Read Online Girls Don't Fly by Kristen Chandler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristen Chandler
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helmet. But he’s fine.”
My chest gets tight. “He has to wear a helmet. He crashes.”
“Wow. Is there an echo in here? Everyone acts like I’ve never taken care of a kid before. Did you get a job?”
“I’m starting right now.”
“Aren’t you a go-getter? Where at?”
It’s no use. Let the mocking begin. “The Chicken Little Drive-Thru.”
“Sweet Mother of Grease.”
I stare at the suit, hanging before me in all its foul splendor. I may have to tell my family I work here, but I don’t have to tell them what I do. “It’s a job.”
“You have no shame,” says Mel.
Mel’s ashamed of me. The irony of my life is unending.
I hang up and reach for the suit. When I unzip it and look inside a spider climbs out. I stand paralyzed for a minute. Not by the spider, but by the idea that I’m about to put something on my body, and over my head, that has been a spider’s home. Maybe there are even eggs in the suit. In all likelihood there are fleas or lice or skin-eating viruses in the flaps and folds of this death bag.
It comes down to this: How bad do I want out of this town?
Bad enough. I put on the suit.
13
Epigamic Display:
When a bird dresses up and shakes its feathers to get another bird’s attention.
I tie my head on and grab my sign. I walk past my busy coworkers and the few people who have come to eat inside. Luckily I don’t recognize anyone from school. I nod my beak in greeting. Except that it’s filthy, the suit is comforting, like having a big, sweaty secret identity. Instead of Wonder Woman, I’m Chicken Little. Galápagos, I silently chant to myself, Galápagos .
When I get out onto the street, the wind gusts through my beak and into the opening at my neck. I just have to humiliate myself by dancing around, jiggling a sign that says BEST-LOOKING CHICKS IN TOWN. I look through my peephole at the cars passing. People honk at me. I wave. The cold feels good. No one knows who I am. I’m getting paid.
I realize pretty quickly that I’m going to have to think of ways to entertain myself and keep my feet moving if I’m going to do this for hours. To get my mind off the spider eggs, I try to remember a few routines I did for my brothers when they were all little. I start slow, with a soft shoe that I made up for Andrew. I have to change it up a bit—a claw to the left and a claw to the right. A few more cars honk. I sway a little bigger, kicking my legs up just enough to look like I’m dancing. After a few more honks, a car with guys my age passes. One brown head hangs out the window and yells, “Nice breasts!”
The funny thing is that instead of shrinking into my three-toed boots, I’m fine. I even give a little wing in response. Inside the costume I can be as weird as I want. A few more cars go by, and then one pulls into the drive-in and parks. As they get out of the car, the middle-age couple gives me a thumbs-up. I feel so proud. I’ve recruited eaters! For the worst job in the world, this one isn’t half bad. Okay, maybe it’s half bad. But the other half is almost fun.
Around dusk I see a white truck pass out of the corner of my eye. I whirl around. It’s not Erik. Maybe it is. I swear everyone in this town drives a white truck. There is too much traffic to see the head of the driver. The passenger is definitely a redhead. I tilt my beak so I can see better, but it’s too late. The truck is gone.
I stand there on the street corner in my bird costume feeling ridiculous. I don’t know if I can finish my shift. I want to sit down. I want to go to sleep.
It’s not that Erik could have recognized me, if that was Erik. It’s because someday soon Erik will be a stranger to me. I won’t know anything about him except gossip. This person I planned my life around will plan his life around some other girl—someone who isn’t a space-sucker or a giant chicken.
The street is quiet for a few minutes. A dusty wind filters in through the costume. No
My chest gets tight. “He has to wear a helmet. He crashes.”
“Wow. Is there an echo in here? Everyone acts like I’ve never taken care of a kid before. Did you get a job?”
“I’m starting right now.”
“Aren’t you a go-getter? Where at?”
It’s no use. Let the mocking begin. “The Chicken Little Drive-Thru.”
“Sweet Mother of Grease.”
I stare at the suit, hanging before me in all its foul splendor. I may have to tell my family I work here, but I don’t have to tell them what I do. “It’s a job.”
“You have no shame,” says Mel.
Mel’s ashamed of me. The irony of my life is unending.
I hang up and reach for the suit. When I unzip it and look inside a spider climbs out. I stand paralyzed for a minute. Not by the spider, but by the idea that I’m about to put something on my body, and over my head, that has been a spider’s home. Maybe there are even eggs in the suit. In all likelihood there are fleas or lice or skin-eating viruses in the flaps and folds of this death bag.
It comes down to this: How bad do I want out of this town?
Bad enough. I put on the suit.
13
Epigamic Display:
When a bird dresses up and shakes its feathers to get another bird’s attention.
I tie my head on and grab my sign. I walk past my busy coworkers and the few people who have come to eat inside. Luckily I don’t recognize anyone from school. I nod my beak in greeting. Except that it’s filthy, the suit is comforting, like having a big, sweaty secret identity. Instead of Wonder Woman, I’m Chicken Little. Galápagos, I silently chant to myself, Galápagos .
When I get out onto the street, the wind gusts through my beak and into the opening at my neck. I just have to humiliate myself by dancing around, jiggling a sign that says BEST-LOOKING CHICKS IN TOWN. I look through my peephole at the cars passing. People honk at me. I wave. The cold feels good. No one knows who I am. I’m getting paid.
I realize pretty quickly that I’m going to have to think of ways to entertain myself and keep my feet moving if I’m going to do this for hours. To get my mind off the spider eggs, I try to remember a few routines I did for my brothers when they were all little. I start slow, with a soft shoe that I made up for Andrew. I have to change it up a bit—a claw to the left and a claw to the right. A few more cars honk. I sway a little bigger, kicking my legs up just enough to look like I’m dancing. After a few more honks, a car with guys my age passes. One brown head hangs out the window and yells, “Nice breasts!”
The funny thing is that instead of shrinking into my three-toed boots, I’m fine. I even give a little wing in response. Inside the costume I can be as weird as I want. A few more cars go by, and then one pulls into the drive-in and parks. As they get out of the car, the middle-age couple gives me a thumbs-up. I feel so proud. I’ve recruited eaters! For the worst job in the world, this one isn’t half bad. Okay, maybe it’s half bad. But the other half is almost fun.
Around dusk I see a white truck pass out of the corner of my eye. I whirl around. It’s not Erik. Maybe it is. I swear everyone in this town drives a white truck. There is too much traffic to see the head of the driver. The passenger is definitely a redhead. I tilt my beak so I can see better, but it’s too late. The truck is gone.
I stand there on the street corner in my bird costume feeling ridiculous. I don’t know if I can finish my shift. I want to sit down. I want to go to sleep.
It’s not that Erik could have recognized me, if that was Erik. It’s because someday soon Erik will be a stranger to me. I won’t know anything about him except gossip. This person I planned my life around will plan his life around some other girl—someone who isn’t a space-sucker or a giant chicken.
The street is quiet for a few minutes. A dusty wind filters in through the costume. No
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