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cold outsi…ye…yide； I've got the month of May。 I guess
you'd say； what can make me feel this way？ My girls。 Talkin' 'bout my little gir…ur…rls …”
She looks inside the coop and coos； “Hello； Flo！ Good
afternoon； Bonnie！ e on out； punkin！”
The coop wasn't big enough for her to walk in。 It was more like a mini lean…to shack that even
her dog would have trouble crawling in。 Does that
stop Juli Baker？ No。 She gets down on her hands and knees and dives right in。 Chickens
e squawking and flapping out； and pretty soon the
yard's full of birds； and all we can see of Juli is her poop…covered shoes。
That's not all we can hear； though。 She's warbling inside that coop； going； “I don't need
money； no fortune or faaa…ya…yame。 I got all the riches；
baby； anyone can claim。 Well； I guess you'd say； what can make me feel this way？ My
girls。 Talkin' 'bout my little gir…ur…rls； my girls…”
At this point I wasn't checking the chickens out for rubbery red stuff or feathers。 I was looking
at the bottom of Juli Baker's feet； wondering how in
the world a person could be so happy tunneling through a dilapidated chicken coop with
poop stuck all over her shoes。
Garrett got me back on track。 “They're all chickens；” he says。 “Look at 'em。”
I quit checking out Juli's shoes and started checking out birds。 The first thing I did was count
them。 One…two…three…four…five…six。 All accounted for。
After all； how could anyone forget she'd hatched six？ It was the all…time school record —
everyone in the county had heard about that。
But I was not really sure how to ask Garrett about what he had said。 Yeah； they were all
chickens； but what did that mean？ I sure didn't want him
ing down on me again； but it still didn't make sense。 Finally I asked him； “You mean
there's no rooster？”
“Correctomundo。”
“How can you tell？”
He shrugged。 “Roosters strut。”
“Strut。”
“That's right。 And look — none of them have long feathers。 Or very much of that rubbery red
stuff。” He nodded。 “Yeah。 They're definitely all
chickens。”
That night my father got right to the point。 “So； son； mission acplished？” he asked as he
stabbed into a mountain of fettuccine and whirled his
fork around。
I attacked my noodles too and gave him a smile。 “Uhhuh；” I said as I sat up tall to deliver the
news。 “They're all chickens。”
The turning of his fork came to a grinding halt。 “And…？”
I could tell something was wrong； but I didn't know what。 I tried to keep the smile plastered
on my face as I said； “And what？”
……… Page 26………
He rested his fork and stared at me。 “Is that what she said？ ‘They're all chickens’？”
“Uh； not exactly。”
“Then exactly what did she say？”
“Uh … she didn't exactly say anything。”
“Meaning？”
“Meaning I went over there and took a look for myself。” I tried very hard to sound like this was
a major acplishment； but he wasn't buying。
“You didn't ask her？”
“I didn't have to。 Garrett knows a lot about chickens； and we went over there and found out
for ourselves。”
Lyta came back from rinsing the Romano sauce off her seven and a half noodles； then
reached for the salt and scowled at me； saying； “You're
the chicken。”
“Lyta！” my mother said。 “Be nice。”
Lyta stopped shaking the salt。 “Mother； he spied。 You get it？ He went over there and
looked over the fence。 Are you saying you're okay with
that？”
My mom turned to me。 “Bryce？ Is that true？”
Everyone was staring at me now； and I felt like I had to save face。 “What's the big deal？ You
told me to find out about her chickens； and I found
out about her chickens！”
“Brawk…brawk…brawk！” my sister whispered。
My father still wasn't eating。 “And what you found out；” he said； like he was measuring every
word； “was that they're all… chickens。”
“Right。”
He sighed； then took that bite of noodles and chewed it for the longest time。
It felt like I was sinking fast； but I couldn't figure out why。 So I tried to bail out with； “And you
guys can go ahead and eat those eggs； but there's no
way I'm going to touch them； so don't even ask。”
My mother's looking back and forth from my dad to me while she eats her salad； and I can
tell she's waiting for him to address my adventure as a
neighborhood operative。 But since he's not saying anything； she clears her throat and says；
“Why's that？”
“Because there's … well； there's …I don't know how to say this nicely。”
“Just say it；” my father snaps。
“Well； there's； you know； excrement everywhere。”
“Oh； gross！” my sister says； throwing down her fork。
“You mean chicken droppings？” my mother asks。
“Yeah。 There's not even a lawn。 It's all dirt and； uh； you know； chicken turds。 The chickens
walk in it and peck through it and…”
“Oh； gross！” Lyta wails。
“Well； it's true！”
Lyta stands up and says； “You expect me to eat after this？” and stalks out of the room。
“Lyta！ You have to eat something；” my mother calls after her。
“No； I don't！” she shouts back； then a second later she sticks her head back into the dining
room and says； “And don't expect me to eat any of
those eggs either； Mother。 Does the word salmonella mean anything to you？”
Lyta takes off down the hall and my mother says； “Salmonella？” She turns to my father。
“Do you suppose they could have salmonella？”
“I don't know； Patsy。 I'm more concerned that our son is a coward。”
“A coward！ Rick； please。 Bryce is no such thing。 He's a wonderful child who's — ”
“Who's afraid of a girl。”
“Dad； I'm not afraid of her； she just bugs me！”
“Why？”
“You know why！ She bugs you； too。 She's over the top about everything！”
……… Page 27………
“Bryce； I asked you to conquer your fear； but all you did was give in to it。 If you were in love
with her； that would be one thing。 Love is something to
be afraid of； but this； this is embarrassing。 So she talks too much； so she's too enthused
about every little thing； so what？ Get in； get your question
answered； and get out。 Stand up to her； for cryin' out loud！”
“Rick …；” my mom was saying； “Rick； calm down。 He did find out what you asked him to — ”
“No； he didn't！”
“What do you mean？”
“He tells me they're all chickens！ Of course they're all chickens！ The question is how many
are hens； and how many are roosters。”
I could almost hear the click in my brain； and man； I felt like a plete doofus。 No wonder
he was disgusted with me。 I was an idiot！ They were
all chickens … du…uh！ Garrett acted like he was some expert on chickens； and he didn't know
diddly…squat！ Why had I listened to him？
But it was too late。 My dad was convinced I was a coward； and to get me over it； he decided
that what I should do was take the carton of eggs
back to the Bakers and tell them we didn't eat eggs； or that we were allergic to them； or
something。
Then my mom butts in with； “What are you teaching him here； Rick？ None of that is true。 If
he returns them； shouldn't he tell them the truth？”
“What； that you're afraid of salmonella poisoning？”
“Me？ Aren't you a little concerned； too？”
“Patsy； that's not the point。 The point is； I will not have a coward for a son！”
“But teaching him to lie？”
“Fine。 Then just throw them away。 But from now on I expect you to look that little tiger square
in the eye； you hear me？”
“Yes； sir。”
“Okay； then。”
I was off the hook for all of about eight days。 Then there she was again； at seven in the
morning； bouncing up and down on our porch with eggs in
her hands。 “Hi； Bryce！ Here you go。”
I tried to look her square in the eye and tell her； No thanks； but she was so darned happy；
and I wasn't really awake enough to tackle the tiger。
She wound up pushing another carton into my hands； and I wound up ditching them in the
kitchen trash before my father sat down to breakfast。
This went on for two years。 Two years！ And it got to a point where it was just part of my
morning routine。 I'd be on the lookout for Juli so I could
whip the door open before she had the chance to knock or ring the bell； and then I'd bury the
eggs in the trash before my dad showed up。
Then came the day I blew it。 Juli'd actually been making herself pretty scarce because it was
around the time they'd taken the sycamore tree
down； but suddenly one morning she was back on our doorstep； delivering eggs。 I took them；
as usual； and I went to chuck them； as usual。 But the
kitchen trash was so full that there wasn't any room for the carton； so I put it on top； picked
up the trash； and beat it out the front door to empty
everything into the garbage can outside。
Well； guess who's just standing there like a statue on my porch？
The Egg Chick。
I about spilled the trash all over the porch。 “What are you still doing here？” I asked her。
“I…I don't know。 I was just … thinking。”
“About what？” I was desperate。 I needed a distraction。 Some way around her with this
garbage before she noticed what was sitting right there on
top。She looked away like she was embarrassed。 Juli Baker embarrassed？ I didn't think it was
possible。
……… Page 28………
Whatever。 The golden opportunity to whip a soggy magazine over the egg carton had
presented itself； and buddy； I took it。 Then I tried to make a
fast break for the garbage can in the side yard； only she body…blocked me。 Seriously。 She
stepped right in my way and put her arms out like she's
guarding the goal。
She chased me and blocked me again。 “What happened？” she wants to know。 “Did they
break？”
Perfect。 Why hadn't I thought of that？ “Yeah； Juli；” I told her。 “And I'm real sorry about that。”
But what I'm thinking is； Please； God； oh please； God；
let me make it to the garbage can。
God must've been sleeping in。 Juli tackled the trash and pulled out her precious little carton
of eggs； and she could tell right off that they weren't
broken。 They weren't even cracked。
She stood frozen with the eggs in her hands while I dumped the rest of the trash。 “Why did
you throw them out？” she asked； but her voice didn't
sound like Juli Baker's voice。 It was quiet。 And shaky。
So I told her we were afraid of salmonella poisoning because her yard was a mess and that
we were just trying to spare her feelings。 I told it to
her like we were right and she was wrong； but I felt like a jerk。 A plete cluck…faced jerk。
Then she tells me that a couple of neighbors have been buying eggs off her。 Buying them。
And while I'm ing to grips with this incredible bit of
news； she whips out her mental calculator。 “Do you realize I've lost over a hundred dollars
giving these eggs to you？” Then she races across the
street in a flood of tears。
As much as I tried to tell myself that I hadn't asked her for the eggs—I hadn't said we wanted
them or needed them or liked them—the fact was； I'd
never seen Juli cry before。 Not when she'd broken her arm in P。E。； not when she'd been
teased at school or ditched by her brothers。 Not even when
they'd cut down the sycamore tree。 I'm pretty sure she cried then； but I didn't actually see it。
To me； Juli Baker had always been too tough to cry。
I went down to my room to pack my stuff for school； feeling like the biggest jerk to ever hit the
pla。 I'd been sneaking around throwing out eggs
for over two years； avoiding her； avoiding my father — what did that make me？ Why hadn't I
just stood up and said； No thanks； don't want 'em； don't
need 'em； don't like 'em…。 Give them to the snake； why don't you？ Something！
Was I really afraid of hurting her feelings？
Or was I afraid of her？
The Eggs
After they cut down the sycamore