by Kelly Jones
I was worrying that maybe they’d be scared to move to a new place, or maybe something bad could happen to them there. But then I realized something that made me really happy. You know what? There will be chickens at Redwood Farm again.
I hope that makes you happy too.
Your friend,
Soph
Friday, September 19
Mariposa García González
Heaven
Querida Abuelita,
Lupe and I had a great plan for our sleepover at Agnes’s farm. We decided we’d make migas there, and brownies, since Agnes had a bunch of flour and sugar and cocoa powder to use up (and you know I have eggs). We picked which rooms we wanted to sleep in, and put new sheets on the beds and got them all ready. And we checked to make sure the coop was all ready for my pollitos too, with fresh water and plenty of chick food in the feeder and wood shavings in the henhouse.
It was after we hung the heat lamp up and put the chicks in that things went wrong—before we had a chance to make migas, even. It was late afternoon, almost evening, and we were standing outside the coop, hanging out with the chicks, to make sure they felt at home. I was watching the chicks, of course, and Lupe was watching the horses in the field across the road. The light gray chick had gone up into the henhouse by itself, and the others were all trying to stand in the drinking tray of the waterer.
Lupe had just pointed out her favorite horse to me, the one with lots of colors that likes to race around the field almost as fast as Roadrunner. It was rolling around in the dirt. (I always think of horses as being dignified and majestic and expensive-looking, but this one looked ridiculous right then!) We were laughing, and then—
Then I smelled smoke. I didn’t know what to say, or what to do. There was sawdust, and straw, and wood everywhere. I didn’t know where a fire extinguisher was. I grabbed Lupe’s arm, but I couldn’t even think what to say.
Luckily, Lupe smelled it too then, and she didn’t freeze up like I did. She pulled out her phone. “No signal! Quick—run to the house. Call 911. Tell them fire at Redwood Farm!”
I ran. The 911 lady said they’d send someone right away.
Then I ran back. I know, I should have stayed out of the way and been safe and told the fire people where to go. But Lupe didn’t follow me.
When I got to the coop, everything was drenched. I didn’t smell smoke anymore. Lupe was holding the empty chick waterer.
When she saw me, she smiled. “It’s okay, Soficita. Somehow the shavings in the henhouse caught on fire, but I dumped some water on them and they’re out now. It’s a good thing you noticed right away. But everything’s okay. Shall we go call the fire department to tell them?”
Abuelita, I didn’t know what to do. I had a bad feeling that those shavings didn’t just catch on fire. “Can you call them?” I asked, and my voice shook a lot. “I just…I want to count all the chicks, just to be sure.”
Lupe squeezed my arm. “No problem,” she told me. “But grab the hose before I go, just in case. I don’t know how that happened.”
I didn’t say anything. I could feel myself shaking, and I didn’t want Lupe to notice. I was so scared, and so mad at Hort for not telling me what my chicks could do, and so nervous that the fire department was going to come and say my chicks had to be destroyed….I walked over and grabbed the hose. I turned the knob on the spigot, and took the waterer that Lupe handed me.
“I’ll be right back, okay, primita?” She waited until I nodded before she ran up to Agnes’s house.
I sprayed down the whole chicken coop, the outside run and inside the henhouse and everything. I filled up the waterer again and counted the chicks. They were all there, and they all seemed fine. The dark brownish-gray ones tried to get right back into the waterer tray, and the light gray one huddled in the corner in some wet shavings. I hoped they weren’t too cold, but I couldn’t think what else to do.
By the time Lupe convinced the 911 lady that we really didn’t need the fire department after all, the mother of one of the firemen had called Joy, the local reporter, and since it was Redwood Farm, she called Mom.
I’ve never seen Mom and Dad look so scared. Not when Dad lost his job, not even when you told them you were sick. They ran up and grabbed us, and hugged us, and looked at everything all soaking wet, and hugged us some more. For a minute, I thought maybe they could make things all right.
They finally let us go, and Mom asked, “What happened?”
And all my scared feelings came back. I looked at Lupe, and I couldn’t say anything. She didn’t know about my unusual chickens. But had she guessed my chicks might have started that fire?
You know my mom can always tell when you know more than you’re saying. Only, this time, she guessed wrong. Really wrong. Mom looked at Lupe too, and her eyes went from scared to really, really mad, just like that. “Give me your purse, Guadalupe.” She held out her hand.
Lupe stared at my mom. “I have no idea what happened,” she said. She slowly handed her purse to my mom.
Mom dug through Lupe’s purse.
Dad folded his arms and waited.
Then Mom pulled a lighter out of Lupe’s purse. She held it up. It said “Hot Stuff” on it, with little flames.
The last time I heard anybody yell like that was when Ms. Griegson tried to steal Henrietta and I blew my whistle.
Only, this time, they weren’t yelling at me. They were yelling at Lupe.
“Not even one night away, and this is what you do? You smoke? In front of your prima?” Mom never yells, but she sure was yelling now. “You know what smoking did to your abuela! How could you?”
“I can’t believe you’d be so stupid, Guadalupe! We trusted you, and you almost got our daughter killed! You’re too responsible for this—this garbage!” Dad doesn’t yell either.
Lupe went from confused to mad. “I wasn’t smoking! That was a present from a friend—I don’t use it! I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t do it! Ask Sophie!”
I tried, Abuelita. But maybe I didn’t try hard enough.
“Lupe wasn’t smoking!” I told them.
“Your cousin adores you—she won’t tell on you,” Mom told Lupe.
I grabbed my parents’ hands. “Really, she wasn’t smoking!”
“Not where you could see her, maybe!” Mom wasn’t done yelling. “Clearly you’re not ready to even try out living on your own, Guadalupe. Grab your things and get in our car, Sophie. Guadalupe, you’ll drive right behind us, no stops.”
“Just because my friends smoke doesn’t mean I do!” Lupe said, still mad. “I didn’t start a fire, whatever you think.”
Mom just pulled me into the car.
I wanted to explain, but I was crying too hard. Or maybe I was just too scared. We drove back to our farm, and Lupe shut herself in her room and won’t answer.
I think I know what happened, Abuelita, and Lupe’s being blamed for it, but it isn’t her fault. But if I tell anyone, they might decide my chickens are too dangerous. So what do I do?
Te extraño,
Soficita
Date: Friday, September 19
To: Hortensia James
From: Sophie Brown
Subject: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???!!!
Hort, why didn’t you TELL me you were sending me fire-breathing chickens????!??!!!
Didn’t you ever stop to think I’d need to get things set up specially for them??? That they could burn the whole place down if I wasn’t careful????!???!!
Why would you lie to me about them being safe, when they aren’t? Are you trying to kill all my chickens and my family?
I’m really, really, really mad at you. Don’t bother to write back until you have something to say for yourself.
Ms. Sophie Brown
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br /> Date: Friday, September 19
To: Sophie Brown
From: Hortensia James
Subject: RE: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???!!!
Sophie,
I would never have sent you chicks like that without telling you. I don’t know of any chicken breeds that can breathe fire. So we need to figure out what’s happening, and fast.
This is very important. Can you please take photos of the chicks and send them to me, and explain exactly what happened?
I’m so sorry.
Hopefully still your friend,
Hort
PS Keep everything in the coop wet until we figure this out.
Date: Friday, September 19
To: Hortensia James
From: Sophie Brown
Subject: RE: RE: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???!!!
Dear Hort,
I guess it’s not your fault that I got a new kind of chicken. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I thought you did it on purpose. But don’t you think you should tell people what’s going on right up front, so there aren’t issues?
What happened is that my cousin and I moved my new chicks to one of the Redwood Farm coops. I’d set it all up with the heat lamp and new wood shavings and everything. When I looked away for just a minute, the wood shavings caught fire. My parents thought my cousin was smoking, and now she’s in really big trouble. (They don’t understand about unusual chickens.)
I think it’s the light gray chick that looks different than the rest. I think it breathes fire. I can’t take any pictures right now, because my cousin is in trouble and I can’t ride my bike there in the dark. But they look the same as the last photos I sent.
I’ll do the best I can to make sure everything in the coop is either wet or nonflammable, but it’s not that easy with chicken coops.
What am I supposed to do when this kind of thing happens?
Your friend after all,
Soph
Friday, September 19
Agnes Taylor
Someplace where everything turns out all right
Dear Agnes,
I didn’t know things were going to get this complicated. But you know what? When I went out to check on Henrietta and everyone tonight, I remembered how scared I was when Henrietta first moved a jar with her little chicken brain. I never expected anything like that either. For a while, I didn’t think I could make it work. But now, we’ve got our routine, and I don’t freak out about her superpowers anymore. Some days I can’t find Roadrunner and Chameleon, and I panic a little. I’m really careful with Buffy’s eggs, just in case (although she isn’t really laying right now, since she’s still growing her new feathers back in). And every once in a while, Henrietta gives me a look and I get a little bit worried. But she has never floated me, not one single time.
Maybe things will turn out okay with the new chicks too.
I really hope so.
Your friend,
Soph
Date: Saturday, September 20
To: Sophie Brown
From: Hortensia James
Subject: RE: RE: RE: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???!!!
Dear Soph,
Thank you so much for sending the information. I want you to know that I need to tell some other unusual chicken people about this. They’ll probably send someone out whose job is to learn about new kinds of chickens and to judge if the farmer who’s currently raising them can do it safely. I have no doubts about you or how responsible you are! This is just what happens when a new kind of chicken turns up.
Don’t worry, just tell the inspector everything you’ve learned, do your best, and know that whatever happens, you’ll have a lot more of Agnes’s chickens coming when you’re ready.
Your friend,
Hort
PS We haven’t had a new kind of chicken that was this unusual in quite a long time—maybe not in my lifetime.
Date: Saturday, September 20
To: Hortensia James
From: Sophie Brown
Subject: Doomed Poultry Farmer (probably)
Dear Hort,
How can I not worry? What kind of inspector is going to let a dangerous new chicken stay with an almost-thirteen-year-old girl? Now I have to wait for someone to show up and decide if I can keep my chick? Great.
I guess you have to do what you have to do. I suppose I’m not exactly mad. But I don’t want to email you for a while. I’m really going to miss that new chick, and I bet it’s going to miss the other chicks too. I hope you feel bad about that, or you aren’t a very good poultry farmer.
Sincerely,
Sophie
Date: Saturday, September 20
To: Sophie Brown
From: Hortensia James
Subject: RE: NOT Doomed Poultry Farmer (probably)
Dear Sophie,
I understand. And I do feel bad about all of this, even though I think I’m doing the right thing.
You know what else? I really, truly believe you can do this.
Please let me know if I can help.
Sincerely,
Hort
Saturday, September 20
Mariposa García González
Somewhere Better
Querida Abuelita,
I cried all through my chicken chores this morning. Buffy let me pet her, but it didn’t really make me feel better. Taking care of chickens isn’t always fun.
When I got out my bike to ride to Redwood Farm, my stomach hurt, a lot. I felt bad leaving without talking to Lupe first, but she was still in her room, and I had to check on the chicks. I felt sad all over, the kind of sad that weighs you down. But, sad or not, I had things I had to do.
As I rode up the road to Redwood Farm, I wished I could close my eyes. What if another fire had started? What if it had burnt the whole farm down, maybe even the farm across the way, and the fields with the horses? I felt worse and worse and worse.
But when I got there, Redwood Farm looked okay, and so did the farms around it.
So did my chicks. Everything was still pretty damp. I guess it wasn’t warm enough last night to dry everything off.
I was so relieved to see those fuzzy little peeping pollitos, I sat down on the path and cried some more—the kind of crying that gets snot everywhere and feels like hiccups you can’t stop.
For a minute or two, I wished I was a little kid who never has to make any tough choices. Because I’m not stupid. I’m the owner of Redwood Farm, and I’m the one who has to decide who to tell and what to do.
Dad says that when you can’t figure out the big things, try doing any small things you can, and maybe they’ll get you moving in the right direction. (Dad’s superpower is that he never gives up, even when things seem impossible.)
So I decided to focus on fireproofing the chicken coop today.
First, I cleaned all the wet wood shavings out of the henhouse. It was nasty, but I did it.
Then I started looking for something to put on the henhouse floor instead of shavings—something I could replace or clean the chicken poop off of, that couldn’t catch on fire.
Suddenly I heard a noise outside the barn. I ran to see.
It was Chris. “I went to your house so we could get ready to build stuff. Your dad told me you were here,” he said. “So I figured I’d come over.”
Right, today was building-stuff day. “I forgot,” I told him. “Something bad happened.”
Here’s the thing: Chris knows how dangerous my chickens can be. He k
nows sometimes you have to make hard choices. I really didn’t want to hear him tell me I had to make a hard choice. But I was pretty much at the end of my ideas. I needed help. Chris is my friend, and he loves chickens too. If anyone was going to understand, it was him.
“I think one of the chicks set the wood shavings on fire last night,” I told him. “My parents are really mad, but they’re mad at Lupe for starting a fire. They don’t know.”
Maybe I hoped Chris would just shrug and say, “Oh yeah, I guess it was one of those chickens. Here’s how Agnes always took care of them.”
But he didn’t. His mouth fell open. He didn’t say anything for almost a whole minute. That never happens with Chris.
I tried to just breathe through it, the way Mom tells me to, but the heavy sad welled right up and started me crying again.
Chris took one look at me and ran, leaving me there by myself.
I couldn’t believe he’d do that to me. Not now; not when we were real friends. Was he going to tell my parents without even talking to me first? Was he going to come back with a bunch of people with pitchforks and do a Frankenstein riot to me and my chicks?
I grabbed Agnes’s pitchfork. It was heavy and spiky and taller than me, but it felt better to hold something in my hands. At least I wouldn’t be the only person without a pitchfork. Then I went to guard my chicks.
Chris found me there a couple of minutes later. He didn’t bring a riot or a pitchfork. I tried to yell at him and wave the pitchfork, but I was crying too hard.
“Whoa, Soph,” he said, stepping back. “I called Sam. She’s on her way. We’ll figure it out. Just—stop crying. And maybe put that thing down?”