“Bummer,” said Max. He took off back upstairs. Nothing seemed to put a wrinkle in Captain Seahorse’s cape. In Max’s world, his biggest worry was whether he would get to watch cartoons after dinner or not.
Dad put his hand on Fiona’s knee. “Now, I know how you worry, Fiona. And I don’t want you to worry about this. We’ll make it work. We may need to cut back on a few things, that’s all. Until your mom finds a new job. Okay?”
Fiona nodded. She didn’t know a lot about these kinds of things, but she did know that there was almost always something to worry about. Especially when a grown-up told you there wasn’t. From upstairs, she heard Max shout, “Captain Seahorse will save you!” And then he burst out laughing. For a second, Fiona remembered what it was like to live in that world, and for a second, she missed it.
She swallowed hard. How did the gravel get in her mouth?
• Chapter 8 •
During dinner, nobody talked about Mom losing her job. But Fiona could tell that it was on her dad’s mind. And it was definitely on her mind. She tried to bury the worry, like she buried the asparagus under her mash potatoes, but even though she couldn’t see it, she still knew it was there.
Mrs. Miltenberger put some of the leftovers into a plastic container. “I’m taking some food over to Mrs. Lordeau’s. She’s not a very good cook when both of her legs are working right, so I don’t want to even imagine what a bad leg has done to her paltry skills. Anyone want to come?”
“Nope,” said Max.
Fiona didn’t feel much like doing anything, but Mrs. Miltenberger insisted. “It will do you some good, and don’t worry, I guarantee you that Mr. Funbucket will not sprout legs in the time that we’re gone.”
Mrs. Lordeau only lived a few blocks away, but Mrs. Miltenberger didn’t want to walk. “Cars are for driving,” she said.
Fiona rang the doorbell. They waited for a gazillion years. Fiona rang the doorbell again. “Maybe she’s not home.”
“She’s home,” said Mrs. Miltenberger. “With that leg, she can’t go anywhere. Keep ringing.”
Fiona pressed the doorbell over and over again until she heard, “Hold your horses, I said I’m coming! And if you don’t lay off that bell, you’re going to get a close-up look at my crutch!”
Mrs. Miltenberger snickered and gently pulled Fiona’s finger away from the bell.
There were a few whacks and thumps from inside before Mrs. Lordeau appeared at the door, leaning on her crutches. “I’m all right,” said Mrs. Lordeau. “I don’t know who put this furniture so close together.”
“We brought you food,” said Fiona, holding up a plastic container.
“You shouldn’t have,” she said. “But I’m so glad you did. Come in. Come in.”
Fiona and Mrs. Miltenberger followed Mrs. Lordeau inside. Mrs. Miltenberger said, “Fiona, why don’t you go ahead and put the food in the kitchen awhile.”
Mrs. Lordeau’s house was small, like a cottage, with blue walls that always made Fiona feel like she was under the sea in a beautiful cave with white wicker furniture. She was almost to the kitchen when Mrs. Lordeau called out, “See if you can get Mayflower to come in here. Ever since my accident, he’s been a bit nervous.”
Mayflower was pacing by his food bowl. He was a dog the size of furniture, like a coffee table or a big-screen television. His giant paws pounded the floor, only stopping when he paused to sniff around his food bowl. Fiona put the food containers in the refrigerator and then stuck out her hand to Mayflower. “Good, good boy,” said Fiona, scratching under his jowls. “Come on, let’s go into the living room.”
Mayflower paced some more, and Fiona watched him go back and forth in the kitchen until she began to feel dizzy. She grabbed a biscuit from the treat jar on the counter and held it out to Mayflower. Then she patted her leg. “Come on, boy. Let’s go.”
Mayflower closed his eyes and whined. But Fiona called his name once more, and when she patted her leg again, Mayflower followed.
“Mayflower!” said Mrs. Lordeau when Fiona and the dog came into the living room. Mayflower sniffed at Mrs. Miltenberger’s knees before lying down in front of the couch. Mrs. Lordeau stroked his ears. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “It’s okay.” Then Mrs. Lordeau said to Fiona, “Poor thing is a ball of nerves. Just keeps pacing. How’s your pollywog?”
“No legs yet.”
“Don’t you worry about it, they’ll come. They’ll come. All in good time.” She rubbed Mayflower’s back with the toe of her good foot.
“I guess.”
Mrs. Miltenberger cleared her throat, and Mrs. Lordeau said, “Right. Fiona, I’ve been doing some thinking. What do you say to walking Mayflower after school until my leg gets better? I think maybe getting him out of the house for some exercise would help calm him. At least I hope so. I’ll pay you, of course.”
Fiona couldn’t believe her ears. She stood up and shouted, “Yes! Yes! That’s what I say!”
Mrs. Miltenberger and Mrs. Lordeau laughed and Mayflower howled.
“Can I take him now?” asked Fiona.
“It’ll be dark soon,” said Mrs. Miltenberger. “Why don’t you wait until tomorrow?”
“Just a short one?” Fiona said. “I won’t go far.”
Mayflower howled again. “Is that a ‘yes,’ boy?” Mrs. Lordeau said. Mayflower jumped up and ran in circles at her feet. “His leash is hanging by the kitchen door, Fiona.”
Fiona ran to the kitchen, grabbed Mayflower’s leash off the hook, and was back before Mrs. Miltenberger had gotten Mrs. Lordeau to her feet. “Try to stay away from other dogs,” said Mrs. Lordeau. “Mayflower thinks he’s a person, so he doesn’t care too much for other dogs.”
“Okay,” said Fiona. “I will.” She led Mayflower out the front door and onto the porch.
“Cats too!” hollered Mrs. Lordeau. “Best to just steer clear of all animals.”
Fiona shouted back, “I will!” and then she and Mayflower were off down the street.
• • •
Mayflower’s legs were almost as long as Fiona’s, so keeping up with him was easy. Every now and then he looked up at Fiona, as if to say, Thank you for getting me a change of scenery. Fiona was excited too. How lucky she was that she came over to Mrs. Lordeau’s, and how lucky that Mrs. Lordeau had an injured leg.
“We’ll just go down the next street,” Fiona told Mayflower. “And then I’ll take you back home. But don’t worry, we’ll go on a longer walk tomorrow.”
The pair followed the sidewalk onto Mulberry Street. Fiona let Mayflower sniff at whatever he found interesting, which turned out to be a lot. He found something really good underneath a holly tree and sniffed at it for a long time. After a while, Fiona told him that they had to go, and she tugged on the leash. But he planted his enormous feet into the ground and pulled back at her.
“Mayflower,” said Fiona. “What are you doing?”
At this point, Mayflower’s head and half of his body had disappeared under the holly branches. Fiona held tight to the leash and got on all fours next to him. She lifted the branches and stuck her head in. It was dark under the leaves and prickly, too. She saw a gum wrapper and an empty juice box, but Fiona didn’t think that was worth getting scratched up for.
Mayflower whined and pulled, but Fiona wouldn’t let him go in any farther. She worried that if she let him go in another inch, they both would never get out. She tugged at the leash again, but Mayflower snorted and whined. “Mayflower, no!”
Then, just as Fiona was wondering how she got into this mess, something moved a few feet in front of her. Mayflower noticed it too, because a second later he turned around and bolted straight out of the holly tree. The sudden pull on the leash knocked Fiona off balance. She fell face-first into the dirt and rolled out onto the sidewalk.
Next to her, Mayflower spun in circles on his leash, whining. That’s when Fiona saw a rabbit nibbling on clover nearby. “You’re not supposed to do things like that,” said Fiona, brushing the dirt off
her clothes. Mayflower scratched at his ear. But Fiona wasn’t ready to accept his apology. “For that, we’re going home.” She shortened the leash by wrapping it over her hand a few times and did not let Mayflower stop to get in one sniff for a whole entire block.
But then, as they were nearing Mrs. Lordeau’s house, Fiona spotted the boy with the chicken. Actually, Mayflower spotted him first and howled. “Now what?” said Fiona, before she saw him. The boy was walking his chicken on a leash, just like before, only this time, the chicken wasn’t out in front. He was walking behind.
“Hey there!” shouted Fiona. “Hey, wait up!” She tugged on Mayflower’s leash and took off in a run toward the boy and his chicken.
The boy kept on walking, even as Fiona and Mayflower closed in. Fiona thought he seemed to be walking even faster. Mayflower continued to howl, and when they were only a few feet away, the boy scooped up the chicken into his arms and said, “What are you after?”
Fiona wasn’t expecting that question. She wasn’t after anything, really. “I’ve never seen anybody walk a chicken before.”
The bird flapped its wings and Mayflower whined and jumped at it. The chicken boy held his hand out to Mayflower and said, “Hush there. Hushabye now.”
“He doesn’t like other animals too well,” Fiona told him. But to her surprise, Mayflower got quiet. He even lay down. “How’d you do that?” asked Fiona.
But the chicken boy was already walking away. Fiona pulled at Mayflower’s leash, but he wouldn’t move. “Come on, Mayflower! What is wrong with you?” She pulled again, but it was like the boy put some kind of spell on him. Fiona yelled as the boy and his chicken disappeared down the street, “How do I undo this?!”
Fiona got on her knees and looked into Mayflower’s big brown eyes. “Mrs. Miltenberger and Mrs. Lordeau will be worrying about us if we don’t get back soon. Don’t you want to go on walks anymore?” She pulled at his collar, but all he did was yawn. “Fine,” said Fiona. She went around to his rear end and gave him a push until most of his body was over his front legs. He finally got to his feet and Fiona pulled him the rest of the way home.
• Chapter 9 •
Fiona couldn’t wait to tell everyone about her new job. Her mom didn’t answer her phone, so Fiona left a message. “I have a job! I am a dog walker and the dog is named Mayflower and I walked him for the first time tonight and even got paid for it. Ten dollars, which may not be a lot, not as much as you make for being an actress, but it’s something and a job is a job, so I can help out now that I have a job in case you lose yours. Call me back so I can also tell you about the chicken boy, who I’ve seen twice already and talked to once even though he isn’t really friendly and he put a spell on—”
Her mom’s phone cut Fiona off with a beep.
Talking about her new dog-walking job, even to her mom’s answering machine, made her feel important. And taller even. Maybe that was how you knew you were a grown-up, she thought. You actually grew.
She had grown tall enough, in fact, that she now had to look down on Cleo, Milo, and Harold at school when she talked to them. “I’ve got important things to do,” she said when Cleo asked her if she wanted to practice handing out maps after school.
“Like what?”
“I’m going to walk Mayflower. It’s my job.” This made Cleo roll her eyes. And Fiona said, “That’s not a very grown-up thing to do.”
Harold put his finger in his nose and said, “Somebody thinks she’s pretty big and important today.”
Fiona said, “When are you going to stop putting your finger up there?”
Harold pulled out his finger and wiped it under his desk. “Boise Idaho, you’re mean.”
Mr. Bland didn’t seem to notice how grown up Fiona was. When he asked Milo to solve a word problem that involved two trains leaving the station at different times, Milo got it wrong, and Fiona said, “Oh, Milo. You should really study more.”
Mr. Bland then said, “If you know so much, Fiona Finkelstein, then what’s the right answer?”
Fiona didn’t know the right answer and didn’t understand why Mr. Bland was asking her about it, anyway. When she told him she didn’t know, he said, “You should take your own advice and leave Milo alone.”
But Fiona was too grown up, and too tall, to be bothered by all this. She was thinking about what everybody was going to say when she told them how she was going to California. Because she had figured that now that she wasn’t a kid anymore, her dad couldn’t tell her no.
Fiona couldn’t wait for him to get home from work, so after school she went to WORD news station to ask. “Didn’t we already have this conversation?” he said.
“But that was before.”
Dad stared at weather maps on his computer screen. “Before what?”
“Before I was grown up enough,” she said.
“It was last week.”
“A lot can happen in a week,” said Fiona. “Don’t I look taller?” She backed up a few steps so he could get a good look at her.
Dad glanced up at her from his desk. “I guess so. But the answer is still no.”
“But I’m a grown-up!” Fiona shouted, stomping her feet. “I am! I am!” As she yelled and hollered and as her dad just sat there, staring at her with wide eyes, somehow she didn’t feel as tall. Was it possible to ungrow, too?
• Chapter 10 •
Fiona walked Mayflower all over Ordinary. She was careful to watch out for rabbits and other animals, and she steered clear of holly bushes. Especially big ones that she could get dragged into and rolled out of.
On every walk, she looked for the chicken boy. He was just about as mysterious as Bigfoot, except not as big or hairy. Which made him hard to spot. She wondered what school he went to and what he did with the chicken while he was there all day. The spell he put on Mayflower only made Fiona want to find him more. A spell like that could really come in handy, and what she really wanted to know was, Can you use it on teachers, and could you make it last more than a couple of minutes?
After a few days of no sightings, Fiona finally saw the chicken boy again. He was walking along Baker’s Park before sunset and sat down on a bench by the pond. Fiona watched as he scooped up the chicken and cradled it in his lap. This was Fiona’s chance. She gave Mayflower’s leash a strong pull and headed straight for them.
Mayflower managed to stay quiet until they were only a few steps away. Then he howled as loud as ever, and the boy and his chicken jumped. “Easy, girl,” said the boy, stroking the bird’s feathers. It clucked and stretched its wings. “There, there. Easy,” he said. “Hush now. Hushabye.” And just like that, the chicken settled into the boy’s lap and was quiet.
Mayflower sniffed at the boy’s legs and got face-to-face with the chicken. He howled. “Do you remember me?” said Fiona. “You put a spell on my dog the other day? Well, he’s not really my dog. I don’t have a dog, I have a pollywog. It’s my job to walk him—the dog, I mean, not the pollywog. His name is Mayflower.” She had to shout above all of Mayflower’s howls.
The boy snapped his fingers at Mayflower then and said, “Hush now.” Which was the same thing he said before that put Mayflower in a trance. Just like the last time, Mayflower lay down. And he rested his head on the boy’s feet. “Hey,” said Fiona. “How’d you do that?”
“Do what?”
Fiona pointed at Mayflower, who looked like he was about to fall asleep. “That.”
The boy shrugged. “I just talk to animals like they understand what I’m saying.”
“I’ve been talking to Mayflower here about not chasing rabbits, and he doesn’t seem to understand me.”
The boy scratched the chicken’s head, and the bird clucked softly.
“I’ve never seen anybody walk a chicken before,” said Fiona.
“You can walk almost anything,” said the boy.
“Not a pollywog.”
He bit his lip like he was thinking that maybe you could walk a pollywog. If they had legs to w
alk on. But all he said was, “Flo here likes sunsets. Best views are here and over by the old fountain.”
Fiona pointed to the chicken. “This is Flo?” Flo clucked and stretched her neck, as if to say, The one and only. Pride was a quality Fiona had to admire in a chicken.
Fiona sat down on the bench next to the chicken boy and introduced herself.
“Tom,” said the boy, his eyes still on the sky.
Fiona had a lot of questions in her head that were itching to get out. “How old are you? Do you go to school around here?”
“Thirteen,” said Tom. “South Jefferson Middle.”
“I go to Ordinary Elementary,” she said. “How come I never saw you before?”
“Maybe you have.”
“Nope,” said Fiona, shaking her head. “There’s a lot of ordinary in Ordinary, and somebody walking a chicken on a leash is something I definitely would’ve remembered.”
He scrunched up his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” said Fiona. “Just that it’s not every day you see a chicken boy.”
“Don’t call me a—”
“We could start an animal-walking business,” said Fiona. “I’m trying to get enough money to go to California. The more animals we have, the more money we could make. What do you think?”
“No thanks,” said Tom.
“Why not?”
But Tom didn’t say why not. He didn’t say anything else at all. He just stared at the sky.
Fiona watched awhile too, watched the orange burn bright and fade into pink and then disappear altogether. She had another question. “How long are we going to sit here and look at this for?”
“You can sit here as long as you like,” he said. “It’s a public park.” Then he nodded toward Flo. “We’re here until Flo’s ready to go.”
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