Sky Page 11

  No, damn it. They can feel, they can suffer. I saw with my own eyes how miserable the thousands of chicks were. And they deserve better.

  ‘It’s cruel,’ I interrupt him as he turns back to talk to David.

  ‘Did you know?’ I turn to Marissa, ‘Your dad has thousands of chickens all locked up. He says it’s a hotel, but it’s a prison.’

  My face grows hot as I continue, ‘They never go outside and are covered in poo. Chickens have a really good sense of smell and it’s putrid inside.’

  I’m breathing hard.

  ‘That’s safe levels of ammonia,’ Greg says, turning back to me. ‘Anyway, how do you know what it smells like?’

  ‘I’ve read it, that’s all,’ I say. ‘I’m doing my project on chickens, remember?’ I’m feeling pretty proud of myself, and he won’t trip me up anymore.

  ‘Don’t be rude, Sky,’ David says.

  ‘You love animals,’ I look at Marissa. ‘Princess is your friend, right?’

  Marissa scowls. But I won’t stop. She has to understand what her father’s doing.

  ‘Chickens are just like dogs, like Princess, they’re really smart and sensitive and …’ My voice is getting higher. ‘They don’t deserve to be treated like crap, like your father …’

  ‘Don’t you fucking call my dad a liar,’ Marissa hisses.

  ‘Marissa, language!’ Greg says.

  ‘Now, Sky,’ David’s voice is all father-like. ‘I think you owe an apology to Greg, there’s no need to …’

  ‘I’m telling the truth,’ I say. ‘It’s your dad who’s lying.’

  ‘You came to my party, in my house, I let you into my group,’ she says. ‘You should be grateful. I knew it was a mistake, didn’t I say so?’ she scowls at Jules, who’s suddenly fascinated with her shoes.

  ‘You’re just a stupid orphan hippy,’ she spits. ‘I was only friends with you because I was forced to be. And,’ she scans my face like a laser. ‘Hello, monkey, check out her ears.’ She turns to Kristy and points at my face, which is now officially on fire, ‘They stick out like an ape. And when you’re embarrassed, you turn into a human tomato. Did you know that? Now that’s cruel to people who have to look at you.’

  Kristy stifles a giggle.

  ‘And there’s no fucking hairstyle in the world that will change it,’ Marissa is shouting.

  ‘Marissa.’ Greg interjects. ‘Calm down, Cupcake.’

  ‘But, seriously. Guess what, Sky?’ Marissa’s blue eyes are crazy-scary.

  I’m waiting for her to finish but she doesn’t.

  ‘What?’ I say stupidly.

  ‘Your probation is officially over.’

  ‘Cupcake, it’s okay, let’s not get overly dramatic,’ Greg says, but Marissa flicks her ponytail, swiping me in the chin, and marches off, with Kristy following. I look at Jules, but she just mouths ‘sorry’ and runs after them. So much for Jules having my back.

  ‘Sky,’ David says, ‘I know you’re passionate, and you have every right to be so, but is this the best way …’

  ‘You are not my dad,’ I croak. ‘I never invited you to come today. Anyway, you’ll have your own baby soon, don’t worry about me. I’m going back to Sydney with Melody when she comes to visit.’

  I run towards the Landcare site and hide behind a tree. Greg is getting away with lying, with cruelty and there’s nothing I can do.

  But the worst is still to come. Moments later, I see Marissa, Andrew and Oliver by the woodwork shed. I can’t make out Oliver’s expression. I can only imagine that they’re all laughing at me.

  Total humiliation. Everything’s lost. I check my phone – no message. WildRider clearly doesn’t want to meet me.

  I’m alone.

  Chapter 16

  Saturday, 11.30 a.m. and I’m not getting out of bed. There’s no reason to move. I stroke Bella and play with my bracelet, pushing the stars into my fingertips until it hurts. I glance at the tower of books on my bedside table, but I’m too distracted to read. I’ve been thrown out of Marissa’s group, but I’m not ready to take it in yet and take the bracelet off. I hate Marissa for what she said but more than anything I hate being alone.

  I count my list of problems: I’m still aching for Mum like crazy; flaky Melody’s cancelled again; Marissa despises me and vice-versa; Jules won’t return my texts; WildRider obviously thinks I’m such a waste of space he doesn’t even want to tell me where he lives in case I stalk him like a lunatic; Oliver likes Marissa, not me; David and Paula will soon replace me with a kid of their own, and I’ve stuffed it up with them anyway; David will never forgive me for being so horrible; and Paula doesn’t know me at all.

  That makes nine.

  If I make my mind blank, maybe I can get into the exact same state as I was in at the chicken farm. Then Mum will appear again, and even if she’s not real, I’ll feel her with me. That will help with problem number one and maybe it will help me figure out what to do about the remaining eight.

  Just as I’m dozing off again, my phone beeps. I pick it up but stop myself before I look. I cover the screen and make a list of the many people I want to hear from. Yes, my list-making has gone slightly crazy, but I’ve stopped caring.

  Number one. My first choice is a toss between Melody, Marissa and Oliver but I go with Marissa because she’s the key to my future at West Creek. I imagine she’s apologising for being mean #sosorry. She’s changed her mind and will convince her dad to change the farm so the chickens are happy. They’ll frolic on emerald grass, just like the brochure. My second choice is easy; Oliver, professing his love and inviting me to the gala. Third is definitely sweet WildRider, who tells me he lives close by and can’t wait to hang out. And last, number four, my should-be-friend Jules, saying Marissa isn’t worth it and will I be her bestie instead? So immature, but I can’t help myself, #bestfriendsforeverandever.

  I move my hand, biting my lip.

  A missed call and three texts from Lucy.

  Bummer, she wasn’t on my list.

  The first says, ‘Chirp is acting weird’, the second, ‘he won’t eat’, and the last, ‘Come quickly!’ My problem list has increased to a whopping ten. Great.

  ‘Sorry, Bella, you can’t come with me,’ I say, pulling on Mum’s top even though it hasn’t been washed for weeks. Zipping up my cut-offs I run into the kitchen. Luckily Paula’s not there and I catch sight of her in her precious garden tending to her beloved Chinese eggplants.

  David is sorting the recycling and I convince him to drop me at Lucy’s, telling him I forgot about an assignment.

  ‘The one about chickens?’ he asks, reversing the car down the drive as he hands me a banana, insisting I eat.

  ‘No,’ I say, seeing the hurt in his eyes. ‘Something different.’

  ‘About yesterday.’ I’m feeling genuinely sorry. ‘I really didn’t mean, I mean, I really want to say, well, it’s just that …’ I can’t seem to get the word ‘sorry’ to come out.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ he says, saving me. ‘I should have asked you first, it was insensitive.’

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘It’s only …’ I consider, for a millisecond, telling him everything.

  About how I miss Mum like there’s a hole in my heart bigger than the Pacific Ocean. About how hard it is starting a new school, Marissa pranking me and being on popularity probation. About how the boy I like isn’t interested. And about how sad and angry I feel about the chicken farm, and how totally confused I am about what to do.

  Can I?

  ‘Nothing,’ I say. David watches me for a moment, then returns his gaze to watch the road. ‘I’m here when you want to talk,’ he says. ‘Baby or no baby, I’m not going anywhere.’

  This makes my eyes sting. I turn away so he can’t see my face.

  We arrive at Lucy’s and I run straight out the back to find her and Mark by the cages.

  ‘Look,’ she points to Chirp, curled up at the back of his enclosure, beak nestled in his feathers. ‘He won’t move.’ He has gro
wn so much lately; he’s a giant.

  ‘Now Sky’s here, let’s give it another try,’ Mark says. ‘Chirp always listens to her.’

  I kneel down next to Chirp. ‘Hey, cutie-pie, are you hungry?’ I offer him some seeds in my palm. He opens his eyes for a moment and closes them. Not interested.

  ‘Come, Chirp, cuddle-time!’ I beckon him to me, my voice bright and high, and then I try low and soft. Usually, he’d jump on my lap but he totally ignores me.

  ‘Let’s take a look,’ Mark says, and I pick Chirp up. He’s gotten even heavier than he was last week. I carry him to his favourite tree, a big red bottlebrush, which is our usual spot for dust-bathing. I put Chirp on the ground, but he won’t move. I do everything to lure him but nothing helps.

  Maybe he’s dehydrated?’ I say. ‘He has water, right?’

  ‘Of course,’ Lucy says.

  I’m starting to feel sick.

  Mark crouches next to Chirp. ‘Turn on your phone torch, Lucy, and let me take a good look.’ They both stand over him, as Mark looks down his beak and into his eyes. Seemingly satisfied, he picks him up and rotates him, examining his body from all angles. Then, Mark stands. ‘One, two, three,’ he drops Chirp, and his feathers flutter wildly. Chirp’s legs, that had been curled underneath, come out to save him.

  We all gasp.

  Chirp’s right leg is splayed to the side, and it is all twisted.

  ‘Oh My God!’ I cry, scooping him up to cradle in my elbow nook. ‘Are you okay? What has happened?’

  ‘Seems like the bone’s deformed. I’ll call a vet,’ Mark takes out his phone.

  The blazing sun is making me dizzy, so I sit again, Chirp in my lap.

  ‘We’re in luck,’ Mark says. ‘He’s doing outcalls this afternoon.’

  ‘How much does it cost?’ I have twenty bucks and don’t think it’s going to be nearly enough.

  ‘No worries, Sky, this is my responsibility. Chirp’s in my care.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, choking with tears.

  Mark’s phone beeps. ‘He’ll come as soon as he can.’

  I lean against the tree and stroke Chirp’s feathers. I’ve let Chirp down. How could I not have noticed something’s wrong?

  Lucy sits next to me. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she says, reading my mind.

  ‘You don’t have to wait with me,’ I say. But she doesn’t move. We sit together silently.

  My phone occasionally beeps with messages: Paula asks if I’ve finished my homework and need a lift, Oliver checks to see if I’m coming to dog-training, he probably wants to share training tips or ask me about Marissa. My heart races as I delete the message. He likes Marissa and she hates me. Even being friends is impossible.

  ‘Let’s take a look.’ The vet appears after an hour and takes Chirp from my hands. He lays him on the grass, stretching his wings, legs and neck; a little too roughly, I think. He’s a different vet than the one who checked Bella.

  ‘It’s okay, the vet will look after you,’ I tell Chirp, and he surrenders to the exam. The vet’s brows are furrowed and as the minutes pass, I wish he would say something to reassure me that Chirp will be okay.

  ‘Will he be alright?’ I finally ask, desperate for reassurance.

  ‘He’s a she,’ the vet mumbles, still concentrating.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It’s tricky to tell when they’re chicks, but check this out …’ The vet rocks Chirp back and forth.

  ‘Every time she leans forward, her tail feathers fan out. That’s a natural instinct in females to protect their eggs.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘but I thought …’ How can I say this without giving away that I know Chirp’s not a battery hen, that I snuck into a broiler farm? ‘I thought chickens that don’t lay eggs are boys.’

  ‘Nope. This one’s a girl. Broilers can be a mixture of male and females. Layers are all females, of course, laying eggs and all.’

  I try to process this. Chirp is a girl. All this time I got it wrong.

  Another few minutes pass as the vet continues to check Chirp.

  ‘Ninety-five percent certain she’s got TD.’ The vet stands up, brushing the soil off his khakis. ‘Tibial Dyschondroplasia.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask.

  ‘It means the bone doesn’t grow properly and becomes deformed. Common in broiler chickens that are selectively bred to be large. This is a major animal welfare issue in the poultry industry.’

  He turns to Mark, ‘Where did you say you got this bird again?’

  ‘Sky found her wandering,’ Mark says. ‘So, what’s the prognosis?’

  I bite my nails but stop myself. Can’t look suspicious.

  ‘Not good,’ the vet says.

  ‘What about an operation?’ I ask.

  ‘A broiler chicken in an operating room? That would be a first,’ the vet says smiling at Mark, ‘But anyway, it wouldn’t help. The bigger she grows the harder it is for her legs to support her body weight. See the chest?’ he shows me. ‘It is three times the normal size. More meat for chicken breast, that’s why they do it. Better to euthanise and put her out of her misery. I’ll get a syringe from the ca …’

  ‘No!’ I cry. ‘I’ll take care of him, I mean, her. It doesn’t matter if she can’t walk. Does it?’ I look at Mark, my eyes brimming.

  ‘Walking’s overrated,’ Mark says, giving me a pat on the elbow. ‘Don’t worry Sky, I’ll make sure she can get to her food and water, she’ll be right.’

  ‘You sure, mate? She won’t live much longer,’ the vet says. ‘Chickens should live until about six, but these guys? Heart disease will get her soon. Her internal organs just aren’t equipped to deal with this oversized body.’

  ‘There must be something we can do?’ I plead, ‘You’re a vet, you have to save her.’

  The vet smiles at Mark again. ‘Let me think,’ he tugs at his ear. ‘Okay. Feed her a restricted diet, about a quarter of a cup twice a day. The heavier she is, the worse it will be for her leg. You can also try baby aspirin which should help with pain.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I try to control the wobble in my voice.

  Paula texts asking if I need a lift back. I reply, ‘It’s okay, Mark will bring me back. Have to tell you something. Need your help.’ But I delete the last sentence.

  I message Jules. ‘Can we talk, please?’ She sends me back ‘I can’t until M says so, really sorry’. Seriously?

  ‘Lucky Chirp’s name suits a girl too,’ Lucy says.

  I really don’t feel like chatting, I’m barely holding it together, so I just nod.

  ‘Want some cake?’ Lucy offers. ‘I made it yesterday with chocolate icing and …’ she stops to look at me. I’m in no mood for dessert.

  ‘Or …’ she continues uncertainly, ‘we can bake cookies, baking always relaxes me, or we can go bird watching; I’ve got an extra pair of binoculars and it’s the perfect time to—’

  ‘No,’ I interrupt. ‘Sorry, Lucy, I’ve just got to go.’

  ‘I can come with you?’ she offers.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I walk inside to get my bag. Lucy turns away towards the bird cages and starts flipping through the information on the doors. I can’t help noticing she’s not even reading. I know I’ve been rude, but I’m feeling shocked. I just can’t deal with her or anyone at the moment.

  As Mark drives me back, images of Chirp replay in my head like a bad Hollywood film. The first time I held her, her heartbeat pulsing in my palm like a clock; the babble of happy chirps as she hears me arriving to be with her; her soft feathery undercoat; the heat of her body snuggled on my lap; her slow-motion blink; laughing with Lucy as we watch her play in the dirt.

  Never to walk again, not long to live. The vet’s voice was so clinical, like the doctor at the hospital with Mum. I want to punch him.

  Mostly I want to punch Greg. Not only do the chickens locked in his shed have no life, but they are forced to live with horrible health problems that will make them suffer even more. There’s no excus
e.

  Heading to my bedroom, I lock my bedroom door, then sit on my bed, with my white pebble in my hand and Bella curled by my feet. I send a message to WildRider, ignoring my hurt feelings that he doesn’t want to meet me. I ask if he’s heard about TD, seen it mentioned on Franimals or knows anything that would help.

  Waiting to hear back, I Google ‘TD’ and confirm what the vet said. I find other info but the scientific reports are difficult to understand. One link leads me onto another and another. I download an entire report from an Australian animal protection group called Voiceless. I learn about the broiler industry but this time from the point of view of the people dedicated to protecting and advocating for these animals’ rights and protesting against the cruelty.

  The vet was right. I read how broiler chicks are bred with extra-large chests. People love to eat chicken breast and more meat means greater profits.

  Then I start watching videos. From the tiny previews, I know they are going to be hard to see, but I want to be an investigative journalist. I force myself so I know the facts.

  I see undercover footage of chickens grabbed by the legs in bundles of five and thrown into trucks so roughly their bones are broken. I watch a video inside a chicken shed in the United States filmed by undercover investigators from Mercy for Animals. The shed looks similar to Marissa’s father’s farm sheds. But this one has chickens in terrible shape. Some have lost all their feathers and are covered in blisters. Others aren’t able to stand or walk at all, passed out on the filthy floor. They must be slowly dying from starvation and dehydration because they can’t get to their water or food. Another clip shows a shed with three dead chickens that are half decomposed on the floor. The cameras show activists from a British group called Animal Aids, no masks or anything, promising to try and save them. They’ve broken the law, could even be sent to gaol, but they show their faces. That’s bravery.

  My stomach is sick and my eyes are sore with what I’ve seen. It’s like I have blisters on my irises. How would Chirp feel to be surrounded by sick, dying or dead birds? The smell would be rancid. Should I put this in my project? I’m not sure I’m so courageous. Firstly, I’d get Marissa even angrier. Secondly, I’m sure that’s not what Mr Peterson meant by ‘extraordinary’ nor is it what the Mayor is looking for in a prize-winner. I’d lose my chance at winning. But does my mark or the cash prize even matter anymore? I’m not even going to the gala. I can’t go alone.