The Chicken Dance

by Jacques Couvillon

  “I want you to come with me to the chicken yard,” I told Dawn. “I want to do something and then I’ll know who I’m going to live with.”

  “What are you going to do?” Dawn asked.

  “I’ll show you when we get to the chicken yard,” I told her.

  I changed into some jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Then I grabbed a flashlight, a black marker, and an umbrella and told Dawn to follow me to the chicken yard.

  Once we were underneath the coop, I lit some special candles to keep the bugs away and to give us some light. Then I grabbed a sheet of plywood that I was going to use to make a nest for the chickens and put it in the middle of the coop. I took the black marker and drew a circle on the plywood and separated it into three sections. In one section, I wrote an “F” for father. In another section, I wrote an “M” for mother. And I was going to write a “D” for Dawn in the last section but then I looked at her and I changed my mind. In the last section, I wrote, “GM” for Grandmother. And then I put a “G” before the “F” for Grandfather. And I left the “M” for Dawn.

  “What are you doing?” she asked me.

  “You’ll see in a second,” I told her. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”

  I pulled a metal cage out of the shed in the chicken yard and dropped it on top of the circle on the sheet of plywood. Then I looked for KC. Most of the chickens were underneath the roof of the coop because of the rain, so it was hard to find her at first because she was white like a bunch of the others. But I could always tell her apart from the other ones because she stood taller than them.

  When I found her, I bent down and called her, “Hey, KC. Come here, girl.”

  She didn’t run right to me, but she looked at me. So I bent down and slowly walked toward her until I could pick her up. She flapped her wings a little but calmed down after a couple of seconds. Once she had, I put her in the metal cage and closed the door.

  “KC is going to decide who I’m going to live with,” I told Dawn.

  “How is she going to do that?” Dawn asked me.

  “By using the bathroom,” I told her. “I’m going to live with the person whose piece she goes on.”

  “Stanley,” she said. “You can’t let a chicken decide where you’re going to live.”

  “Why not?” I asked her.

  “This is an important decision,” she told me. “You have to decide this. A chicken can’t do that for you. It’s crazy.”

  KC clucked really loudly and ran around the little cage. I could tell she didn’t like it and it was painful for me to watch her in there. I bent down to let her out, but then I thought of something and stood back up.

  “Dawn,” I said. “It is crazy, but you know what, it’s crazy that you left me because you were too scared of Mother and Father. And it’s crazy that they told me that you had died and that you were my sister. And it’s even crazier that you ran away because you were tired of dancing but you’re still dancing. And it’s crazy that my best friends in the world are these chickens and now I have to leave them no matter who I go and live with. But I think the thing that’s the craziest is that everything I know is going to change and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. So if everything around me is crazy, then why can’t I do crazy things to make choices?”

  When I finished talking, KC went to the bathroom.

  Thirty-Five

  Dawn was the first one to look at where KC had gone to the bathroom. Her eyes closed in slightly, like she was thinking, and then she said, “GM.”

  “Grandmother,” I said.

  I looked down at the board and saw where KC had gone.

  Dawn put her hands on top of her head and then pulled her fingers back through her hair. She looked down at the ground and then took a deep breath. Then she squinted her eyes again and asked, “Wait. You’ve been calling her ‘Mother’ all night. Why do you call her ‘Mother’ instead of ‘Mom’?”

  I told her, “Because she told me to call her ‘Mother’ and Father, ‘Father.’ ”

  Dawn threw one of her hands up in the air and said, “Oh, for Christ’s sakes. That sounds like something she’d do. Why would you want to stay with a woman like that?”

  Dawn grabbed me by the shoulders and said, “Come with me, Stanley. Please. Let me take you away from that awful woman.”

  I shook my head and said, “I have to stay with her. But maybe you can stay here with us.”

  Dawn breathed deeply and pulled her T-shirt away from her skin with one hand and started fanning herself with the other. She looked kind of sick, so I asked, “Are you okay? Do you want a glass of water or something?”

  She stopped fanning herself and stared at me and asked, “Are you sure you don’t hate me?”

  I nodded my head up and down and said, “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Dawn grabbed my hands and pulled me toward her and asked, “Are you sure you want to stay here with her?”

  I looked at her and thought about it again. I had the chance to go with Dawn, who hugged me, and kissed me, and told me how much she loved me, and kicked people who tried to hurt me, or I could stay with my grandmother. Then I got the idea that maybe Dawn and my grandmother could make up and she could stay with us and maybe if she did, my parents wouldn’t get a divorce and I wouldn’t have to leave my chickens or my friends at school.

  So I squeezed Dawn’s hand and said, “Yeah, I’m sure. But I want you to stay here with us so we can be like a family.”

  Dawn shook her head and said, “Stanley, I can’t stay here. I don’t get along with that woman, and although I don’t want to leave you, I can’t stand to be around her.”

  Dawn took a pen and some paper out of her purse and started writing and said, “Here’s my number and address in Baton Rouge. I’m going to be there for a while, so if you change your mind, call me, and I’ll come and get you. If I move, I’ll let you know. Please don’t let Mom or Dad know that you saw me or where I am.”

  She handed me the paper, and I hugged her and told her that I would miss her and that I’d visit her the first chance I could. Dawn walked out of the coop and then to her car. I let KC out of the cage and blew out the candles. Then I went back into the house.

  I walked over to the window in the living room and looked at Dawn in her car. She had turned the light on so I could see her. She was smoking a cigarette and looking at herself in the rearview mirror. She turned off the light and started the car and I started singing “Please Don’t Go” by KC and the Sunshine Band in my head.

  Babe, I love you so

  I want you to know

  That I’m going to miss your love

  The minute you walk out that door

  I couldn’t believe that Dawn was leaving me again. I almost ran outside and screamed out to her to stay with us, or wait, and that I’d get my suitcase and leave with her.

  Please don’t go

  Don’t go

  Don’t go away

  Please don’t go

  Don’t go

  I’m begging you to stay

  Dawn backed out of the driveway and when she did, her lights flashed into the living room. I heard my grandmother moving around in the beanbag chair, so I turned to see if she’d woken up. She stretched her legs out but stayed lying down. I saw an empty wine bottle next to her and I figured that’s why she was sleeping in the beanbag instead of her bed. I turned back toward the window and saw Dawn’s car on the road.

  If you leave

  At least in my lifetime

  I’ve had one dream come true

  I was blessed

  To be loved

  By someone as wonderful as you

  I waved, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. I knew I was going to miss her, and that sometimes I’d probably wish that I’d gone with her.

  Please don’t go

  Don’t go

  Don’t go away

  Please don’t go

  Don’t go

  I’m begging you to stay

  Hey, hey, hey


  When I couldn’t see Dawn’s car anymore, I backed away from the window and felt something under my foot. It was the music box and I wasn’t sure why it was on the ground, but I figured that it was one of the things I’d heard my grandmother throwing. I was going to put it back on the bookcase before my grandmother woke up and saw me holding it, but then I got an idea.

  I wound it up as tight as I could, and then put it on the coffee table. Then I knelt down in front of it, opened the lid, and watched the ballerina dance. And after a few seconds, I looked at my grandmother and then back at the tiny dancer and whispered, “Fly.”

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank my agents, Dan Lazar and Simon Lipskar from Writers House, for taking a chance on a new writer; my editor, Jill Davis, for helping me to shape my wild and sometimes downright crazy ideas into a readable format; my publicist, Deb Shapiro, who was an endless source of information concerning the promotion of the book; my British editor, Sarah Odedina, and my German editor, Dorit Engelhardt, for making me known around the world; and everyone at Bloomsbury who contributed to publishing my first novel.

  And thanks should be given to Frederic, Mary, Phillipe, Harold, Kurt, Mikey, John Reid, Jeff, Francisco, Heather, and Seb for opening up their sofas and spare rooms to a starving artist; my classmates and teacher, Leslie Dormen, at the Writers Studio, who encouraged me to develop the two-page story entitled Dance into a longer piece; the students and instructor, Joseph Caldwell, at the 92nd Street Y, for holding my hand while writing the novel; Troy, for copyediting the manuscript before I sent it to my agent; and Jack, Jay, Peter, and the other Jack, who convinced me that behind my massive forehead there was a novel waiting to be written.

  I need to thank my former boss, Lisa, for being so supportive (and also for those beautiful Paul Smith cuff links); and my work colleagues Kurt, Christine, and Leah for reading the first drafts and providing feedback.

  But most of all, I’d like to thank my family for providing support and material over the years. I won’t name them all here because there are more than thirty of them, but each one of their names is in the book.

  Special thanks go to my sister-in-law, Rhonda, who believed in all of my ideas no matter how outrageous they may have seemed at the time and encouraged me every day of my life to be who I am; my sisters, Sandy and Kay, and my brother, Joey, who were my first readers; and Joey and Rhonda’s daughter, Taylor. When she was ten years old, she wrote this letter:

  Dear Uncle Jacques,

  How are you doing? It was fun when you came down. I hope you can come back soon. Are you still writing your book? Don’t give up, okay.

  Love Taylor

  Every time I felt as if I were chasing a pipe dream or out of my mind for attempting to write a novel, I looked at her letter and it kept me going. So I’d like to end by thanking all of the children and adults who have inspired, encouraged, and supported a person’s dreams.

  Copyright © 2007 by Jacques Couvillon

  First published in the United States of America in 2007

  by Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers

  E-book edition published in June 2013

  www.bloomsbury.com

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to

  Permissions, Bloomsbury BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

  All rights reserved

  You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Couvillon, Jacques.

  The chicken dance / by Jacques Couvillon. — 1st U.S. ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: When eleven-year-old Don Schmidt wins a chicken-judging contest in his small town of Horse Island, Louisiana, and goes from outcast to instant celebrity, even his neglectful mother occasionally takes notice of him and eventually he discovers some shocking family secrets.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-59990-043-8 • ISBN-10: 1-59990-043-2

  [1. Chickens—Fiction. 2. Family problems—Fiction.

  3. Secrets—Fiction. 4. Country life—Louisiana—Fiction.

  5. Louisiana—History—20th century—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.C83345Ch 2007 [Fic]—dc22 2006102093

  ISBN: 978-1-6196-3227-1 (e-book)