Page 21 of Nerdelicious
But then a thumping noise invades my meditative thoughts. A poundingthwap thwap thwapgetting closer and closer. Twigs snap, cracking in the hot air and then Beast comes barreling around a tree at a full run.
I stand up, heart hammering. What could makeBeastrun?
Feathers shimmer behind him, broad and angry red flapping wings.
Oh no.
Chapter Six
“I’m tryingto become a bigger Star Wars fan.”
–Overheard at Comic-Con
“To the tree house!” I yell at Beast—feeling very suddenly like I’m inRobin Hood: Prince of Thievesand Sheriff Nottingham’s men are attacking—but there’s no need for the shouted command because he’s already hoofing it toward the ladder and flailing a hand for me to go before him.
Typical Beast. Even though he hates me and would prefer to sacrifice me to the demon chicken, he sends me up first. I don’t argue, scrambling up the wooden structure as fast as my hands and feet can take me.
I clamber into the tree house and Beast swoops in behind me, shutting the door behind us in one move. He’s forced to hunch in the cramped space, peering through the star-shaped cut-out opening in the door, and I move to the side to look through one of the square windows, squatting down over my toes.
“Oh, it’s Cluck Norris.”
Beast casts a sharp glance my way.
“The rooster,” I explain. “He gets really protective of the hens but I don’t see... oh. There she is. Yeah. That’s totally Kylo Hen. She’s always breaking out of the coop. He must have followed her, and now he’s—” Cluck Norris flaps his broad wings, herding Kylo Hen toward the base of a nearby tree. “Oh dear. I think it’s a mating ritual.”
Cluck Norris is bobbing and weaving around Kylo Hen, who’s unusually subdued while she waits for him to... do whatever it is roosters and chickens do.
Uh-oh, he’s mounting her. I avert my eyes.
“This should be over soon.” I have no idea what I’m talking about and that point is punctuated when aggravated squawks and flaps sound from below. I peek out the window. Cluck Norris is prancing around again. Dammit, Kylo Hen is probably playing hard to get.
Chicken porn. I yank my gaze away and check out our refuge. The tree house is about ten by ten and made entirely out of a light-colored wood. Faded drawings speckle the far wall, remnants of Reese and Scarlett’s childhood. A weak breeze circulates through two open-air windows opposite the door. It’s empty, just a bit dusty and dirty from disuse.
Beast straightens into a sitting position in front of the door, fixated on the antics of our chicken friends.
The small space is filled with the heat of the day. It’s also crammed with Beast and me and the silence that stretches between us tighter than a rubber band about to snap.
I won’t be the one to break it by opening my mouth and sounding like a lunatic.
After a few more minutes of stony silence, watching the chickens flirt, Beast moves, pulling a small notebook from his pocket. Which is actually rather large. He has large pockets. And you know what they say about guys with big pockets...
I shut my eyes.Fred, stop thinking.
Nothing. They say nothing.
But curiosity eats at me. What’s in the notebook? He has a pencil, too. Besides, there’s nothing else to look at. Except fornicating chickens.
He opens the spiral-bound book, scribbles something down, and then hands over the whole thing.
My heart rate picks up.
We’ve never had an actual, legitimate conversation. It’s always just me jabbering on in my nonsensical fashion, or him handing me something to drink.
I’ve never thought to pass him a note, and a flash of guilt sweeps through me. Why haven’t I tried to communicate beyond my own big yapping mouth?
But this is exciting. I feel like I’m being handed the Marauder’s Map or something.
The handwriting is neat and concise. There are remnants of paper poking through the spiral binding, pages ripped out in the past.
