Sky Page 15

  ‘Hi Sky, what’s that you’re carrying?’ Mr Peterson points to the large sling wrapped around my chest like a baby pouch.

  Oliver finished it yesterday and I practiced putting Chirp in so she’s well hidden. She seems comfortable and I’m sure she’s asleep already.

  ‘Just a prop for my speech,’ I say confidently.

  ‘You didn’t mention anything during our practice runs,’ he furrows his bushy eyebrows.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ I say. ‘Remember how you said I should engage the audience?’

  ‘But I need to know …’ he says. We were expecting this, and right on cue Oliver shouts, ‘Mr Peterson!’

  ‘Hold on, Oliver,’ Mr Peterson returns his attention to the sling.

  ‘Medical emergency!’ Oliver yells back, forcing our teacher to run to the back of the line. I imagine Lucy, clutching her stomach from a cramp, just like we had rehearsed. In another minute she will recover, allowing me just enough time to get to my seat inside, away from Mr Peterson’s prying eyes.

  The plan goes perfectly and Mr Peterson loses sight of me as I find my seat on stage. The presentations begin, the hall filled to capacity. Prize-winning students take up the first ten rows, followed by the rest of the kids and the teaching staff. At the back, parents hold out their hands glowing with smartphones recording those precious childhood moments, while upfront a photographer snaps with a long zoom lens and bright flash.

  Marissa is in the front row, poised to accept third prize in French. I catch her gaze and she stares at me, her eyes cold as a snow queen. I know she’s warning me. I feel a moment of panic, but then Mum’s words come back to me: ‘When you don’t know what to do, trust your heart, it will never lead you astray,’ and I know what to do. Lucy sits next to Marissa, receiving the Art Prize and I spot Oliver in the middle of the hall, next to Andrew, Jules and Kristy. Paula and David sit towards the back, close to Greg and Lorraine, who are next to Mark. I spot Miss Higgins, too.

  To take my mind off what I’m about to do, I think about my father. Adam Black, Adam Black, I repeat in my head. David was such a sport helping with the sling, it makes me wonder, what would my father do?

  Is he good with his hands, could he build a sling? And would he have helped me out like David did?

  But I stop. There’s no point wondering and torturing myself. He didn’t want me, and now I have a pretend dad who’s probably better than him anyway. The best thing to do is just let him go.

  I look down at the programme. The wind instrument performance and clarinet solo are over, the boring-as-death headmaster is still speaking and next, the prize-giving. My presentation is straight after the Year Sevens.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  I re-adjust the sling around my shoulders, it’s heavy and the wood digs into my armpits. I fiddle with the fabric to make sure that all the feathers are covered. My heart’s beating fast, hands clammy, and a trickle of sweat is heading under my bra and down my spine. Mark suggested I put wet dishtowels in the freezer last night and line the sling with them to keep Chirp cool. I hope it’s working and she’s not over-heating.

  ‘And now. The winner of the 2014 Celebrating Agriculture Award,’ the Mayor’s deep booming voice startles me out of my thoughts. ‘Sky Lawson. With thanks to our good mates at the Department of Primary Industries for their support.’

  I walk to the microphone. One, two, three steps and I’m there. I thank the Mayor and he shakes my hand firmly before returning to his seat, red robes flowing, next to the Principal and other VIPs.

  Mr Peterson stands at the side of the stage holding the mouse to begin my PowerPoint presentation. He nods at me enthusiastically mouthing the words, ‘you can do it’. Sorry, I want to say, this isn’t going to go like you expected.

  My enormous sling wriggles and I put my hands around the warm bundle, feeling all eyes on it, on me. I’m going to make a lot of enemies today. Do I really want this? Am I really brave enough to do this? I focus and know that it is not about me, that this is about something much bigger.

  ‘Chicken is the most popular meat in Australia, every year we slaughter about 500 million birds and eat about 44 kilograms per person,’ my voice wobbles with nervousness as Mr Peterson clicks onto the first slide displayed on a large screen behind.

  ‘That’s like eating my own body weight in chicken!’ I say brightly. ‘In the last twenty years, our production has increased by over 160 per cent.’ The next slide is a graph with references from Voiceless.

  ‘We spend a fortune on chicken meat every year, around 5.6 billion dollars. In comparison, every Australian could buy a new iPad every year for that amount of money!’

  Slide after slide I recite facts and figures about the broiler industry.

  Finally, my video appears, Chirp blinking in slow motion. The audience claps.

  Mr Peterson begins to walk on-stage to thank me like we rehearsed, but I don’t move.

  Now it’s time.

  ‘Keeping animals in cages,’ I say watching Mr Peterson stop, scratch his head and return to his computer, checking the slides, his eyebrows furrowed again. ‘In small cages, where they can’t move, is bad for their welfare, and scientists agree on that.’

  Mr Peterson looks at me, still scratching his head. I catch Lucy’s eyes and she nods and smiles, encouraging me to continue.

  ‘Coles, Woolies and Aldi have even vowed to stop stocking caged eggs. And cages in Europe are pretty much illegal. But,’ I look out at the audience, channelling my Jane Goodall courage. ‘Nobody talks about broiler chickens and what they go through.’

  The audience starts to talk quietly. They’re wondering what’s going on. I know I don’t have much time.

  I unbuckle the sling belt, open the fabric and reach inside, just like I’d practised with Oliver. Carefully I pull Chirp out of her hammock.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I whisper to her. ‘You’re being an ambassador for your species.’

  Poor thing; Mark reassured me she would be fine, snuggled safely next to my chest. I only plan to have her out for a minute, but still, she must be freaking.

  Her feet are dinosaur huge and she’s heavy as a brick. It feels like I’m holding an emu rather than a chicken as I try to wrangle her into the right position, snuggled in my elbow crook.

  ‘This is Chirp,’ I announce.

  The audience gasps.

  ‘And I have something to confess. I took her, stole her, in fact, from the Stevenson’s Family Farm …’

  The crowd erupts into a loud discussion.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ the Mayor stands. I see Greg pushing through his row, past David and Paula, knocking into knees to get to me.

  I have to talk quickly.

  ‘… I’m sorry for taking her, really. But I can’t apologise for saving her.’

  My face is on fire. Someone coughs from the back row and the flash from the zoom camera blinds me as I attempt to stroke Chirp’s feathers reassuringly.

  I can feel Marissa’s laser-sharp eyes. What is she; super-human?

  Chirp pushes her non-lame foot into my tummy. Ouch. Her body is tense with stress.

  I see Greg, Mr Peterson, the Mayor and the Principal, huddled together, watching me and talking feverishly. I don’t know how much time I have before they stop me.

  ‘Chirp is only a month old, but already she can’t walk,’ I say loudly into the microphone, ‘and is in constant pain.’

  I wish I could see Oliver’s face, but knowing he’s out there supporting me helps a little.

  ‘She’s suffering, and that’s common for broiler chickens because they’re bred to grow so quickly they’ve even been named Frankenstein. Bred with these protruding chests,’ I point to Chirp’s body, ‘because we want to eat big buckets of chicken breasts.’

  Andrew calls out, ‘Who wants KFC?’ and a few kids laugh.

  ‘Their bodies are abnormal,’ I look at Chirp. Her legs seem thicker than yesterday, are they swollen? I have to worry about it later.

&n
bsp; I continue, ‘Causing health problems like heart disease, osteoporosis and tibial dyschondroplasia,’ I say, relieved that I’ve practised saying the word out loud, ‘which is what Chirp has.’

  Chirp kicks into me again. This time it really hurts. I stroke her, whispering, ‘Just a bit longer.’

  ‘But it’s not only here in our local farm,’ I say to the audience, ‘it happens all over Australia and across the world in intensive broiler industries. Ow!’ Chirp kicks into my ribcage.

  I give up the stroking and hold onto Chirp as firmly as I can.

  ‘We must change the way we treat chickens. They should be respected for—’

  ‘Now listen here, young lady,’ Greg shouts from the side. I look across to Mr Peterson, my eyes beckoning, please, please let me finish.

  Mr Peterson whispers in the principal’s ear, who I then hear tell Greg, ‘It’ll be worse if we stop her now.’

  I talk quickly. ‘Respected for who they are and not treated as merely sandwich meat. Chirp can’t talk for herself, but she has an amazing personality. She is so sweet!’ I exclaim. ‘And smart. Did you know they can count? To six.’

  Greg is now pointing at me angrily. The Principal nods and walks towards me.

  ‘Chickens have hundreds of calls,’ I say as fast as I can. I want to finish my entire speech before I’m stopped.

  ‘Hens talk to their chicks before they hatch and teach them how to do things, they’re great mums and …’

  Chirp kicks full-force, scratching my arm with her talon.

  I yelp, jump back and accidentally launch her into the air. The Principal freezes, his mouth wide open.

  I watch Chirp attempt to flap her wings and expect her to drop like a lead balloon onto the floor. But unbelievably, she flies a little. Unfortunately, it’s not in the best direction.

  ‘Fucking hell!’ Marissa screams as Chirp falls onto her head. ‘Daddy!’

  A few boys from our class start to laugh but Andrew stands up to glare at them and they stop.

  I jump off the stage, but Greg beats me to it, grabbing Chirp by her legs, holding her upside down.

  ‘No!’ I shout, ‘Give her to me.’

  The camera flashes me blind as I try to get Chirp back, but Greg holds her high out of my reach, like a school bully with a stolen lunchbox. The entire audience has jumped to their feet talking ferociously as they try to get a look at what is going on.

  I’m quickly surrounded by Mr Peterson, the Mayor and the Principal who are checking Marissa for injuries and trying to convince Greg to give Chirp back to me. The photographer is right in our faces. Greg throws Chirp back at me, and I catch her and quickly return her to the sling.

  The Principal rushes back to the microphone. ‘Please calm down, take your seats,’ he says. ‘We will continue with our prize-giving, sincerest apologies, we were obviously not expecting this turn of events—’

  Greg jumps up on stage to take the microphone, forcing the Principal to step aside.

  ‘Stevenson’s Family Farm has a five-star track record in animal welfare,’ Greg says. ‘Our birds are treated like part of our family and—’

  I can’t listen to this. I have to get out of here. I power walk to the exit, clutching the sling, not stopping to look at anyone.

  I sit outside at the back of the Town Hall, behind some garbage bins, out of sight.

  My phone beeps with messages from Paula and David asking where I am. But I’m not ready yet.

  I release Chirp from the sling.

  ‘That sucked, but you did a great job; you were a star,’ I tell her, smothering her with kisses I murmur heartfelt apologies. Her joints are definitely swollen and despite the cool towels, she’s panting.

  Slowly her body relaxes, and her breathing returns close to normal. I think she understands. She would want to help save her friends, wouldn’t she?

  Eventually, Chirp falls asleep on my lap. Lucy texts with ten smiley faces. No word from Oliver. I fiddle with Mum’s bracelets as my mind races. Will Mr Peterson get in trouble? He’s definitely going to hate me. Is Marissa going to get revenge? What will she do, and what about Greg? He’s furious. It’s all too much. I feel the tears running down my face. Mum, are you here with me? Is this what you meant by trusting my heart?

  A roar of voices bursts out the large hall doors, crowds of students and parents spilling onto the footpath. From my hiding spot, I see Oliver walk out with Marissa following. They stop by a light post, hidden from everyone else’s view, and she lights a cigarette. Marissa shows him her neck and I guess she has a scratch from Chirp. Oliver puts his hand on Marissa’s arm, all sweet and caring, and I cringe. I desperately try to lip-read, but no use. What, is he sorry for her? Having second thoughts? After everything he’s said about not liking her, and all he’s done to help me with Chirp?

  I text Paula to pick me up from the back alley and moments later they’ve zoomed up beside me.

  ‘You were amazing!’ David swivels to face me in the back seat of their car.

  ‘Really?’ I ask, feeling sick, wondering if Oliver has had a change of heart. ‘Are you sure Mr Peterson won’t be fired and I won’t be expelled?’

  David says, ‘You have every right to speak the truth, it’s called Freedom of Speech and it’s what makes Australia a great country.’

  ‘Thanks, Dave,’ I say.

  ‘Dave? You called me “Dave”.’ His eyes go all watery. ‘Like I told you,’ he says. ‘I’ll fight them to the end.’

  ‘Couldn’t be prouder,’ Paula says, now into full-blown crying. ‘And your mum would be too.’

  ‘Really?’ I say. ‘Do you think she would have wanted me to do this?’

  ‘One hundred and one percent,’ she says, and I know she’s right. She blows her nose. ‘Sorry, sweetie, my hormones are going crazy at the moment, actually, there’s—’

  My phone beeps with a message, ‘Sorry. Hold on,’ I tell Paula.

  It’s from Oliver. ‘You were brilliant and I just told Marissa that you’re right and she should see the farm for herself.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I text back, relieved. But there’s something I’ve forgotten to tell him. ‘I’ll meet you at the gala,’ I write, ‘there’s someone else I need to go with.’

  ‘Is it Chirp? Or do I need to be jealous?’ he writes, adding a winking sad face.

  ‘Definitely not,’ I text, ‘Lucy and I are going together, but you have the first dance!’

  ‘Sorry, Paula,’ I say finally, turning my phone off. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Paula says.

  We arrive at Lucy’s to return Chirp. No one’s home so I let myself in the back gate.

  ‘I love you,’ I say, giving Chirp a final cuddle and putting her back in her cage. Back in the car, we pass Lucy and her family on the way out. I wave to Lucy and shout out ‘thank you!’

  Paula wipes her eyes, she has been crying again. She turns to give me a pitiful smile. Dave opens his window to introduce himself to Mark and exchange numbers.

  ‘What will happen now?’ I ask as we pull into our driveway.

  Dave laughs, ‘Things are going to get interesting.’

  Chapter 23

  ‘You can’t hide out in your room forever,’ Paula knocks on my bedroom door.

  I close my book and wriggle away from Bella, who has been happily spooning me for two days solid.

  ‘Why?’ I open my door. I must look a sight with bird’s nest hair and a new chin pimple larger than Tasmania.

  ‘Greg Stevenson called,’ she says.

  ‘Oh no,’ I cringe. ‘He’s not going to sue us or something?’

  ‘No, he’s a decent guy, very friendly actually. I did apologise for embarrassing him, we owe him that. And think you should, too.’

  ‘But Paula—’ I start.

  ‘That doesn’t mean we don’t still believe the system of farming needs improving. That it’s problematic for the chickens,’ Paula says. ‘Dave and I are totally behind you, and I told him that.’

>   ‘And what did he say?’ I hold my breath.

  ‘He wants to meet us for lunch today at the golf club to talk more,’ she says. ‘I’m calling Dave now to tell him to come home.’

  ‘Us?’ I ask. ‘But I’m the one who did it all.’

  ‘Sweetie, we’re in this together, one hundred per cent.’

  No, this isn’t right. I broke into the farm. I took Chirp. I kept it secret. I exposed her. Dave and Paula knew about it, at the end, sure. But it was me. All me.

  ‘I know, thanks,’ I say. ‘I want to go by myself.’

  ‘But Dave and I …’ she starts.

  ‘No. I can handle it,’ I insist.

  Paula looks at me for a moment; she looks half-worried and half-crestfallen. ‘Fine. But I’m driving and waiting for you in the car,’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I insist,’ she says. ‘And when we get home I want to tell you something, too.’

  I have thirty minutes to make myself presentable. I put on a nice skirt, try to smooth my hair into a high ponytail and powder my chin. I even brush on a little mascara, not that I want to impress Marissa.

  Paula drops me at the entrance to the new club restaurant, the paint so fresh I can smell it. I walk along a burgundy carpet past the marble-fronted reception and into the main dining hall shining with pastel peach tiles. Greg waves from a table overlooking the golf course and stands like a gentleman while I sit down.

  I look at Marissa and see the big red scratch on her neck. ‘I’m really, truly sorry,’ I whisper, ‘I didn’t mean to …’ but she looks away.

  Lorraine glares at me from across the table before taking out a hand mirror to touch up her lipstick. I pull my chair closer to the table, but the leg sticks and I lurch forward, knocking over an empty glass. Greg Stevenson catches it mid fall.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, smoothing my hair; it’s already frizzing.

  ‘Where’s Paula and Dave?’ Greg asks.

  ‘I wanted to come alone,’ I say, ‘I was the one who did it, not them.’

  ‘Created quite an uproar, Sky, didn’t you?’ Greg pauses. ‘Incredible what damage one kid can create.’