Free Flipped by Wendelin Van Draanen Page A

during the fair that night. My whole family came, and even though Matt and Mike only watched for about two minutes before they took off to look at some otherdemonstration, my mom and dad stuck around for the whole thing. Mom even picked Bonnie up and nuzzled her.
    That night after it was all over and I was packing up to go home, Mom asked, “So do these go back to Mrs. Brubeck now?”
    “Do what go back to Mrs. Brubeck?” I asked her.
    “The chicks, Juli. You're not planning to raise chickens, are you?”
    To be honest, I hadn't thought beyond the hatch. My focus had been strictly on bringing them into the world. But she was right—here they were. Six fluffy little adorable chicks, each of which had a name and, I could already tell, its own unique personality.
    “I…I don't know,” I stammered. “I'll ask Mrs. Brubeck.”
    I tracked down Mrs. Brubeck, but I was praying that she didn't want me to give them back to her friend. After all, I'd hatched them. I'd named them. I'd saved them from mushy chick disease! These little peepers were mine!
    To my relief and my mother's horror, Mrs. Brubeck said they were indeed mine. All mine. “Have fun,” she said, then zipped off to help Heidi dismantle her exhibit on Bernoulli's law.
    Mom was quiet the whole way home, and I could tell—she wanted chickens like she wanted a tractor and a goat. “Please, Mom?” I whispered as we parked at the curb.
“Please?”
    She covered her face. “Where are we going to raise chickens, Juli? Where?”
    “In the backyard?” I didn't know what else to suggest.
    “What about Champ?”
    “They'll get along, Mom. I'll teach him. I promise.”
    My dad said softly, “They're pretty self-sufficient, Trina.”
    But then the boys piped up with, “Champ'll piss 'em to death, Mom,” and suddenly they were on a roll. “Yeah! But you won't even notice 'cause they're yellow already!” “Whoa! Yellow Already—cool name.” “That could work! But wait— people might think we mean our bellies!” “Oh, yeah—forget that!” “Yeah, just let him kill the chicks.”
    My brothers looked at each other with enormous eyes and started up all over again. “Kill the Chicks! That's it! Get it?” “You mean like we're chick killers? Or like we
kill
the
chicks
?”
    Dad turned around and said, “Out. Both of you, get out. Go find a name elsewhere.”
    So they scrambled out, and the three of us sat in the car with only the gentle
peep-peep-peep
from my little flock breaking the silence. Finally my mother heaved a heavy sigh and said, “They don't cost much to keep, do they?”
    My dad shook his head. “They eat bugs, Trina. And a little feed. They're very low-maintenance.”
    “Bugs? Really? What sort of bugs?”
    “Earwigs, worms, roly-polys … probably spiders, if they can catch them. I think they eat snails, too.”
    “Seriously?” My mother smiled. “Well, in
that
case …”
    “Oh, thank you, Mom. Thank you!”
    And that's how we wound up with chickens. What none of us thought of was that six chickens scratching for bugs not only gets rid of bugs, it also tears up grass. Within six months there was nothing whatsoever left of our yard.
    What we also didn't think of was that chicken feed attracts mice, and mice attract cats. Feral cats. Champ was pretty good at keeping the cats out of the yard, but they'd hang around the front yard or the side yard, just waiting for him to snooze sothey could sneak in and pounce on some tender little mousy vittles.
    Then my brothers started trapping the mice, which I thought was just to help out. I didn't suspect a thing until the day I heard my mother screaming from the depths of their room. They were, it turns out, raising a boa constrictor.
    Mom's foot came down in a big way, and I thought she was going to throw us out, lock, stock, and boa, but then I made the most amazing discovery—chickens lay eggs! Beautiful, shiny, creamy white eggs! I first found one under Bonnie, then Clyde—whom I