We separated with overly vigorous back slaps—except for Jules, who would probably break all of our thumbs for even thinking about it.
“Well, I need to get this chicken show on the road,” she said, grabbing Luke’s Roostermobile. “See you at the altar, big guy.”
“Hey, Jules? Tell Trixie to check her phone before the wedding starts. It’s important.”
“Now really isn’t the time to be sexting your fiancée, Chris,” Everett said. “We’re on a tight schedule.”
“Ugh, my virgin ears,” Gryff cried.
“No, Hayes had the virgin ears until Willa got her hands on him,” Flynn shot back.
Hayes cuffed them both in the back of the head.
COMMAND LOG 3: BEARER OF RINGS, HOLDER OF GRUDGES
LUKE
Red Rooster 5: Leader of Pet Squadron
The Millennihen Falcon
It appears that the Plucked Pinhead has incorporated me into his schemes. After watching him break into his own nest this morning using a ladder to compensate for his embarrassing lack of wings, he sent his sister Jools, whose top feathers were styled into an elaborate arrangement, to kidnap me from my home and my children and dress me in some of their human costumes. They call it a tuxedo. Apparently, I am participating in this charade of a mating ritual by bearing their rings. I do not understand this as I have no rings nor a bear.
They have also arranged some kind of wheeled transport that Jools keeps calling the Roostermobile. It is decorated with murdered flowers. I have been tethered to it by harness built into my strange costume. I cannot be contained. I viciously attacked a sunflower to display my dominance. Jools was not cowering in fear as she should be and instead “booped” my beak and called me a silly chicken. I shall be avenged.
FLASHBACK: PIGS ARE PEOPLE TOO
TRIXIE
Seventeen Years Earlier
Iwas sprawled on a blanket underneath the Japanese maple tree on the front lawn of our new house, pretending to read. Mostly I was watching the movers and trying not to think about how nothing here was familiar.
New house. New state. New school in a few weeks.
At least Lulu was here. My best friend had moved to Colorado a year ago, and the twelve months without her, my ride or die, had been the loneliest of my life. I’d be in her school now. That part I was excited about. The rest of it made my stomach hurt.
A woman was headed up our driveway with a baby on her hip and two boys trailing behind her. She was tall with dark hair and a warm smile, and something about the way she moved, confident but unhurried, made me sit up straighter. The older boy, maybe around my age, carried a basket. The younger one had a football tucked under his arm.
“Hi there.” The woman waved at me. “I’m April. We’re your new next-door neighbors. Are one of your grown-ups around?”
Before I could answer, my mom came out the front door. “Hello! I’m Becca Moore, and this is my daughter Trixie.”
“So nice to meet you both.” April’s smile got even wider when she looked at me. “Trixie, what a great name. Is that short for Beatrix?”
I nodded, surprised. Most adults didn’t ask.
“I love it. Very literary.” She winked at me, then turned back to my mom. “My husband Bridger and I live right next door. We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. Chris, give Mrs. Moore the basket.”
The older boy stepped forward. “Hello, ma’am.” So polite. He handed my mom a basket covered with a checkered cloth.
“Oh, how thoughtful.” My mom peeked under the cloth. “Did you make these?”
“Chris and I baked them this morning,” April said. “Fair warning, the snickerdoodles are his specialty, so he might come asking for reviews later.”
Chris’s cheeks went pink. “Mom.”
“What? You should be proud. Most ten-year-old boys can barely make toast.” April ruffled his hair affectionately, and he ducked away, embarrassed but smiling.
