Free Night of the Zombie Chickens by Julie Mata

us.
    â€œThat’s a very good question,” my mother says brightly. “Disposal of animal waste is a problem in any farming operation. Luckily chicken manure makes excellent compost for gardens. And because our chickens are organic, their manure is organic, too. I have people stop and ask if they can buy manure from me.”
    My mother actually smiles happily as a titter goes around the classroom. In a crazed moment, I wonder if she’s doing it on purpose. Maybe she was more upset by my zombie chicken script than I’d thought. But, no, she’s clearly oblivious to the brewing tidal wave that’s about to capsize my life.
    â€œChicken manure is very high in nitrogen, which is great for gardens. I used it in our garden as fertilizer last year, and we had a bumper crop of tomatoes.”
    â€œCrappy tomatoes,” Blake Nash mutters under his breath, and that sets off another round of giggles.
    Lydia raises her hand and I wish a flash flood would sweep through or a freak tornado would touch down, but nothing happens. I’m locked rigid in my seat, and my face feels hot enough to cook something on. I can’t tell which hurts more, my mouth or my head.
    â€œI saw one of your chickens poop.” The blunt way Lydia announces it makes everyone laugh. “Let’s just say it was...fragrant.” She waves a hand in front of her nose and rolls her eyes.
    My mother laughs along with the rest of the class. Alyssa, I notice, is laughing the loudest.
    â€œPoop is poop,” my mother says cheerfully. “Yes, it’s smelly, but you get used to it. Kate and her brother help me clean up around the yard.”
    The looks I’m getting vary from amazed sympathy to sneers, depending on the looker. I can’t sink any lower without disappearing underneath my desk, so I doodle on my notebook and pretend my mother’s speaking in Greek. It’s just a scene from a B horror movie, I tell myself. Soon, the credits will roll and it will all be over.
    After school, my mother turns and smiles at me in the car. “I think that went pretty well. Your classmates seemed very interested.”
    I had told myself I was going to be controlled and mature. I was going to gently explain to my mother how she was devastating my life. But this is too much. My pulse begins to pound like I’ve just downed three Monster Energy drinks in under a minute.
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me?” I scream. “I can’t believe you came to my class and you didn’t tell me first!”
    My mother looks wary. This isn’t the mother-daughter moment she envisioned. “I wanted to surprise you, honey. I thought you’d like having me come talk about my business.”
    â€œChickens, Mom?” I screech. “You really think I want you to come and talk to my friends about chickens and their poop ?” I see her hurt look and I know I should shut up, but I’m so mad there’s a supersonic buzzing in my head.
    My mother’s face grows carefully composed. This is her “I’m an adult, you’re a hormonal preteen throwing a tantrum” look, which sets me off even more.
    â€œDidn’t you hear them laughing? They’re all laughing at me, at our family. They think we’re total weirdos!” My voice rises and breaks on the last word.
    â€œThey do not think we’re weirdos,” my mother crisply replies. “I simply told them about my new business. I’m sorry if this embarrassed you.”
    I know my mother planned this out as a fun surprise, and I know I’ve hurt her feelings, but I just wish she would consider my feelings for once. She’s so in love with her chickens that she hardly pays attention to anything else, including me. No, especially me. We don’t speak for the rest of the car ride.
    As soon as I walk in the door at home, my cell phone rings. “Wow,” Alyssa says. “So that was interesting with your mom.