January/February 2024

Rico the chicken dreams of being champion of a sport dominated by bigger birds Chanting echoed through the dark tunnel. “Rico! Rico! R-I-C-O!” It got louder and louder as I neared the end of the tunnel, and the light got brighter and brighter. I tightened my beak strap and bounced up and down a few times. This was it, the greatest moment of my life. I took another step forward and the cheering flooded into my ears. I knew one more step would take me into a life of excitement, adrenaline, and air rushing through my feathers. I spread my strong, muscular wings, lifted my front leg, and took that step. “Rico! Rico! Rico! Rico . . .” I woke up with the same feeling I woke up with yesterday—the feeling of being admired and loved by everyone. But, like yesterday, that feeling faded quickly. The reality of waking up in my room—again—and having to pee really badly—again—always seemed to kill the dream. I sat up in bed, swung my feet over the side, and slipped on my red slippers. Sauntering to my bedroom door, I glanced over at the mirror on the wall and paused to look at my muscles. Maybe half a millimeter bigger than last week? Maybe a millimeter? Whenever my older sister, Macy, talked about my wing muscles, she always made quotation signs in the air with her wing tips and laughed, “Muscles!” I sighed and let my wings hang as I dragged myself over to the bathroom. I was only halfway done with my business when I was interrupted by Macy yelling from downstairs. “Rico! It’s, like, 8:47! You’re gonna be late! So you’re gonna make me late!” I hate being rushed in the bathroom; it just sorta ruins my peace and quiet. “Alright, already! Don’t lay an egg! I’m almost done!” I pulled up my pajama pants and ran to my room. I quickly changed into a pair of cargo shorts and a red T-shirt and kicked off my slippers as I ran down the ramp. Macy was waiting in the living room, tapping her talons on the floor. “Where’d my backpack go?” I murmured and checked behind the wingchair. “Found it!” I said, and lugged the heavy bag up and over my shoulders. “Hurry up!” Macy yelled from the front door. I was heading through when my mom put a wing on my shoulder and placed a warm, fresh piece of cornbread in my wing feathers. “Thanks, Mom!” I yelled back as Macy practically dragged me into the car. I perched myself next to her in the front seat. “I’m gonna be so late because of you,” Macy muttered. “Sorry,” I half-heartedly apologized through a mouthful of cornbread. She rolled her eyes and started up the car. It hovered up to around ten talons off the ground, and then she stepped on the gas pedal and we were off. *          *          * It was a smooth, short drive, but I wished it was longer. I was not a fan of school. I’d rather just stay at home and play Super Cluck Bros. I’d even prefer just doing homework at home to going to school. But we arrived, as usual, and I slumped out of the car right after Macy lowered it to the ground. Before I could even close the door, she was revving the engine and called through the window, “See ya later, R!” I quickly waved back at her through the window, slammed the door, and watched her speed off to high school. Then I turned around with a sigh and faced what I dreaded every day. Thunderflight Middle School. TMS. Trample. My. Soul. I heaved the heavy doors open and made my way through the usual morning crowd of students. Birds will wait till literally the last second before the bell rings to get to their classes. But I don’t like the noisy flock thing and prefer to just get to my empty classroom early, so I successfully crept past a group of raucous ospreys without being noticed and made my way to classroom number thirty-six. Phew! Empty. I took a seat at the back table. My usual spot. Far from the bigger birds. I put my backpack next to my perch and waited for the bell to ring. Just then, the door to the classroom opened. I held my breath. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to get to class early and alone. I looked frantically around for Mrs. Hew, but she hadn’t arrived either. I glanced nervously at the door. Thank the Griffins! It’s just my friend Carl, the mallard! Carl waddled up wearing a yellow sweater, black sweatpants, and a tattered brown hat. Yeah, I mean the type of hat that you see Birdiana Jones wearing in those explorer movies. “Hi, Carl,” I said. “Hey, Rico! Guess what? The new Wild West novel is out! It looks so good! But I haven’t read it yet. Here! Lemme show ya.” He stuck his entire bill in his bag and fished out his phone, then swiped through too many photos until he found what he was looking for. “Check it out!” Carl said and showed me a picture of a book with a desert as the background and with “Wild West” printed in bold, yellow letters on the front cover. “Yeah, it looks cool,” I told him. “Yeah, and I can’t wait to read it. You should come over so we can read it togeth—” “Read what, losers?” a voice interrupted from the door. Carl and I froze. We knew the voice too well and hoped that if we just sat motionless, we’d disappear. But we didn’t, and there they were: Tony Rayburn and his gang looming over us. He took a threatening step forward and lifted one of his feet, and his claws glistened in the morning light that streamed in from the classroom window. “Uh-uh—nothing. It’s nothing. Just