What if it is just a legend?

That was the thought that crossed my mind as I stuffed my backpack. Another voice in my head was telling me to trust the kids, but I couldn't help it. What if it was just a legend, and we were going on a wild goose chase?

Ever since I was little, I've wondered where that phrase came from. Maybe a kid told his friend to chase the geese as a distraction while the first kid planned some kind of surprise. I don't know. This really wasn't the time to be thinking about chasing geese.

I tried to be economical and bring pants. But looking through my suitcase I had only brought one pair of pants. Great, isn't it? I hardly ever wear pants. I shuddered at the thought of sneaking onto a livestock train in my satin black miniskirt. Urgh. Maybe I could borrow some of Andy's.

Andy was so skinny, though. I hoped she had sweatpants. Something with an elastic waist. I'm not fat, but I'm certainly not as skinny as Andy was. My waist is relatively small, but I have the biggest hips known to mankind. Some men love it, some hate it. Either way, I often get rude comments. Just the other day, some half-shaven jerk came up to me and said he wanted to squeeze my juicy...well, you get the idea.

I'm getting off track. Finally I just stole some pajama pants from my dad with a drawstring waist, threw in some soap, a hairbrush, and my Breath Mints of Love, and hurried downstairs.

I bumped into Mrs. Carmichael. Also known as Aunt Darlene. However, I refuse to call her that. She gets on my nerves worse than Andy does...I guess she means well, but she speaks to me in that high-pitched voice you get when you speak to small children. Small children hate it. You hate it even more at 16. "Where are you going, darling?"

"Um...um...er...hiking!"I stammered and hurried down the last few remaining stairs and out the door. "Andy's coming too!" I shouted behind me, so she too wouldn't get interrogated. I wondered if Mrs. Carmichael spoke to Andy that way, too. I don't know. I never talked to them both at the same time. In fact, I would live fine if I didn't have to talk to them at all.

I waited for Andy at the gate of her house. When she burst out of the door, I noticed she had applied a fresh coat of lipstick and her eyelashes were wet with mascara. Black, of course. I always thought that if you wanted to draw attention to your eyes, you should go crazy with color. So I wore electric purple mascara, to match my hair. Not now, of course. Which made me wonder why Andy had put on makeup if we were going to be boarding a livestock train. Is she trying to look good for the cows? I think cows will moo and nuzzle at anyone who looks remotely like they might have food.

We walked down to Brand's and Mikey's house. Not a word was exchanged between us. I could tell she was uncomfortable, afraid of the silence. But she still didn't say anything. Maybe she'd figured out I didn't really want to talk to her. People always tell me I don't talk much, assume that I'm shy.

I'm not shy. If I have something to say, I say it. To anyone who is willing to listen, and often to people who are not. The truth is, I can be talkative. I am perfectly capable of having a long, deep conversation with. It matters if the person I am talking to is worthy. That's just a fancy way of saying "it's a privilege if I feel like talking to you." It's simple. If I don't want to talk to you, I don't talk to you. If I want to talk to you, I do, and I don't give a damn whether you're listening to me or not.

Brand, Mikey, and Chunk were already waiting at his gate. Chunk took off his backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out a Three Musketeers. Upon closer inspection, almost his entire backpack was filled to the brim with randomized candy bars.

I was able to figure something out then and there. Not only was Chunk fat, but he was obviously getting fatter all the time.

"Data's in the house, and Mouth should be here any minute," Brand said simply.

Right on cue, Mouth dashed up the street, holding a beaten-up backpack.

Brand laughed. "That's the one I threw in the lake a few years back, isn't it?"

"And the one I threw up in," Mikey said.

"And the one that had the mirror for your mom in it, and I fell on it," Chunk added.

"Yeah," Mouth said dreamily. "Isn't it great? This is like, the Goonie backpack, or something."

"I'm not putting anything in it," I decided, "if Mikey got sick in it."

"That's probably a good idea," Mikey said, laughing. "You never know if Mouth washes that thing or not." He paused. "Did you?"

"Maybe," Mouth said defensively.

"Sorry guys!" came Data's voice, and he flew out the front door and almost tripped over his huge trench coat. "I had to find some new batteries for my Bully Blinders!"

"We're out of batteries!" called Brand.

"I know," Data replied, "So I got some from your walkman, and some more from your tape recorder, and so on. I have almost six!"

Brand grimaced and turned to me. "Do you know how much his stupid Bully Blinders suck the juice out of batteries!"

Truthfully, I didn't care, but I did want to know one thing: "What's a Bully Blinder?"

Mikey answered for me. "They're these really bright lights attached to Data's belt loops...they're supposed to shine in the eyes of a bully and blind them, obviously. Unfortunately they also blind anyone who happens to be in about a ten-mile radius!"

"He's got all these different little inventions strapped to his waist, or belt buckles, or somewhere," Andy explained. "I really don't know where he hides it all. Some of his inventions are pretty useful, though."

When Data had made his way through the various obstacles littering the front yard, Brand announced that it was time to go. He seemed to be the self-proclaimed boss of the whole program. Apparently he knew where he was going. I thought.

After about five minutes, we were off the pavement and onto gravelly roads in the woods. The gravelly roads gave way to dirt paths, then tiny trails, then every means of direction disappeared altogether.

Another five minutes passed, and Brand stopped.

"That's Brand's way of telling us that we're lost," Mikey explained to me.

"I am not," retorted Brand. "I'm just...catching a breather, is all."

"He's lost," repeated Mikey. "Data, do you happen to have a compass on you?"

"Hey!" snapped Brand, "I'm in charge here! Who do you think you are, giving orders? Data, do you have a compass?"

I stifled a laugh.

Data handed Brand a compass, which he extracted from somewhere within his huge trench coat. It was no wonder he could hold all of those gadgets at once. Data was tiny and frail-looking. The giant trench dwarfed his delicate features, it looked almost as if he was trying to appear older but was failing miserably. If anything, the trench made him look younger, or smaller at least. The trench seemed to be able to hold a lot of things in its many indoor pockets, though.

Brand squinted at the compass. "Er, Data, which way is north?"

"Brand, why couldn't we just take the road?" Andy inquired. "It wouldn't have taken so long, and we may have missed the train by now, we don't know when it's scheduled to leave."

"We might be close," said Brand. "I know where I am going, baby. It can't be much further."

"I wonder how many state borders we've crossed," Mouth complained. "My feet hurt like the devil."

A train whistle sounded. It echoed through the forest.

"It came from...that direction!" shouted Chunk, and began running towards the source of the noise as fast as he could. Which wasn't very fast. I'm not particularly fast myself, but I was able to beat Chunk to the train station.

If you could call it a train station. It wasn't much of anything, simply a platform with a small plexiglass shelter, a restroom (of which someone had humorously painted a crescent moon on the door) and a cabin which existed solely to house the lever that changed the direction of the track.

I could smell the livestock before I heard them. But as we drew closer, I could hear the brays of horses, the monotone moo-ing of the cows. And I could smell hay.

Most of the cars on the train were a dark red color. They were old-fashioned boxcars, true vintage, because the paint was chipping. There weren't many cars, only about 8 or so, but as we walked along the tracks to the back end of the train, the smell lessened. "Hey guys, these cars back here don't seem to be occupied."

Chunk and Mouth climbed up on the step of the second-to-last car and dragged the door open. "You're right, Loony," Mouth called. "Nothing in here but hay."

An angry squawk came from the car, and a couple of chickens flew out. Or, tried to fly. They were only able to stay airborne for a couple of seconds before falling to the ground again. They bounced in this way into the forest and out of sight.

"I stand corrected," Mouth said, looking stunned. "NOW there's nothing in here but hay."

"But I can't EAT hay," Chunk complained, taking a seat on a hay bale.

"You have a backpack full of candy bars, Chunk," Mikey remarked, climbing into the boxcar. "Why would you want to eat hay, anyway?"

"Did anyone bring any canned food?" Data called. "I wanted to try out my new Can Opener."

"I might have something in here somewhere, Data," said Andy, rummaging around in her backpack. "Aha, here we go!" She pulled out a can of spaghetti and threw it to Data. "Good luck." She walked out of sight.

"Hey Andy, where are you going?" Mikey asked.

"The big kids get a car all to themselves," Brand replied matter-of-factly. "You coming, Luna?"

"No, I'll stay here, thank you," I shouted back. I didn't have any desire to witness any, erm, activities Brand and Andy might have in mind.

"Why?" asked Mouth. "You'll miss all the tongue action. Don't you want tongue action, Loony?" He stuck out his tongue and put it near my face.

I put my hand over his face and shoved him backwards. Not roughly, just kind of like "go-away-Mouth-you-idiot" kind of shove.

"What, am I not good enough for you?" Mouth teased, looking hurt.

"More like, not old enough," I said. We hadn't even gotten anywhere, and already I was starting to have a good time. Maybe coming to Astoria wasn't a bad idea after all.

"What are you talking about?" Mikey asked. "It can't be THAT bad."

"How old do you think I AM?"

Mikey thought a moment. "Erm, twelve, thirteen at the most."

I jumped up in a moment of defiance. "I'm sixteen!"

"You're WHAT?" Mouth yelled.

"You're OLD!" That was Data.

"You're the same age as Brand," Mikey said thoughtfully. "Hey, can you drive?"

"Not legally," I said.

"Oh no, you didn't fail your driver's test, did you?" Chunk groaned.

I shook my head. "More like I haven't taken it yet."

"Dammit," Chunk said under his breath. "How are we supposed to get anywhere? All we have are a clumsy oaf, some other kids, and a couple of car invalids."

"Why insult yourself, Chunk?" laughed Mouth. "It's not good for your self-esteem to call yourself a clumsy oaf."

Chunk glared at Mouth. "I was talking about YOU."

I giggled. "Touche!"

"Hey guys, my Can Opener worked!" Data yelled from the corner of the boxcar, and stood up to show all of us his success, but slipped due to the sudden jostling of the train. It stalled a little, and then we began moving.

We were on our way.