled and hanging half on the floor. Two suitcases lay open and all the clothes were bundled up on the mattresses.

  “What happened to my bunk?” I yelled.

  “We had this stuff ready for inspection before we went to eat,” cried Jim. “Who did this?”

  “I don’t know,” said Bill. “It was like that when we got back from breakfast. I was kind of surprised. You guys are usually pretty neat.”

  I glanced at Jake. He was lying on his bed, reading a book. The book was upside down. He was smiling. I was so angry I started to tremble. I could feel the prick of scales just under my skin. My mouth began to water and the muscles in the back of my throat clenched, ready to swallow something. My whole body was ready to turn Komodo. Everything in me ached to get back at Jake. All it would take was one little bite. They’d have to take him away in an ambulance, and that would be the end of Jake’s camping days for this year.

  I took a deep breath and shook the thought away. I couldn’t let myself use my animal traits that way, no matter how angry I was. Taking another deep breath, I closed my eyes. Slowly, my body started to feel normal again. My hands stopped shaking.

  I picked up some shirts from the floor. They were wet and slimy, covered with something white. Toothpaste!

  Levi and Terry knocked on the door, then stepped inside. They scanned the cabin, nodding approvingly at the orderly bunks and suitcases. Levi stared at the two rumpled bunks with the clothes dumped on top of them.

  “Whose bunks are these?” asked Terry.

  “Mine,” I said through clenched teeth. I pointed to the lower bunk next to me.

  Jim shoved some stuff aside and patted his upper bunk. “This one is mine.” He let out a long, discouraged sigh.

  “You two will miss swimming this morning while you clean up your areas,” said Terry.

  Levi cleared his throat. “Jake, what’s that you’re reading?

  “Divergent,” said Jake.

  Levi took the book from his hand, turned it right side up and handed it back to him. Everything got very quiet. Jim stood still, his arms full of clothes. My heart started to pound. It took all my self-control not to grab Jake and fling him out the door.

  Levi looked at me steadily for a few seconds. “Do you have anything to say about this, Luke?”

  Thoughts swarmed in my head. If I told on Jake, we’d go right to the camp director’s office. Levi would report everything he’d seen. He’d tell the director he’d seen Jake pinch me. The director would send me to the nurse. Miss Powell would look at my arms and maybe my back. She’d see the bruises. Then she’d see the feathers, and within an hour I’d be in an ambulance heading for the nearest large hospital that had a research laboratory. I couldn’t let that happen.

  Levi was still waiting. I shook my head. Levi glanced at Jim. “You have anything you want to say about this?”

  “No,” said Jim. He crossed his arms and stared at the floor.

  I shot him a grateful look. I wasn’t sure why Jim didn’t report Jake, but I was glad he had my back.

  With one more glance at Jake, Levi followed Terry outside. I looked out the window and watched them walk across the clearing to the next cabin.

  Grinning, Jake pushed himself up from his bunk. “Too bad you have to miss swimming, pukey Lukey. You shouldn’t be so messy.” He grabbed the back of my arm and pinched it.

  That did it. Flattening my hand, I chopped the inside of Jake’s elbow as hard as I could. His arm flopped limply to his side. His face turned red as he scrunched up his mouth.

  “You’ll pay for that, Pukey.” His voice was hoarse. “You better watch your back.”

  I moved closer to him and stared up into his face. “Ooooohh. I’m really scared. Touch me again and you’ll be crawling out of here.”

  Jake backed away from me. His eyes never left me as he grabbed his towel. Hurrying out, he slammed the door. The other guys followed him, grim expressions on their faces.

  Jim and I remade our beds and put our suitcases and storage bins back in order. Jake had squirted toothpaste over my clothes, so I had to spend two hours washing them by hand.

  Levi came into the bathhouse while I was still scrubbing toothpaste out of my jeans. It wasn’t coming out very well. White streaks still showed on the dark cloth.

  “Not being a snitch is one thing,” said Levi. “But letting that kid bully you is unacceptable. Why won’t you be honest about what he’s doing to you?”

  “I can’t prove he messed up my stuff. I didn’t see him do it. Besides, I think I’ve got it handled.”

  Levi’s expression was stern. “This camp has zero tolerance for bullying. Next time I’ll report it whether you do or not. Got it?”

  I nodded and went back to work on my jeans. Levi shook his head and walked away. I hated that he was angry with me. It was like he was blaming me for this, and it wasn’t my fault. Levi didn’t know my secret. If I told on Jake, I would be the one who would suffer the most. It wasn’t fair. I hated the situation I was in. I hadn’t asked for these stupid feathers. They were caused by something I did when we were trying to get Megan out of the zoo.

  We’d gone back to the zoo to rescue her. She was still in the form of a death adder when Dunn hid her on top of the zoo’s water tower. Somehow she fell off. When I saw the small red snake falling through the air, I instantly turned eagle to catch her. It wasn’t even a decision. But it was my fourth change, and according to the curse, the fourth time you changed form, you stayed that way. I did go back to my human form, except for one little thing. I still had tiny white feathers under my arms.

  It took all morning to remake our beds, scrub the toothpaste out of our clothes, and hang them on the clothesline to dry. Jim and I finished just in time for lunch. We ate hamburgers and fries, with ice cream for dessert. I glanced at my watch. I had just enough time to get to the roping clinic. I was going to be needing primo lassoing skills in the future.

  Chapter Two—Roping Clinic

  The roping clinic was being held at Rustic Camp, the part of Camp Fort Jackson where they taught riding and the care of horses. It was called “Rustic Camp” because the campers lived in primitive cabins and ate all their meals outdoors. There were no nice bathhouses with showers, either. Campers used metal Porta Potties and swam in the lake or washed in a primitive shower facility to get clean.

  The campers cared for the horses, including “mucking out” their stalls. “Mucking out” meant shoveling up the manure and dirty straw, sweeping the floor, and then putting down clean straw. Campers also fed, bathed, and groomed the horses. It was a lot of work. But it was fun too. I’d gone there for the past two years and learned to be a pretty good rider.

  Austin and I walked the half mile to the entrance of Rustic Camp. We made a right turn, passed some cabins, and followed the driveway to the corral, where a group of kids had gathered.

  Two horses were drinking water from a trough next to the fence. When Austin and I walked past the corral, both horses backed away. They snorted and sniffed; then one horse reared. The other horse whinnied, pawing the ground. Then it turned and ran away.

  The instructor, a woman who looked about the same age as our mom, watched them go. She glanced at us, looking confused.

  “We didn’t do anything,” I said, holding out my hands. “We didn’t even go near the corral.”

  I knew why the horses had shied away from us. They could sense the animal traits that were still left over from our time at the zoo. A Komodo dragon would send them running for sure. So would a bear. The horses must have been very confused when they saw us. Outwardly we were just kids, like the other campers. But somehow they could sense that a dangerous reptile and a grizzly bear were just a few breaths away.

  “That’s so odd,” said Mrs. Callahan. The horses were now in the farthest end of the corral, huddled together near the fence. “Maybe a bee stung one of them.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s get started.”


  First she gave us each a rope. These ropes were heavier and a little stiffer than ordinary ropes. Holding the tip or end of the rope, Mrs. Callahan showed us how to make a slip knot, or “honda.” We fed the rope through the honda to make a loop. The goal was to get this loop over a steer’s horns.

  Our “steer” was a bale of hay with a plastic steer head on one end. The head had very long horns. Those horns were our target. Our job was to learn to swing the rope, aim the loop, and lay it over the dummy steer’s horns.

  Most of the class members were campers who wanted to learn roping so they could be in rodeo competitions and rope calves. They would have to do everything we were learning while riding a horse. Austin and I wouldn’t be on horses or in roping competitions. We wanted to be able to rope something stronger and much more dangerous than a calf. Our target would be bucking, hissing and trying to eat us as we tried to lay the loop around its scaly neck and legs.

  During the clinic we practiced swinging the loop and letting it fly, hopefully landing over the dummy steer’s horns. On the third try I managed to throw the loop around one horn. Mrs. Callahan showed me how to position my hand so the loop would catch both horns. It wasn’t easy, but by the end of the class I had done it twice. For once I caught on faster than Austin. Maybe it was because I’d watched the kids roping the year before, when I went to horse camp, so I’d already gone over it many times in my mind.

  The clinic lasted for almost two hours. We stopped for a break after an hour and sat under nearby trees to drink water and eat potato chips. By the end of the second hour, Austin and I were tired and ready to go back to our own camp. There would be another clinic on Saturday.

  We thanked Mrs. Callahan and said goodbye to the other campers. Then we trudged back up the hill to our own camp.

  Warriors second swim period was later that afternoon. I couldn’t wait. Jim and I had missed the morning swim because we failed inspection, so we were both eager to get into the water. I changed into my swimsuit, keeping my tee shirt on to cover the feathers. Jim and I walked down to the lake together. The lake was at the bottom of a steep hill. To get there, campers had to walk down one hundred and five wooden steps. At the bottom of the steps was a big wooden board with round tags that hung on wooden pegs. Each of us had a tag with our name on it. One side of the tag was red, and the other side was white. Before going into the water, we turned the tag to the red side. After we came out, we turned it back to white. That way the lifeguards knew everyone was out of the lake.