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feathers up and down my arms.
    I opened my mouth to scream. But all that came out was a choked “goggle
goggle goggle.” Like a clucking hen.
    I leaped out of bed and hurtled to the dresser mirror. I pulled down the top
of my nightshirt and gasped. My shoulders and arms were covered with fluffy, white and brown
feathers.
    I brushed my hand over my lips. They had grown even harder. Hard as bone.
    I saw something move in the mirror. I twirled around to find Cole in my
bedroom doorway.
    “Crystal—” he clucked. He staggered into the room. White feathers bristled
on his shoulders and under his chin. They had grown back.
    “Look at me!” I clicked.
    “BLUCCK BLUCCCCK,” Cole replied.
    I turned back to the mirror and started frantically pulling off my feathers.
It hurt each time. But I didn’t care. I wanted them off !
    It didn’t take long. I plucked them all off. Then I gathered them up and
tossed them into the wastebasket. Then I helped Cole remove his feathers.
    His lips had hardened during the night. His fingernails had grown. His hands
suddenly looked sort of like claws.
    “Vanessa,” he murmured.
    I stared at him. I knew instantly what he meant.
    I had been thinking the same thing all along. Remembering the horrible moment
we spilled Vanessa’s groceries.
    “Yes,” I agreed. “I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to believe it. But
Vanessa did this to us. Vanessa is BLUUUUCCK BLUCCCK turning us into chickens.”
    “Chicken chicken,” he clucked.
    I heard clattering sounds downstairs in the kitchen. Mom and Dad!
    “We have to BLUUUUCK tell them!” I cried. “We have to tell them everything!”
    Cole and I both bolted for the bedroom door at the same time. We squeezed
through together. Then we ran side by side down the hall.
    I could hear Mom’s voice from the kitchen.
    Cole and I started calling to her as we hurried down the stairs.
    “Mom—we need BLUUUCCK help!” I cried. “It’s Vanessa. She really does have BLUUUCCK CLUUCK powers!”
    “She’s turning us into chickens!” Cole called to Mom as we reached the
downstairs hall and went running to the kitchen. “We’re growing feathers and
everything!”
    “It’s the truth!” I cried. “You’ve got to help us. Cole and I—BLUUUCK—we’re both turning into chickens!”
    “That’s good news,” Mom replied calmly “I need two more chickens for the
barbecue this afternoon.”

 
 
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    “Huh?”
    “Barbecue us?”
    Cole and I both gasped. Was Mom joking?
    As soon as we burst into the kitchen, I realized that Mom wasn’t talking to
us. She was on the phone. She had her back to us and was drumming her
fingernails on the Formica counter beside the phone.
    My eyes swept over the kitchen. It was cluttered with pans and serving bowls,
cut-up lettuce and tomatoes, a bag of potatoes, bottles of barbecue sauce, and a
pile of chicken parts on a tray beside the sink.
    What a mess!
    “Mom—we… we CLUUUCK BLUUUCK have to talk to you!” I sputtered.
    She turned, still talking, and waved. She said a few more words, then hung up
the phone. “You two slept so late,” she said, frowning at the wall clock. “It’s nearly noon, and our guests will be here in an hour or two.”
    “Mom—” I started.
    She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and moved toward the sink.
“Did you forget we’re having a big barbecue this afternoon? We’re having at
least twenty guests, and—and—” She gestured to the pile of chicken parts.
    The sight of them made my stomach turn.
    “Cluuucck bluuuck,” Cole murmured.
    I stepped over to the sink. “We have to talk to you,” I said, taking Mom’s
arm. “Cole and I—we have a problem. A real problem.”
    “About the chorus practice you missed this morning?” Mom interrupted. She
took a small brush and began slapping barbecue sauce on the chicken parts. Then
she tossed each part in a big china bowl.
    “No, Mom. I—”
    “That was Mrs. Mellon on the phone,” Mom