The Age of Amy
Page 11
I breezed into my first-period English class. "Let’s get started," said Mr. Pierce, slurring his speech through his turkey beak. I scanned the classroom and was amazed at how good everybody looked. I mean, just because they were half animal, didn’t mean they couldn’t be stylish. I saw color-tipped feathers on chickens, cornrow fur on hamsters, and pierced antlers on reindeer.
Andy had a bull head as I expected he would, but lacked the fierceness to go with it. Lydia had insisted they "see other people," and Andy was not used to being dumped.
My heart sank as I looked over at Lydia’s empty desk. As weird as it sounds, I kind of missed the dirty looks I had come to expect from her each morning.
Lunchtime.
I could hardly wait to tell Hubert of my wild adventure. I ran to the cafeteria, loaded up a food tray in record time, and raced over to his usual table. There he was, reading a book on Quantum Mechanics.
I sneaked up behind him. "How goes it?" I said.
Hubert turned around and smiled, but not through tiger fangs or shark teeth. His face was as human and acne-pitted as it had always been.
"You’re back!" said Hubert, leaping to his feet.
I dropped my food tray and wrapped my arms around him almost knocking him over.
"Look at you," I said. "You’re exactly the same."
"Not exactly."
Hubert raised his foot onto the table. His ankle cast was gone. In my excitement, I hadn’t noticed him standing without a cane. I also didn’t see that his trademark horn-rimmed glasses were missing. "I’m wearing contacts now," he said, lifting his eyelids. "How do I look?"
"Almost human," I said. "And how do I look?"
"Fetching, as usual. I only wish I could have seen you with your animal head."
I stepped back as my jaw dropped. "How did you know about that?"
"It happens to everyone who goes to Bonehead Bootcamp."
"Why didn’t you tell me this before?"
"Would you have believed me? Besides, you probably had it the whole time and didn’t know it."
"Oh, really? Then why couldn’t I see it?"
"Because you didn’t look hard enough. What were you, anyway?"
"A skunk."
Hubert mashed his lips together trying to keep his grin from showing.
"That proves my point," he said. "Why do you think you’re losing the election? No one wants to vote for a candidate with a stinky disposition. You knew all along you had a temperamental streak. Your ego just wouldn’t let you admit it."
"I’m not that bad, am I?" I said.
"It’s not just you. People behave like animals all the time and aren’t aware of it, even though it’s obvious to everyone else."
Hubert pointed to a boy across the room. "See Barney Moore over there? We joke about how mousy he is, but he doesn’t see himself that way." Barney had the head of a timid, little mouse. He cowered behind his lunch box while nibbling on a pizza slice.
"Then there’s ‘cranky’ Katey Richards." Hubert pointed out the gangly girl. "Rub her the wrong way, and she’ll bite your head off." Katey was a praying mantis. She salted a celery stick while closely studying the head of the small boy sitting next to her.
I whispered in Hubert’s ear, "Are we the only normal ones?"
"Hardly."
He waved to another girl at the back of the cafeteria. A hand went up. It was Emily, smiling out of her same human face. "Welcome back, Amy!" she called out.
"I don’t get this," I said. "How come you and Emily have human heads, and the rest don’t?"
"Act like an animal, and you’ll look like one," said Hubert. Then he pulled a history textbook from his back pack and flipped through the pages, stopping at some historical photos. A U.S. president on the steps of a helicopter was a vulture. A famous scientist at a blackboard was a mole. A 50s rock icon wowed his audience as a rooster. Still, other photos showed men and women who retained their human features: firefighters, relief volunteers, civil rights leaders.
"Just a darn minute," I said, closing the book on Hubert’s fingers. "How do you know all this?"
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a photo of himself—as a goat with glasses! "I was sent to Bonehead, too," he said, "just before we moved to Shankstonville."
I looked out over the sea of bobbing animal heads chomping on their lunches. "This is awesome!" I said. "From now on I can tell what people are like just by looking at them."
"Sorry," said Hubert. "Critter-vision is available for a limited time only. After a week or so, everyone will go back to looking human again, including my picture and the photos in this book. It happened that way with me."
Apparently, suffering through Bonehead Bootcamp didn’t go unrewarded. I had been given a small token for all my hard work, like a parting gift for a game show contestant. And what a gift it was! To see when you’re being outfoxed by a lawyer, buffaloed by a politician, or hounded by a salesman.
"Afternoon, folks," I said to my parents, as I waltzed into our living room. Announcing the arrival of the Queen during a thunder storm would have been easier; the roar of the TV made hearing anything else impossible. My parents didn’t so much as blink as they sat on the couch, fixated on the giant screen, gorging themselves with popcorn.
I sidestepped my video-gaming brother as I climbed the stairs, and quietly closed the door to my sister’s room as I went down the hall. Then I walked right past what used to be my room and continued to the stairway leading to the attic. My dad had converted the unused space into suitable living quarters, and I was quick to claim it as my new bedroom.
The old welcome mat I kept under my bed was given a place of honor on its doorstep. I went inside, then stopped to listen. Thanks to the added distance from the living room, the sound of the downstairs TV was like a whisper, and when I closed the door, blissful silence.
Though my new room was smaller than my old one, it was spacious enough for most of my things, including my refurbished computer. To Kill a Mockingbird had inspired me to try my hand at writing, and it was just what I needed to get started.
I also made room for a small portable TV. There were still a lot of Perry Mason episodes I hadn’t seen yet. (Who says there’s nothing good on TV?)
Emily became Shankstonville High’s new student body president. She had come out of her shell and wanted the job, so I withdrew from the race and helped get her elected. I was so proud to see her face on the front page of the student newspaper.
All the animal-headed people returned to their normal, flawed, human selves, just as Hubert said they would. No longer would I see critter-headed models on magazine covers and billboards. TV infomercials would never be the same: no more hippos promoting weight-loss programs; kangaroos hawking household gadgets; or sharks in lab coats promising miracle cures. I would especially miss seeing politicians as their animal selves—as donkeys and elephants mostly.
I had just laid down on my bed, settling in with a new book, when I heard a tapping noise at the attic window. A bird had landed on the sill and was pecking on the glass. It was a sparrow, just like the scruffy little birds that used to flock to Kurt’s bird feeder. I opened the window. The bird showed absolutely no fear of me. It cocked its head from side to side a few times, then flitted off into the midwestern sky.
A herd of sheep grazed in the field across the road, minus the little guy with the bell that seemed so interested in me. I wondered if that sheep was really trying to warn me about Bonehead Bootcamp—but can an animal be that human?
People love to compare the worst of themselves to animals: dumb as an ox, fat as a pig, lame as a duck. Maybe animals see our shortcomings the same way: boneheaded as a human.
I went to my dresser and gazed into the mirror. They say that when you look at your reflection, you see yourself as others do. I think people only see what they want to see. For me, I was perfectly content to see an average teenage girl, of average height, average weight, with a neon-blue streak in her hair. Then I noticed somethin
g else in the girl staring back at me—something extraordinary, something I hadn’t seen in a long, long time . . .
She was smiling.
About the Author
Bruce Edwards was born in Marin County, California and raised on a tasty diet of jazz and Disney animation. He majored in Architecture in college, but switched to Music to join the burgeoning San Francisco music scene. As a composer and musician, he wrote rock tunes and radio jingles, and toured as a pop music artist between studio gigs. He tinkered with early computer animation which led to a career as a feature film character animator. His more unique vocational detours included a stint as a puppeteer and performing magic at Disneyland. As a writer, he wrote screenplays during his Hollywood years before finding an audience for his young-adult fiction. Mr. Edwards currently lives in Orange County, California.
The Age of Amy: Bonehead Bootcamp
Published by
Lambert Hill
P.O. Box 1478
Brea, CA 92822-1478
www.LambertHill.com
Copyright © 2012 by Bruce Edwards
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this e-book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permissions, contact: Lambert Hill, P.O. Box 1478, Brea, CA 92822-1478, books@LambertHill.com.
ISBN: 978-0-9837604-1-2 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-0-9837604-0-5 (print)
Visit www.AgeOfAmy.com