"Dee-Dee! SHUT UP!" Asher bellows over the railing. Immediately, the sound is cut off, followed by mischievous laughter in the foyer. Several days ago Caitlin brought a rubber chicken into Groupe Bleue for their French version of show and tell. After Caitlin demonstrated how, if you pump the wing of the chicken, it emits a bloodcurdling scream, she made the mistake of passing it around.
"Ooh," said Dee-Dee, the last person it was handed to, "this is soooo cool. Do you mind if I borrow it for a while?"
The collective energy of the SYA community had since been to not only ostracize Caitlin for her faulty decision, but to somehow wrench the chicken from Dee-Dee's unyielding grip. The whole school was on edge and jumpy, never knowing when the next scream was going to erupt.
Those of us unfortunate enough to be friends with Dee-Dee suffered the worst of it; you would be sitting in a peaceful spot, lap laden with books and homework materials, deep in concentration, when all of a sudden the combination of yellow rubber legs dangling in your face and a shrill, "BLAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGHH!!!!!!!!" would make you leap startled into the air, heart palpitating, books and pencils crashing to the floor.
The chicken was starting to plague my dreams, flying out of nowhere into a peaceful scene and leaving me sitting bolt upright drenched in a cold sweat. Something needed to be done.
Then again, it was fun to observe when the joke was on others. Dee-Dee had taken to strolling the city streets with the chicken, pumping the wing while sidling up behind random French people and then letting loose. The reactions were mixed; teenage girls were usually scandalized, and comforted each other in hushed whispers, while the boys had no qualms about voicing their outrage.
As for adults, it was somehow not surprising that the majority of them refused to acknowledge anything out of the ordinary was going on at all, no matter how loudly the chicken blared.
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