PIGEON PARKING LOT
Wednesday, October 7th
8:42 A.M.
Determined to start detention-dating as soon as possible, Dylan and Derrick tried a new tack the morning after he had finished his two detentions.
Using the standard “bad sushi” excuse, Dylan broke away from the Pretty Committee and raced toward the bathrooms. And then she snuck out back and scrambled over to Pigeon Parking Lot, where she and Derrick had an early morning date with two bags of birdseed and a hungry flock of fowl.
They greeted each other with giggle-high-fives and hopeful smiles that refused to settle, as if nailed in place.
First period would begin in three minutes. Which meant Ms. Dunkel, the overflow trailer teacher, would be making her way across PPL in one minute and thirty seconds.
Dylan ripped open the plastic bag with her teeth. “Ready?” Seeds spilled into her mouth, and she immediately spit them to the asphalt. A week ago she would have worried that Derrick might find the seed-spit a turnoff, but not anymore. She knew he’d laugh. And he did.
“Ew, sorry.” Dylan wiped her tongue on the sleeve of her gray cashmere waffle-weave sweater dress.
He dumped a bunch of seeds in his mouth and shot them like bullets from an AK-47. “No problem.” He grinned playfully.
As if cued by Alfred Hitchcock himself, a flock of pigeons swarmed the lot and landed at their feet.
“Ahhhhhh!” Dylan dropped her bag and ran for a nearby tree.
Derrick did the same, with a limp, but without the high, shrieking scream.
They giggle-watched as dozens of pigeons poked the pavement liked winged jackhammers.
“Ehmagawd, there she is!” Dylan pointed at Ms. Dunkel, who was parking her red Subaru Forester while gray feathers drifted to the ground amid the feeding frenzy.
“Come on.” Derrick tugged her arm. “We need to get out there and take responsibility for this.”
“Shouldn’t we wait until it calms down a little?” Dylan dug her nails into the tree trunk. “We could get hepatitis or something.”
“No!” He tugged. “We need to—”
“Scram, rats!” Strawberry appeared in the parking lot, waving her arms at the cooing surge.
“Ahhhhh! How are we going to get to the trailers?” yelled Kori, her LBRBFF. “Throw something at them!”
They removed their backpacks and whipped them onto the ground like they were in flames. Three rattled pigeons flapped their wings and rose a few inches, but landed almost immediately. The rest kept pecking.
Suddenly, more came.
They hovered just above the girls’ heads, looking for their point of entry, while dropping poop and shedding feathers.
“What do they want?” Kori cried.
“Food!” Strawberry scooped up their packs. “Give them food.”
Kori whimpered as she unzipped her polka-dot LeSportsac. “Low-fat organic cheese or Tofurky?”
“Both!” Strawberry shouted. “Whatever!” She whipped a Fuji apple into the chaos like a grenade.
Derrick and Dylan shook with silent laughter.
“What is going on here?” Ms. Dunkel yelled.
The pigeons scattered at once.
“Feeding the pigeons is against school policy,” she insisted, paying no mind to their tear-soaked faces.
“But we weren’t—”
“Detentions for both of you!” Ms. Dunkel grabbed their arms and yanked them toward the trailers. “I hope you like washing cars.”
“No fair!” cried Strawberry as she and Kori scrambled to keep up with their irate teacher.
“No fair!” Dylan stomped her red ankle boot.
“I better go too or I’ll get another detention without you.” Derrick waved, hobbling backward.
“What do we do now?” Dylan pouted.
“We’ll go for plan C at lunch.”
“’Kay.” Dylan beamed. Despite her disappointment, she was still smiling. This was the most fun she’d ever had staying out of trouble.