It was a normal spring day in St. Canard. The school bell had rung its familiar chime and a 6 ½ year old Drakey Mallard, that's me, walked through the doors of St. Canard Elementary, ready to welcome another day of learning.
As I marched into the gym to await my teacher, I was greeted warmly by my classmates. "Hey Drakey! How do you find shoes for those big feet of yours?" a boy called out. A few kids around him giggled quietly.
Yep. My beloved peer groups.
The day had proceeded like normal. Just your average elementary school subjects. ABC's, 123's, colors, shapes, what have you.
But everything changed after lunch, during…arts and crafts.
"Dad, do you need to do the dramatic voice?" Gosalyn interjected, breaking her dad's concentration.
"Gosalyn," Drake replied, visibly annoyed, "this is where it gets interesting. Now don't interrupt."
While others went with the standard marker drawings or crude play dough sculptures, I had chosen this particular day to do a macaroni art picture. I crafted a faithful rendering of my idol, Superpig, meticulously placing each piece of pasta with painstaking precision. The glue was rather messy, though. I couldn't keep it off my hands, no matter how hard I tried.
Granted, today I would be laughing at what I thought was careful all those years ago.
As I tugged the sticky substance from my arms, the glue began to take my downy feathers along with it. I was astounded, just like you probably were, Gosalyn. The ball of slimy paste that was once on my arm was now covered in my soft, fuzzy feathers. My curiosity getting the better of me, I itched near the bare spot, and more feathers started coming loose and falling onto the table.
I couldn't fathom what was happening to me. These were the only feathers I had ever known, and it mystified me how I was now able to pull them off like blades of grass in my hands.
At that moment, the teacher got our attention with a rhythmic clap. "Class, I am stepping out to the restroom. Be good while I'm gone!"
"Yes, Mrs. Lilypad," we all said in unison. She stepped out with a smile, and that was our cue. The classroom erupted in chatter and I found myself caught up in it all, my molting predicament pushed to the side of my mind.
"What did you make, Drakey?" Brian Sorreltail asked me. I held up my masterpiece proudly for him to see, but that was not the first thing that caught his eye. "Uhhhh, what's that?"
"It's Superpig! He's my favorite superhero," I said, puffing my chest out slightly.
Brian was quick to correct me. "No, Drakey. On your arm." He pointed at the bare spot on my hand with wide eyes.
As I looked back at my hand, I suddenly felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over me.
I handled Brian's question the best that I could. "Uh, it's nothing!"
He reached out to pull off a spare piece of drying glue from my hand and was shocked to pull out more feathers from my itchy appendage. We both stared at it, unable to believe our eyes.
Brian turned to Samantha Chestnut, tapped on her shoulder to get her attention, and presented the procured plumage to her. "Look what I just pulled off Drakey!"
Her eyes bugged out like ours and she glanced at me. I could only flash a sheepish grin.
"Wow, Drakey! Can all your feathers do that?" she said, louder than me and Brian had been. Samantha had never been the best at using her inside voice.
"Uhhhh, look, let's just leave it be. I-it's not a big deal," I stammered, having no idea what "it" was. But, frankly, with the sly look that Samantha was giving me, I didn't want to know. A few kids looked up from their conversations and faced us, curious as to what Samantha was saying about me. It seemed as though there was a spotlight on me, and I felt each and every eye in the class staring intently. Against my will, I began to break out in a cold sweat. The sweat contributed to the developing itchiness on my face and I couldn't help but scratch my cheek, a few feathers fluttering free. I squeaked as they floated to the floor.
Samantha turned back to Brian. "What did you do?"
"There was glue on his hand, and when I pulled it off, the feathers came off too," he answered back.
Samantha's face contorted into a crafty, conniving grin that I had never seen the likes of before, and I gulped, my face awash with fear.
"You know, this Samantha girl sounds like a real jerk," Gosalyn pointed out, standing next to her father as he dusted the living room shelves, "What did you ever do to her?"
"Absolutely nothing!" Drake replied, then added under his breath, "apart from spilling chocolate milk on her dress 2 days prior…"
"Wait, what?"
"Uh, nothing!" Drake said quickly, marching over to the next bookshelf.
Gosalyn gave him a scolding look. "What was that about chocolate milk?"
Drake rolled his eyes, exasperation tinging his voice, "Alright, but that's only because Pigsty Pete tripped me on the way to the lunch table!"
"Pigsty Pete?" Gosalyn snickered at her mental image of whoever this kid may have been.
"Look, none of that's important! Now, where was I…?"
Oh yeah, that look. I'll never forget that look.
Because that was when all rules were off.
Samantha shouted, "Guys, if you put glue on Drakey, you can pull his feathers off!"
"Cool! Can I try?" a kid near the window shouted.
"Me too!" said another.
I was very scared now. "Stop! They're my feathers, and you can't touch 'em!"
But my feeble words fell on deaf ears. Brian grabbed the glue and then my other hand before I could do anything.
"Watch this, guys," he called out, then he began slathering the gooey paste on thick as I tried to wrench my hand away. The entire class gathered around the table where we sat, captivated by the spectacle they were witnessing.
I tried to wipe the glue away the best I could, but feathers came off my arms in clumps, the glue sticking fast to them. As I grabbed the glue and tore it off me, it splattered onto my clothes and onto the table, stray molt feathers coming along for the ride. My face flushed a vibrant red.
The reaction in the room was undoubtedly a mixed bag. Some were starry-eyed at this strange phenomenon. Some laughed and began cracking jokes as I itched more feathers out nervously.
Before I could even think, a group of kids rushed me, glue on their hands ready to add to my embarrassment. Before I could think, the entire class was all over me! My entire body was riddled with glue, handprint by handprint, and Samantha made it a point to pick up each fallen feather and fixate it to my nice clothes. The jokers in the class picked up some feathers and tickled me under my beak. I screamed at them to stop but they wouldn't listen. Their fascination at my cruel misfortune got the better of their senses and all I could do was sit like a punching bag and take it.
As tears filled my eyes and it seemed like the torture would never end, a shocked grown-up's voice immediately steered everyone's attention away. "Class, what on earth is going on here?!"
Everything paused. We all recognized that voice. It seemed Mrs. Lilypad was back from the restroom, and she was not happy.
Guilt immediately spread itself thick on every student, like peanut butter on a sandwich.
Samantha, the mastermind, was the first to speak up. "Look at our arts and crafts project, Mrs. Lilypad!" She put up an innocent grin as the class revealed me to our flabbergasted teacher and dropped me on the floor with a thud.
Gosalyn cracked up at Smantha's line of dialogue. "Did they really say that?"
"Yes, they did," Drake said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, "Seems like something a certain daughter of mine would say as well."
Gosalyn pushed her father playfully with a smile. "That was a cheap shot, dad."
Drake gave her a noogie and lifted her over his shoulder as the two giggled innocently.
"So, what did you even look like after that dogpile?" Gosalyn inquired as she was carried upstairs.
Drake sighed, walking into Gosalyn's room to continue the story.
I looked down at myself and squawked in shock. I was convinced the kids turned me into a mutant. The clothes my mother picked out for me were ruined, a mess of sticky glue and fuzzy downy feathers, and bare spots riddled what was left of my feather coat.
Every emotion began to boil over in me all at once. I was extremely embarrassed that I was made a fool of by Samantha, sad that my clothes were messy, angry at the class for what they did, and scared more than anything else. I was ready to tell everything to Mrs. Lilypad, how Brian made the initial discovery, how Samantha pointed that malicious gaze my way, and how the entire class tackled me like a football team.
But as tears began dripping down my face, all I could do was run over to Mrs. Lilypad and wrap my arms around her legs, while babbling like a madman. She lifted me into her arms as my incoherent babbling grew louder and I saw her cut the class down with a curt glare. Their sorry faces did nothing to ease me and I buried my face in her shoulder.
The bell suddenly rang. Kids rushed out of every classroom to enjoy their recess, but Mrs. Lilypad had other plans for hers.
"Class, you're going to stay inside for recess," she began as the class gave a collective "awwwwwww", but a quick shush from her ended their griping in a hurry, "Mr. Brigerton will watch you all while I escort Drakey to the nurse. We are going to have a long talk about this when I return, are we clear?"
"Yes, Mrs. Lilypad," they all said in unison. With that, Mrs. Lilypad turned on her heel and carried me away as I wiped the tears from my eyes.
At the nurse's office, I had finally calmed down enough to relay exactly what happened to Mrs. Lilypad, and I spilt it ALL. The beginning, the middle, the end, the subplot, the surprise twist in the third act, the whole enchilada. I leaked it all to her through a filter of flowing tears and hyperventilation as I relived the trauma bit by bit. After I finished, she hugged me and reassured me that everything was going to be okay.
She explained that I was not going bald, like some kids were telling me. I was simply molting, and that a fresh coat of better feathers was waiting for me underneath what was left of the soft fuzz. I nodded as her buttery voice soothed my woes, and soon I was relatively calm again.
"I'm going to call your parents so they can take you home. And believe me, I'm going to make sure that nothing like this will ever happen again," she told me with a pat on my shoulder. I sniffed and nodded, wiping tears away again. Thus, she stood and left the nurse in charge of me.
Mrs. Lilypad was such a good person.
As the door to the office closed, I was suddenly smacked with the realization that my mother and father were going to see what had happened and throw a massive fit. My mother would see what happened to my clothes and think that I dirtied them on purpose. She would be soooo disappointed.
The fear washed over me in an instant and my tears began flowing anew, quiet cries escaping my beak.
The nurse took notice and patted my shoulder. "Don't worry, little child. Everything is going to be fine." I appreciated the sentiment, but it didn't do much to calm me down, and I continued to sob quietly next to her desk.
Suddenly I felt something being shoved into my mouth. I glanced over quickly to see the nurse feeding me one of the peppermint candies she kept on her desk. I pouted a little as she smiled at me and threw away the wrapper. Still, it tasted good and so I sucked on it quietly. Every now and again, I would sniffle, and for some odd reason, the nurse saw fit to give me another peppermint. I didn't have the will to say no to the candy, so this strange cycle just kept happening until I was stuck with a beak full of peppermints and a sour expression on my face.
"Yeah, like 'why are the mints so sweet, but this day so sour?'" Gosalyn pointed out.
Drake echoed Gosalyn's laughter. "I guess she concluded that the mints were making me feel better. To this day I have a strange relationship with peppermint…and nurses."
After a while, I quietly spit the many mints out in the trash tin tucked away next to her desk. Not long after this interesting event, a knock resounded throughout the room, and my mother showed herself into the office with a concerned expression. The mere sight of her threw me into hysterics, and I jumped from the chair and ran over to her, blubbering once again like a kid half my age.
"Mommy!" I cried, and she hugged me tight.
"Shhhhhh, it's okay, Drakey," she soothed.
My mother was an amazing woman. She had an air about her that would melt all your worries as soon as he walked into a room. As I squeezed her legs tight, all my worries seemed to lift off of me, and I sobbed happy tears just having her near me.
She continued to hug me as she walked me from the office to the old family car.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ah, young Drakey Mallard. What an adorable ball of pathetic-ness. Certain aspects of this part wracked my brain for days, but once I got a flow going, the kids sort of played it out for themselves. Honestly, that's all you could ever ask for as a writer.
Next time, Drake gives us the lesson behind his story, and hopefully I don't make it as cheesy as an afterschool special. See y'all then!
-AJ