Free Blue Ribbon Blues by Jerry Spinelli Page A

feeling?”
    “I can tell,” said Tooter. “If he liked me, he would listen to me.”
    “Doesn’t listen, huh?”
    “Nope. No matter what I tell him to do, he doesn’t do it. He never obeys me.” She threw up her arms. “His
own
mother!”
    Mr. Pepperday took Tooter’s hands in his. He patted them. “Tooter, I’m afraid I have some shocking news for you. Eggbert is a chicken. He is not your son. You are not his mother.”
    “Dad, I
know
that!” Tooter scolded him. “But Mom said I can pretend.”
    “Oh, well, then,” said Mr. Pepperday. “By all means, pretend away.”
    “Can you help me, Dad?” Tooter asked.
    Mr. Pepperday folded his arms, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.
    “Dad,” said Tooter. “You can’t go to sleep now!”
    “I’m not,” said Mr. Pepperday. “I’m thinking. Shhh.”
    Tooter remained silent while her fatherthought. At last he opened his eyes. “Your mother used to sing to you.”
    Tooter brightened. “A lullaby?”
    “No. Not a lullaby. But it’s a song everybody knows.”
    “What?” said Tooter.
    “ ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ ”
    Tooter laughed. “You’re kidding.” She looked at her father’s face. “Right?”
    Mr. Pepperday shook his head. “Nope. Not kidding. You hated lullabies. ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ was the only song that put you to sleep. When you started to talk, you called it ‘The Tar-Bangled Banner.’ ”
    Tooter shrugged. “Okay, I guess it’s worth a try.” She went back up the stairs.
    Mr. Pepperday heard Tooter singing in the attic.
    “Oh! say, can you see …”
    Mr. Pepperday smiled at the sound of hisdaughter’s voice singing the national anthem.
    “… and the home of the brave?”
    What followed was definitely not singing.
    “Sleep, chicken!”
    Then came footsteps stomping down the stairs and into his office.
    “Dad—”
    Mr. Pepperday cut her off. “Okay,” he said, “how about this? Eggbert is a chicken, right?”
    “Right.”
    “So maybe Eggbert will only listen to another chicken.”
    “Great thinking, Dad,” said Tooter. “Except for one little thing. I’m not a chicken.”
    Mr. Pepperday nodded. “Not a real chicken. But remember, you’re not a real mother, either. Just a pretend mother. So maybe what we need here is …” He paused.
    “A pretend chicken!” Tooter chimed in.
    Mr. Pepperday had a sly grin on his face. “And isn’t there an old feather pillow some-place in the attic?”
    Tooter’s eyes widened. She shot up the stairs.
    Later that afternoon Mr. Pepperday rounded up the family. He fetched Aunt Sally from the honey house. He called in Chuckie and Harvey from the barnyard. He made Mrs. Pepperday stop painting the porch.
    He told them all to be very quiet. He led them up the stairs to the attic. Slowly he opened the door.
    “Ba-
bawlk!
Ba-
bawlk!
”
    It was Tooter. Squawking like a chicken. Flapping like a chicken. Looking like a chicken in the pillow feathers she had glued to a pillowcase sack dress. While Tooter trotted in circles, Eggbert pecked at the floor.

    Mr. Pepperday closed the door. Everyone held in their laughter until they were downstairs.
    When Aunt Sally finished laughing, she said, “I think I know what that girl needs. And it’s
not
a chicken.”

3
Part One
    Tooter climbed into Aunt Sally’s pickup. “Where are we going?” she said.
    Aunt Sally started the engine. The pickup rolled forward. “To find you a friend.” She turned onto Frog Hollow Road.
    “You think that’s what I need?”
    “I do.”
    “I’ll tell you what I need,” said Tooter. “I need a pizza. I haven’t tasted pizza since we moved here. That’s two whole months!”
    Aunt Sally goggled at Tooter. “Horrors!” She waved at a passing pickup. “You knowwhat you’ll really need if you’re going to live on my farm?”
    “What’s that?”
    “You’ll need to become a real farmer.”
    “I know. I want to,” said Tooter. “But not if it means wearing a hat like