by Mac Barnett
“This thing feels heavier tonight,” Niles said. He hopped off his bike. He was wearing black jeans, a black sweatshirt, and a tall black Stetson.
“What’s with the hat?” Miles asked.
“It felt appropriate.”
Part of Miles wanted to make fun of the hat. The other part wanted a hat.
“Let’s do this,” said Miles.
Chapter
32
NILES RUBBED HIS HANDS TOGETHER. He blew into his fists. It was the first time Miles had ever seen Niles nervous.
Niles raised his hands to his mouth. His voice was startling in the blackness.
“Hey, boss! Heyyyyyyyyyyyy, boss! Hup, hup!”
Nothing happened.
That wasn’t good.
“Um, it’s fine,” Niles said. “Different farmers use different calls.”
“OK,” Miles said.
Niles cried out again: “Sue, boss! Suuuuuuuuuuuue, boss!”
Silence.
A sheepish shrug from Niles.
Miles chewed on his thumb. This part had not been his responsibility. Maybe it should have been.
“I’ve got some more.” Niles cleared his throat. “Come, boss! Cooooooooooooome, boss!”
Somewhere nearby, a cow mooed.
And so did another cow.
And another.
The night was full of the moos of cows. The moos were nearby, and they were getting closer.
“Cooooooooooooome, boss!” said Niles.
“Moo,” said the cows.
“Ha, ha!” said Miles, except he didn’t say it. He was actually laughing.
A big cow-shaped shadow came over the hill, mooing and ringing.
“Hey, Bossie!” said Niles. “She’s got a bell around her neck—that’s the lead cow!”
Now the cows came from all over, up from the gully, out from the trees. The meadow filled with one of Bob Barkin’s dairy herds, perhaps wondering why this morning’s milking was starting so early, but probably not. After all, they were cows.
Bossie was getting close now, and some of the cows were beginning to fall in behind her. Niles clapped his hands. “OK, let’s go!” Niles hopped on the bike. “Come, boss!” he shouted. He reached back and threw a handful of hay in the direction of the approaching herd. Bossie scooped it up without stopping and kept moving toward Niles. Standing up on the pedals, Niles Sparks started to ride. Bossie followed the hay, and the cows followed Bossie.
Miles had a job to do.
Chapter
33
IN ALMOST TWO MONTHS of reading about moving cows, Miles Murphy’s favorite bit was a passage from J. M. Iverson’s Herding with Dignity:
“Every creature on earth is either predator or prey. A cow is a prey animal. Cows think like prey. They react like prey. If you want to move cows, you’ve got to move like a predator.”
Miles eyed the herd. They were ambling around in a clump, calves and cows both, sort of following Niles’s bike as he pedaled through the pasture. But some were moving in the wrong direction. Some just stood there. More than a few were munching on grass.
Miles ducked into a low crouch. “You’re a coyote,” Miles thought. He sprang forward.
Tense and graceful, Miles moved across the grass. As he approached the rear of the herd, the stragglers raised their heads. Their ears perked up. They mooed. They turned toward Miles and stared him down. And then they started moving.
Miles moved toward the cows. They moved away.
And now the whole clump was going, following Niles on the bike down a knoll, with Miles bringing up the rear.
Miles was zigzagging, back and forth, to the outer edges of the herd. Side to side, side to side, like a coyote, the cows getting jumpy. They bucked, they snorted, they farted and tossed their tails. Miles felt their resistance and kept sweeping from side to side, pressing the animals forward. You’re a coyote. You’re a coyote.
As they crested a low rise, a single cow spooked and trotted off from the herd. Miles wanted to chase, but he swallowed his instinct and let her go. Ten seconds later she stopped, swiveled her head nervously, and rejoined the procession. It was just like Iverson had said in chapter one, paragraph one—cows liked to stay together.
After a quarter mile, the herd had thinned out into a line, walking two or three abreast. They were really mooing now. The adults were in the front, the calves, jumpy and gawky, behind. Bringing up the rear were what must have been the oldest cows, grumpy, reluctant, moaning. And then Miles zigging, zagging, a coyote.
Miles did a rough count. They were riding herd on more than a hundred head of cattle. He was pretty sure he was using all those terms the right way. Forward, forward, into the night. He could feel the momentum.
“Gate!” Niles called out from his bike. “Gate!”
Miles dropped back and let the line get ahead. Then he peeled off far to the left and sprinted past calves, past cows, past Niles and the hay. He ran through white puffs of his own breath, throwing himself against the metal fence. The latch was a cold shock against his bare hands, and Miles used his whole body to swing the gate open. There was the bang of the gate and the clang of Bossie’s cow-bell and the squeaking of Niles’s bike. Miles ran alongside the fence for a while, picked a spot to climb over, and dropped down to the ground. Then he was up again and running as fast as he could.
Niles was getting close to the gate, the herd right behind him. Miles had to make it back to the rear of the line. He took his position in time to see Niles coast through the gate, tossing some hay over his shoulder. “Come, boss! Cooooooommmmme, boss!” Bossie was through, then the next two cows, then more. Miles pressed forward, willing the cows to move, to walk on. Get through the gate. Get through the gate. He was relentless, alert to the motion of the herd and the movements of individual cows. Miles breathed in the heat from their bodies. Their smell, rich and sweet, was in his nose and in his throat.
And soon all the cows were through the gate and so was Miles. He stopped to take a breath. Up ahead, his friend was riding a bike in the light of a rising moon, and Miles was here, breathing, and there was a line of one hundred cows between them. It was after midnight and nobody—not Miles, not Niles, not the cows—was where they were supposed to be, and that felt right. Miles dropped to a crouch and sank his fingers into the damp earth. In the soil, beetles shuddered, worms tunneled, grass strived upward. Miles could feel it all in his fingertips.
Niles rode on and the cows followed, away from the gate, away from the fence, away from Bob Barkin’s farm.
Niles pumped a fist into the air. Miles howled at the sky.
Chapter
34
A LINE OF COWS five hundred feet long proceeded two by two down Chapman Drive, one of the quietest streets in the sleepy town of Yawnee Valley. Niles and Miles had plotted their route carefully. It was 3:13 A.M. and nobody was out.
Niles rang the bell on his bike twice. Intersection.
Then Miles was sprinting again, up on the lawns, hopping hedges, maybe trampling a couple of early-blooming flower beds. He arrived at the corner of Chapman and Trellis well before Niles, who was weaving slowly to give Miles plenty of time to unshoulder his backpack and take out Niles’s quick-pitch tent. He tossed it into the air with a flick of the wrist, and the tent sproinged as it unfolded at the peak of its arc. It landed and bounced. Miles positioned the tent on one side of the intersection, blocking off Trellis Drive in one direction. At least that was the idea. The tent looked puny now in the middle of the road, and Miles hoped it was enough to discourage the cows from bolting off down the wrong street. It would have to be. Miles took his position on the other side of Trellis. Niles cruised by wearing a madman’s grin.
And then the cows.
They gave him placid looks, wild looks, accusing looks. The cows were close enough for Miles to touch. So he did. The cow flinched when Miles reached out and brushed his hand against her flank. Her hair was coarse and damp and warm. Miles put his hand to his nose. He smelled like
an animal. It was the first time Miles had touched a cow.
The old cows dragged past and the intersection was clear. It was time to fold up the tent. This was supposed to be simple, but Miles had never gotten the hang of it. The idea was the same as the collapsible silver sunshade Miles’s mom had in her car, but Miles had never been able to figure that out either. After wrestling the tent for about a minute, Miles had gotten it down to a poky misshapen lump small enough to fit back in the backpack. Miles took off down the road and caught up with the herd just in time to hear Niles ring his bell twice again.
There were six more intersections on their path that night, and by the fourth Miles was running down the street hugging the pitched tent in front of himself. He fumbled. He tripped. But they made it without losing a single cow. And by 3:56 they were making their way down Sunnyslope Road—the homestretch.
Five urgent rings from Niles’s bell. They had company. At the head of the line Niles was waving to a figure standing in the middle of a house’s front lawn. As Miles got closer he saw it was a man, an old man, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. The man stood agog, watching the cows parade by his house. “If anyone sees us, and they probably won’t,” Niles had said back in the prank lab, “just play it by ear. You’re good in the moment.” Miles tried to take a nervous gulp, but his throat was too tight. By the time he’d made it up to the man’s mailbox, he still hadn’t figured out what to say.
It turned out the man wasn’t wearing just boxers—he also had a terry-cloth sweatband around his head. His white hair was uncombed and shone in the moonlight.
They were so close. If this all fell apart now—
“What are you doing in the middle of town with all these cows?” asked the man.
“What are you doing out in your underwear at four in the morning?” Miles replied.
“Fair enough,” said the man.
And that was that.
Eight minutes later Niles led the cows up the driveway to Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy. He leapt off his bike and dragged the wagon up the front steps, spilling hay as he went. The key ring Niles pulled out was so big Miles could see it from the back of the herd. Niles fiddled with the lock and slipped inside. In less than five seconds the front hall glowed yellow. Niles threw the doors open. Niles pitched some more hay onto the threshold. “Cooooooooome, boss,” he said, then disappeared inside, dragging the wagon behind him.
Bossie sniffed the steps. She snorted and moaned. Then she took the steps in two clumsy hops. Her head was inside. Then her withers. Then her rump and her tail. And then the next cow.
Miles pushed forward against the herd’s misgivings, exerting steady pressure from behind. The cows disliked Miles more than they disliked stairs. And they loved moving together. It took only six minutes to get 107 cows through the front door of Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy.
When the last rump was through, Miles shut the door.
He waited outside.
Niles flipped off the lights and slammed the front door shut. “Happy April Fools’ Day,” he said.
Miles and Niles collapsed on their backs on the school’s wet grass.
Miles held two fingers right up to the sky. “High five.”
Niles held up his two. “High five.”
Then they laughed.
And they laughed.
Chapter
35
THE BARKINS’ PHONE RANG at 4:03 A.M.
Principal Barkin picked it up and said, “Mmmmpfffff.”
“BARRY, THIS IS YOUR FATHER, FORMER PRINCIPAL BARKIN. AM I WAKING YOU UP?”
“No,” said Principal Barkin.
“DON’T LIE TO ME! I CAN HEAR THE SLEEP IN YOUR VOICE.”
“Is something wrong?” asked Principal Barkin.
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT TODAY IS?”
“It’s—”
“IT’S APRIL FIRST, ALSO KNOWN AS APRIL FOOLS’ DAY, AND YOU ARE SLEEPING! LIKE A FOOL! YOU SHOULD BE UP WRITING YOUR APRIL FOOLS’ POWER SPEECH.”
“I wrote it last night,” said Principal Barkin.
“THEN YOU SHOULD BE UP PRACTICING!”
“OK.”
“PLANNING YOUR PAUSES!”
“OK.”
“PUTTING POWER INTO YOUR VOICE!”
“OK.”
“ENSURING THAT EVERY STUDENT KNOWS THERE WILL BE ZERO TOLERANCE FOR APRIL FOOLS’ PRANKS.”
“You know, Dad,” said Principal Barkin, “some people might say calling a person at four in the morning is an April Fools’ prank.”
“HOW DARE YOU! THIS IS NOT A PRANK. I AM NOT PRANKING YOU RIGHT NOW. I HAVE NEVER PRANKED IN MY LIFE.”
“That was a joke, Dad.”
“A JOKE? OR A PRANK? THERE’S A FINE LINE BETWEEN ‘JOKE’ AND ‘PRANK,’ BARRY, AND YOU’RE STEPPING RIGHT UP TO THAT LINE WHEN YOU ACCUSE YOUR FATHER OF PRANKING. A PRANKING PRINCIPAL! JUST LIKE YOUR GRANDPA JIMMY. YOU KNOW, HE ONCE—”
“I better go practice this speech, Dad.”
“THEN GO!”
“Bye.”
“GIVE JOSH AND SHARON MY LOVE.”
Barry Barkin sat on the edge of his bed in the dark.
“That was my father,” he told his wife. “He sends his love.”
“Mmmmpfffff,” said Mrs. Barkin.
Principal Barkin couldn’t get back to sleep. When he closed his eyes he saw Miles Murphy’s face. That little prankster was probably planning something. Principal Barkin decided that his father was right. His father was always right.
He turned on his bedside lamp.
At 6:03, Principal Barkin, showered, shaved, and full of oatmeal on toast, pulled into his parking spot behind the school. He activated his new car alarm and walked up the steps to the rear entrance of Yawnee Valley Science and Letters Academy.
Barkin sniffed. It smelled like cows this morning. Must be a strong wind blowing in from the farmland.
Barkin entered the school. In the dark, on the way to the light switch, he bumped into something large and hairy. “I don’t remember any of this,” he mumbled.
Barkin flipped on the lights.
It was a cow.
Barkin almost laughed.
“April Fools’, ” he said to the cow.
Principal Barkin had a list of suspects that was exactly one kid long. Apparently this was Miles Murphy’s idea of an April Fools’ joke. Too bad Miles didn’t know his principal liked to get to school early. Principal Barkin had plenty of time to lead this cow out the back door and down those—
Principal Barkin put his hand on his Principal Pack.
Fact 586.
That cow couldn’t get down stairs.
Fine! This was fine. He had plenty of time to squash this April Fools’ joke. The earliest students wouldn’t be arriving for almost an hour. That was plenty of time to hide this cow in his office.
“This way, cow,” Principal Barkin said to the cow.
The cow didn’t say anything.
Soon Principal Barkin was behind the cow, pushing. Then he was in front of the cow, pulling. The cow didn’t move.
“Move, cow!” said Principal Barkin, now behind the cow again.
That’s when a second cow, curious about the commotion, rounded the corner.
“Two cows!” said Principal Barkin. This prank was more elaborate than he’d thought. Barkin wasn’t sure he could fit two cows in his office. Maybe he could stash one in the faculty bathroom.
A third cow ambled over.
Barry Barkin began to get a terrible feeling.
He tiptoed to the corner and peered around.
“No,” said Principal Barkin. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. ”
He ran down the halls. He saw more cows.
“No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no!”
Cows in classrooms.
“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!”
This was bad. This was very bad. Barkin needed an idea. Some way to salvage the school day.
He needed a place to think. A place away from all these cows. He ran up the stairs, pushed through more cows, and opened the door to the supply closet. His sanctuary. His fortress.
He turned on the light.
“No.”
A cow was chewing on a mop. It was the masterstroke.
Chapter
36
AT 7:45, MILES AND NILES crossed the parking lot and joined a throng of students amassed on the lawn. Principal Barkin had a bullhorn. He was barring the entrance. Later, students would agree that Barkin’s face had never been so purple. It looked like his neck held up a screaming bilberry.
“I REPEAT, FORM AN ORDERLY CLUMP.”
“What’s going on?” asked Holly.
“Yeah!” said that guy Scotty. “What’s going on?”
“WHAT’S GOING ON IS THAT YOU CAN’T COME INTO SCHOOL RIGHT NOW BECAUSE . . . BECAUSE IT IS ON FIRE.”
Panic. Screaming.
“WAS ON FIRE! WAS ON FIRE! A SMALL FIRE THAT IS OUT. REMAIN ON THE PREMISES! EVERYTHING IS SAFE!”
“If it’s safe, why can’t we go inside?” asked Ms. Shandy.
“UMM . . . BECAUSE THERE IS A FLOOD. LUCKILY THE FLOOD PUT OUT THE SMALL FIRE, BUT NOW THERE IS A LOT OF WATER. REMAIN IN A CLUMP. THE SCHOOL DAY WILL COMMENCE SHORTLY.”
“It SMELLS like a COW!” said Stuart.
“WHAT? NO. THAT IS JUST THE SMELL OF BURNED THINGS THAT ARE NOW WET. WHEN SOMETHING IS ON FIRE AND THEN GETS FLOODED IT SOMETIMES MAKES A COW SMELL.”
Somewhere in the art room, a cow mooed.
“That sounded like a cow,” said Holly.
“RIDICULOUS. WHAT IS MORE LIKELY, HOLLY? THAT WE HAD A FIRE AND A FLOOD, OR THAT THERE ARE COWS IN SCHOOL?”
“I guess the fire and flood?”
“EXACTLY, HOLLY. EXACTLY.”
“There’s a COW in the ART ROOM!” Stuart said. He had his hands cupped against the window and was peering inside.