He got me down and he took me home； only I couldn't stay there。 I couldn't stand the sound
of chain saws in the distance。
So Dad took me with him to work； and while he put up a block wall； I sat in his truck and cried。
I must've cried for two weeks straight。 Oh； sure； I went to school and I functioned the best I
could； but I didn't go there on the bus。 I started riding
my bike instead； taking the long way so I wouldn't have to go up to Collier Street。 Up to a pile
of sawdust that used to be the earth's most
magnificent sycamore tree。
Then one evening when I was locked up in my room； my father came in with something
under a towel。 I could tell it was a painting because that's
how he transports the important ones when he shows them in the park。 He sat down； resting
the painting on the floor in front of him。 “I always liked
that tree of yours；” he said。 “Even before you told me about it。”
“Oh； Dad； it's okay。 I'll get over it。”
“No； Julianna。 No； you won't。”
I started crying。 “It was just a tree…。”
“I never want you to convince yourself of that。 You and I both know it isn't true。”
“But Dad…”
“Bear with me a minute； would you？” He took a deep breath。 “I want the spirit of that tree to
be with you always。 I want you to remember how you
felt when you were up there。” He hesitated a moment； then handed me the painting。 “So I
made this for you。”
I pulled off the towel； and there was my tree。 My beautiful； majestic sycamore tree。 Through
the branches he'd painted the fire of sunrise； and it
seemed to me I could feel the wind。 And way up in the tree was a tiny girl looking off into the
distance； her cheeks flushed with wind。 With joy。 With
magic。
“Don't cry； Julianna。 I want it to help you； not hurt you。” I wiped the tears from my cheeks and
gave a mighty sniff。 “Thank you； Daddy；” I choked out。
“Thank you。”
I hung the painting across the room from my bed。 It's the first thing I see every morning and
the last thing I see every night。 And now that I can look
at it without crying； I see more than the tree and what being up in its branches meant to me。
I see the day that my view of things around me started changing。
Brawk…Brawk…Brawk！
Eggs scare me。 Chickens； too。 And buddy； you can laugh at that all you want； but I'm being
dead serious here。
It started in the sixth grade with eggs。
And a snake。
And the Baker brothers。
The Baker brothers' names are Matt and Mike； but even now I can't tell you which one's
which。 You never see one without the other。 And even
though they're not twins； they do look and sound pretty much the same； and they're both in
Lyta's class； so maybe one of them got held back。
……… Page 21………
Although I can't exactly see a teacher voluntarily having either of those maniacs two years in
a row。
Regardless； Matt and Mike are the ones who taught me that snakes eat eggs。 And when I
say they eat eggs； I'm talking they eat them raw and
shell…on whole。
I probably would've gone my entire life without this little bit of reptilian trivia if it hadn't been
for Lyta。 Lyta had this major…league thing for
Skyler Brown； who lives about three blocks down； and every chance she got； she went down
there to hang out while he practiced the drums。 Well；
boom…boom…whap； what did I care； right？ But then Skyler and Juli's brothers formed a band；
which they named Mystery Pisser。
When my mom heard about it； she pletely wigged out。 “What kind of parents would allow
their children to be in a band named Mystery
Pisser？ It's vile。 It's disgusting！”
“That's the whole point； Mom；” Lyta tried to explain。 “It doesn't mean anything。 It's just to
get a rise out of old people。”
“Are you calling me old； young lady？ Because it's certainly getting a rise out of me！”
Lyta just shrugged； implying that my mom could draw her own conclusion。
“Go！ Go to your room；” my mother snapped。
“For what？” Lyta snapped back。 “I didn't say a thing！”
“You know perfectly well what for。 Now you go in there and adjust your attitude； young lady！”
So Lyta got another one of her teenage time…outs； and after that any time Lyta was two
minutes late ing home for dinner； my mother
would messenger me down to Skyler's house to drag her home。 It might have been
embarrassing for Lyta； but it was worse for me。 I was still in
elementary school； and the Mystery Pisser guys were in high school。 They were ripe and
ragged； raging power chords through the neighborhood；
while I looked like I'd just gotten back from Sunday school。
I'd get so nervous going down there that my voice would squeak when I'd tell Lyta it was
time for dinner。 It literally squeaked。 But after a while
the band dropped Mystery from their name； and Pisser and its entourage got used to me
showing up。 And instead of glaring at me； they started
saying stuff like； “Hey； baby brother； e on in！” “Hey； Brycie boy； wanna jam？”
This； then； is how I wound up in Skyler Brown's garage； surrounded by high school kids；
watching a boa constrictor swallow eggs。 Since I'd
already seen it down a rat in the Baker brothers' bedroom； Pisser had lost at least some of
the element of surprise。 Plus； I picked up on the fact that
they'd been saving this little show to freak me out； and I really didn't want to give them the
satisfaction。
This wasn't easy； though； because watching a snake swallow an egg is actually much
creepier than you might think。 The boa opened its mouth to
an enormous size； then just took the egg in and glub！ We could see it roll down its throat。
But that wasn't all。 After the snake had glubbed down three eggs； Matt…or…Mike said； “So；
Brycie boy； how's he gonna digest those？”
I shrugged and tried not to squeak when I answered； “Stomach acid？”
He shook his head and pretended to confide； “He needs a tree。 Or a leg。” He grinned at me。
“Wanna volunteer yours？”
I backed away a little。 I could just see that monster try to swallow my leg whole as an after…
egg chaser。 “N…no！”
He laughed and pointed at the boa slithering across the room。 “Aw； too bad。 He's going the
other way。 He's gonna use the piano instead！”
The piano！ What kind of snake was this？ How could my sister stand being in the same room
as these dementos？ I looked at her； and even
though she was pretending to be cool with the snake； I know Lyta — she was totally
creeped out by it。
……… Page 22………
The snake wrapped itself around the piano leg about three times； and then Matt…or…Mike put
his hands up and said； “Shhh！ Shhh！ Everybody
quiet。 Here goes！”
The snake stopped moving； then flexed。 And as it flexed； we could hear the eggs crunch
inside him。 “Oh； gross！” the girls wailed。 “Whoa； dude！”
the guys all said。 Mike and Matt smiled at each other real big and said； “Dinner is served！”
I tried to act cool about the snake； but the truth is I started having bad dreams about the thing
swallowing eggs。 And rats。 And cats。
And me。
Then the real…life nightmare began。
One morning about two weeks after the boa show in Skyler's garage； Juli appears on our
doorstep； and what's she got in her hands？ A halfcarton
of eggs。 She bounces around like it's Christmas； saying； “Hiya； Bryce！ Remember Abby and
Bonnie and Clyde and Dexter？ Eunice and
Florence？”
I just stared at her。 Somehow I remembered Santa's reindeer a little different than that。
“You know … my chickens？ The ones I hatched for the science fair last year？”
“Oh； right。 How could I forget。”
“They're laying eggs！” She pushed the carton into my hands。 “Here； take these！ They're for
you and your family。”
“Oh。 Uh； thanks；” I said； and closed the door。
I used to really like eggs。 Especially scrambled； with bacon or sausage。 But even without the
little snake incident； I knew that no matter what you
did to these eggs； they would taste nothing but foul to me。 These eggs came from the
chickens that had been the chicks that had hatched from the
eggs that had been incubated by Juli Baker for our fifth…grade science fair。
It was classic Juli。 She totally dominated the fair； and get this — her project was all about
watching eggs。 My friend； there is not a lot of action to
report on when you're incubating eggs。 You've got your light； you've got your container；
you've got some shredded newspaper； and that's it。 You're
done。
Juli； though； managed to write an inch…thick report； plus she made diagrams and charts —
I'm talking line charts and bar charts and pie charts —
about the activity of eggs。 Eggs！
She also managed to time the eggs so that they'd hatch the night of the fair。 How does a
person do that？ Here I've got a live…action erupting
volcano that I've worked pretty stinking hard on； and all anybody cares about is Juli's chicks
pecking out of their shells。 I even went over to take a
look for myself； and — I'm being pletely objective here — it was boring。 They pecked for
about five seconds； then just lay there for five minutes。
I got to hear Juli jabber away to the judges； too。 She had a pointer — can you believe that？
Not a pencil； an actual retractable pointer； so she
could reach across her incubator and tap on this chart or that diagram as she explained the
excitement of watching eggs grow for twenty…one days。
The only thing she could've done to be more overboard was put on a chicken costume； and
buddy； I'm convinced — if she'd thought of it； she would
have done it。
But hey — I was over it。 It was just Juli being Juli； right？ But all of a sudden there I am a year
later； holding a carton of home…grown eggs。 And I'm
having a hard time not getting annoyed all over again about her stupid blue…ribbon project
when my mother leans out from the hallway and says；
“Who was that； honey？ What have you got there？ Eggs？”
I could tell by the look on her face that she was hot to scramble。 “Yeah；” I said； and handed
them to her。 “But I'm having cereal。”
……… Page 23………
She opened the carton； then closed it with a smile。 “How nice！” she said。 “Who brought them
over？”
“Juli。 She grew them。”
“Grew them？”
“Well； her chickens did。”
“Oh？” Her smile started falling as she opened the carton again。 “Is that so。 I didn't know she
had… chickens。”
“Remember？ You and Dad spent an hour watching them hatch at last year's science fair？”
“Well； how do we know there're not … chicks inside these eggs？”
I shrugged。 “Like I said； I'm having cereal。”
We all had cereal； but what we talked about were eggs。 My dad thought they'd be just fine —
he'd had farm…fresh eggs when he was a kid and
said they were delicious。 My mother； though； couldn't get past the idea that she m