by Julie Mata
“Yeah, I have to go, Mrs. Walden.” I can tell Alyssa is making a huge effort to behave normally. There’s an unwritten law among us that you only act bad in front of your own parents. In front of other parents, you must always be a perfect angel.
“That’s too bad.” My mother’s voice sounds tentative. “Kate has really missed you these last couple of weeks.”
I grind my teeth. Trust my mother to say something completely embarrassing. I wait for Alyssa to say something like, Yeah, she missed me so much she got me accused of stealing and turned the whole school against me.
When she does finally answer, her voice is quiet. “Um, yeah, I missed her, too.”
“Look what I found,” my mother goes on. “I was cleaning out some old drawers and I found this birthday card you made for Kate on her seventh birthday. Isn’t it adorable?”
I know the card. It’s a cutout of a pink bunny with big ears and pipe cleaners glued on for whiskers. Alyssa wrote a crooked Happy on one ear and Birthday on the other and across the bunny’s belly she scrawled my name with three hearts after it. Most of the pipe cleaners have fallen off. Okay, I’m a little mushy. I like to keep old mementos.
I’ve got my ear glued to the door. “She kept that?” Alyssa sounds surprised.
I hear my mother laugh and murmur something, then go into her bedroom. Alyssa stomps down the stairs and a moment later the front door slams.
I sink down on the bed, still clutching the wig, feeling sad and numb. It takes five minutes at least before the thought hits me—Alyssa doesn’t have a ride home. Her mother isn’t coming back for another couple of hours. Could she have started walking home? More likely, she called her mother and is waiting outside for her.
I move to the window, but Alyssa isn’t on the front porch or near the garage. I move to my other window and there she is, sitting under a tree in our backyard. She’s stuck here when she probably wants to be a million miles away. As I’m trying to decide what to do, she stands up and brushes the grass off her legs. Maybe she’s going to walk home after all. It has to be fifteen miles, at least. She must really want to get away from me.
Alyssa walks to the front and stands in the driveway, kicking at gravel. She turns suddenly, but instead of walking toward the road, she comes inside the house. I have my ear glued to my bedroom door, trying to figure out what she’s doing. I can’t hear a thing. Then the stairs creak. Someone is definitely coming up the stairs. I jump away like the door is white hot, land on my bed, and scoop up a magazine. No, that looks stupid. I run to my desk, but my computer is off, so why would I be sitting at my desk? There’s no time to turn it on, so I veer off and end up inside my closet. I’ve been meaning to clean it out for months. Okay, for about a year. Now would be a good time to start. I hold my breath, listening.
I know I heard Alyssa come upstairs. Every step has a different squeak, so it’s impossible to sneak up on anyone. A few seconds pass and I don’t hear anything. Is she outside my door, listening? Is she trying to think of some really cutting last words? Is she dialing the police on her cell phone? The door slowly opens. I brace myself for the worst.
Alyssa’s eyes are glued to the floor. She clears her throat. “I think what you did really sucks.” She stops and kicks at the carpet, then finally glances up at me. “But what I did was pretty mean, too. I guess that makes us even.”
A huge weight rises off my chest. I nod, not sure what to say. Actually, I do know what to say, but it’s amazing how hard it can be to utter two little words. If I don’t say them right now, I might never get them out. I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
We smile, not quite looking at each other. What do you say after sorry? I rack my brain. The silence stretches between us. Then Alyssa’s mouth twists. She covers it with her hand but I can see it. She’s grinning, and then she’s giggling. I’m so relieved I start to laugh, too, and pretty soon we’re breathless from nervous, happy laughter.
“It’s kind of funny,” Alyssa gasps.
I shake my head. “It’s horrible. It’s twisted.”
“Yeah. Definitely twisted. But I kind of deserved it, I guess.”
“Only a little.” I’m still not sure if she’s going to tell everyone or not.
Alyssa turns to face me. “You can just put back the wig. No one needs to know what happened. I’ll help you.”
“We thought about that, but then everyone will still think you took it.”
Alyssa raises her eyebrows. “We?”
“Margaret and Doris.”
“Margaret Dorkel?” she says slowly. “And Doris Drab-burn? Are you serious?”
In the past, I would have giggled at the silly names, but now I just feel sad. “We came up with a plan. I mean, they didn’t know about the first plan,” I say quickly. “I told them afterward. They were upset, you know, that I did that. But they offered to help fix things. And we have a new plan.”
I quickly explain our strategy, but Alyssa shakes her head. “Are you crazy? I’m not trying out.”
This takes me by surprise. I thought she couldn’t wait to audition. “It’s our best chance. After your turn, you can go straight home. We’ll make sure someone sees the wig is still missing. Then I’ll slip in, put it back, and make sure it gets noticed. Once the Cute Red Wig is returned, everyone will figure it was just some weird practical joke. No one will care who took it.” I only hope this is true.
“I’m NOT trying out,” Alyssa repeats. “Everyone will stare at me and make nasty comments.”
I sigh. “You can wait in the library. I’ll text you right before your turn comes up. You can just hurry in, audition, and leave.”
Alyssa is quiet a moment. “We could just tell everyone what happened.”
“We could.” I stare at my hands. I know this will be the social kiss of death for me, but it’s Alyssa’s call. She has the right to prove to everyone that she isn’t the thief. Homeschooling is starting to sound like a definite option.
I can feel Alyssa’s gaze on me. “Forget it, bad idea,” she says. “I’ll audition.”
I breathe a huge sigh of relief even as I realize that, once again, Margaret was right. I needed to tell Alyssa. It was the right thing to do. Plus, it would have been a disaster Monday afternoon when she didn’t show up for auditions. So the plan is back on track. It’s not ideal—it will require perfect timing and a lot of luck, but right now it’s the only plan we’ve got.
I’m not usually allowed to have sleepovers on school nights, but my mother agrees to let Alyssa sleep over that night when I tell her we’re trying out for Annie the next day and we want to practice our lines. She’s so thrilled that Alyssa and I are friends again that she says yes before I even get the question out.
Alyssa and I watch a movie, just to kill some time, and then we take Wilma outside and throw the tennis ball for her. As Alyssa is wrestling the ball from Wilma, she suddenly glances sideways at me. “So have you come up with an ending for Night of the Zombie Chickens yet? I was thinking we should try to finish it before it turns cold.”
My face must look shocked because she laughs. “Don’t tell me you deleted the whole thing.”
I’d forgotten that Alyssa doesn’t know about Margaret. I stammer, trying to think how to explain it. “Uh, well, you know, I figured you weren’t going to want to work on it anymore.”
Alyssa lifts an eyebrow. “You really did delete it?”
“Of course not!” I feel my face flush. “The thing is, I asked Margaret to help me finish it. And Doris.”
Alyssa’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”
“We’ve been hanging out together the last month,” I remind her, “while you were hanging out with Lydia.” I let this sink in, then I take a deep breath. “They’re not so bad. I think you’d like them.”
“Maybe.” Alyssa shrugs. I can tell she isn’t
convinced. “So how did you finish the movie?”
I have no choice but to tell her. I explain how Mallory eats the zombie egg and transforms. “It’s brilliant, isn’t it?”
Alyssa wrinkles her nose. “Brilliant? Hitch, I’m Mallory. That’s my part. I’ve been playing her for a year. And now you want me...Mallory...to turn into Margaret?”
“You were busy, remember?” I remind her. “You dumped me, remember? What was I supposed to do?”
Wilma’s eyes are glued on the ball in Alyssa’s hand. She’s trembling from watching it so hard. She whines, jumps in the air, turns in circles. Alyssa cocks back her arm, and Wilma is off like a shot, her tiny legs churning.
Alyssa pauses, her arm still cocked back. “I know: why don’t we just reshoot? It’s not like you have to keep that ending, right? It sounds kind of weird, anyway. Write a new ending and we’ll finish it.”
Wilma runs back, panting, giving us the evil eye. I grab the ball from Alyssa and throw it. It seems strange to be thinking about the ending to my movie again. It felt good knowing it was done. Plus, I did shout “It’s a wrap!” so that kind of makes it official. Still, there’s a certain logic to Alyssa’s words.
It is a little strange to have Mallory change into a new person at the very end of the movie. If I reshoot with Alyssa, Night of the Zombie Chickens will flow better. Plus, Alyssa and I are a little unsure around each other after everything that’s happened. I don’t want to do anything to make our friendship shakier.
A guilty pang shoots through me. Margaret is superexcited to be in my movie. Even Doris still asks me how the editing is coming along. Still, I’m the director. It’s my job to make the tough decisions. Sometimes, the best scenes end up on the cutting room floor because they just don’t fit. But would I really be cutting it for the right reason?
Wilma returns the ball and spits it at my feet. I scratch her behind the ears. The last time I threw the ball for her, I ended up with chicken crap on my shoe. I peek at the soles of my shoes, just to be sure. Clean.
It’s funny how a little piece of poop can do so much damage. The memory of Crapkate Walden rings in my ears. I’m happy Alyssa and I are friends again, but I don’t know if I completely trust her yet. Trust is kind of like an egg—it’s easily broken. And once you’ve spilled it, you have a big mess on your hands.
I throw the ball and watch Wilma gallop after it. I can feel Alyssa’s eyes on me, so I nod to her. “Okay. Let me think about it.”
That night, I wake up to the sound of pouring rain and crackling thunder. Lightning bathes my room in an eerie glow. It seems like an omen. Alyssa and I have gone through the plan over and over. We both know what we have to do. Still, I have to stop myself from waking her up and quizzing her.
I’ve already bagged the wig and stashed it in my backpack. Now, in the middle of the night, that suddenly seems like a bad idea. I know my mother has already heard via the mom grapevine that the wig was stolen. What if she finds some reason to dig around in my backpack in the morning? What if my dad knocks the pack off the kitchen counter as he’s rushing out the door to work? I can already see the slow-motion fall to the floor, the wig spilling out, the horrified reaction shots from my parents. These things happen all the time in movies. I decide that, first thing in the morning, I will stow my backpack safely in the car.
It takes me a long time to fall back asleep. Then, it seems like two seconds and it’s morning. Sunshine pours through the window. It’s exactly the kind of weather I’d hoped for—a blue-skies, everything’s-going-my-way kind of day.
As soon as I’m dressed, I lug my backpack safely to the car. When I get back inside, Alyssa is still in bed. She’s staring at the ceiling, the covers pulled up to her chin. “I’m nervous, Hitch.”
“All you have to do is sing,” I assure her. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Hey, my last plan worked pretty well.”
Alyssa gives me a look. “Yeah, a little too well.”
“Margaret’s going to help,” I tell her, but she doesn’t look reassured.
At breakfast, neither of us eats much. My dad folds up his newspaper and downs the rest of his coffee. “So, this is the big day. You girls nervous?”
Alyssa and I freeze. Then I realize he’s talking about the auditions. “Yeah, a little bit.”
“Don’t be shy,” my mother advises. “Just get up there and sing loud. Teachers like it when you sing loud.”
Derek smirks. “He won’t like it when Kate sings loud. She sounds like a dying walrus.”
That’s the funny thing about little brothers. They can be totally sweet one moment and a real pain in the butt the next. I decide it’s time to teach him a lesson in manners. I push back my chair from the table and screw up my face like I’m about to cry.
“He’s right,” I moan. “I’m not trying out. Forget it!” I cover my face with my hands and then watch through my fingers as my mother gives Derek the evil eye.
“Since you’re so concerned with Kate’s audition, Derek, you can feed the hens for her this morning. And clean out the coop after school today.”
Derek’s mouth drops open in horror. “Clean the coop! All I said was—”
“We heard what you said,” my father sternly interrupts. “Kate has a beautiful voice.”
I open my hands enough to lift an eyebrow and smirk at Derek. That will teach you to mess with me.
“She’s making a face at me—” Derek whines.
“That’s enough!” My mother slaps down her spatula and Derek knows better than to say another word. “Don’t listen to your brother, Kate,” my mother says in a softer voice. “You’ll do just fine.”
It’s a great feeling to have my mother backing me up. I quirk another eyebrow at Derek. He doesn’t take the bait, but his face turns red from the effort of holding it in. His eyes narrow and he lifts his chin. Just wait. Your payback is going to suck.
I bat my eyelids. So scared.
Derek shoves back from the table and stomps outside. Alyssa smirks. My parents haven’t noticed a thing, of course.
Alyssa and I go to my bedroom to finish getting ready. Just as I predicted, the day is getting off to a great start. Seeing Derek get his just reward makes me feel giddy. Or maybe it’s nerves.
I watch as Alyssa fusses with her hair and then carefully puts on some eyeliner. “Now remember,” I tell her, “I’ll text you when you’re next in line, so you’ll only have a couple of minutes to get to the choir room.”
Alyssa nods nervously. “I don’t know if I can sing. I’m going to be so nervous.”
“It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you leave right away after you’re done. Got it?”
“Yes, for the tenth time, I’ve got it.” Alyssa glances out the window. “Hitch, some of your hens are in the garage.”
I groan. “That idiot. He must have left the coop open. That’s okay. He’ll have to clean up the mess.”
Alyssa presses her nose against the glass. “I think they’re attacking a rabbit or something. It’s all bloody. Yuck. I didn’t know hens were carnivores.”
I peek out the window. The hens are viciously pecking at something. A sickening feeling comes over me. I can see my unzipped backpack hanging half in, half out of the open car door. Two hens are fighting to stick their heads inside it. Derek must have gone into the car for some reason and left the door open.
Wait a minute. I didn’t leave my backpack open. Then, I remember the silent conversation at the kitchen table. This is no accident. It’s payback. A hen suddenly swivels her head, and I swear she stares at me in the window. And winks.
Then I’m running, taking the stairs two at a time, with Alyssa right behind me. As we burst outside, I can see the hens aren’t killing a rabbit at all. They’re killing the Cute Red Wig. Some of the hens carried t
he plastic bag outside and shredded it with their beaks. Now they’re fighting over the wig, dragging it through the mud. And I can see, clear as day, they’re inching toward a huge mound of fresh chicken poop.
How could I be so stupid? Those devil birds were never simple barnyard animals. The ladies hate me and they’re out to get me. I never should have doubted it. They’ve hatched another plot behind my back—one last dirty scheme to try to ruin my life.
I give a last burst of speed, splashing through mud puddles, screaming at the hens. Just as I reach them, they scoot away with triumphant cackles. I slowly pick up a wet, muddy, crap-smeared tangle that used to be a wig. I hear a groan, but I’m not sure if it’s me or Alyssa. I glance back toward the house. Luckily, my parents haven’t noticed anything. Alyssa holds her nose. I grab the water hose and spray off the worst of the poop and grime.
“What are we going to do?” Alyssa moans.
My brain is in high panic mode. I take a deep breath and try to think. “We still have time. We can fix this.”
“Fix it? Look at that thing! It’s ruined!”
The Cute Red Wig can no longer be called cute. Or red. It looks more like a drowned rat. “Come on, let’s get it inside.”
I know Derek is probably watching from a window, laughing to himself. Luckily, he’s clueless about the missing wig or he would have already tattled to my parents. Anyway, I can’t worry about him right now. I tuck the wig inside my backpack and we race upstairs to the bathroom and lock the door. Alyssa grabs the blow-dryer and blasts the wig while I towel off the worst parts. The curls turn to instant frizz.
“Curling iron!” Alyssa barks. Alyssa may not be a whiz at math—or science or English—but she’s a hairstyling genius. She can cut, curl, crimp, updo, and braid like a pro. I slap the curling iron into her hand.
“Kate!” my mother calls from downstairs. “Time to go!”
“In a minute!” I shout.
Alyssa hefts a lock of the wig in her hand. “Some kind of synthetic fiber,” she mutters. “I hope it’s heat resistant.” She tests the iron, then rolls up a lock of hair. Right away it sizzles and the smell of burned plastic fills the bathroom. Alyssa quickly untwists the hair, but half the curl sticks to the curling iron.