Chapter 6 - Chicken Number Two

I have inserted a new chapter based on my visit with the students of Saint-Denis

Author’s note: I want to thank the students for sharing such an awesome story with me. I hope they think I have done it justice.

In the last week of the school year, the worst girls in the terminale class did everything possible to make Louisa’s life miserable. Led by the low-life Suzette Defoye, the group of six girls tripped her, spilled a drink on her, and even put wet paint on her desk chair. All told, Louisa lost two school uniforms to their pranks.

Usually ready to fight at any insult, Louisa tried for once to take the high road of a pacifist. Why not? The nasty girls would soon be gone from her life for good. No use getting in trouble for such unimportant people. The self-imposed, one-sided truce ended when Louisa woke one morning to find her hair tangled with glue. With revenge on the agenda, Louisa called the clan to war.

“These cowards deserve to be paid back tenfold,” Louisa demanded of the girls formed into a semi-circle in front of her.

“But don’t you think this is going too far?” Marie tilted her head at Louisa.

“They're not all guilty.” Virginie agreed.

Louisa glared at them. “Really. If Gabrielle were torturing someone in the younger class, we’d put a stop to it. They’re guilty for looking the other way. Same for the staff.”

 Eugénie laughed. “I’m with Daring. They deserve it. I can live with a little collateral damage.”

Virginie shook her head. “I’ll only help if you wait until the end.”

Louisa frowned and then flashed them her most sinister smile. “Fine. Suzette is giving a closing speech. We’ll do it then.”

The following two days passed, and Louisa took their insults and attempted pranks in stride. She would get her payback. Virginie had paid a kitchen cook for what they needed and hid their weapons in the school’s walled-in cemetery.

With every seat filled by students, prominent citizens, or proud parents, this graduation, like the other four ceremonies Louisa had attended, droned on for way too long. After all, the self-important government dignitaries and retired generals, chests covered in medals, had to have their say. The majority of which was nothing of import. As the terminale girls began receiving their certificates, Louisa snuck out of the auditorium with Marie. They raced to the cemetery.

Louisa reached into the cage and grabbed the black hen. She tucked the big bird under her arm while keeping the chicken’s legs in a firm grip. Marie did the same with the rust-colored hen. They jogged back to the auditorium, opening the backdoor to the building just wide enough to listen.

It wasn’t long before Grand Chancellor Vinoy said, “Mademoiselle Defoye has been chosen by her peers to give the closing remarks. Mademoiselle.”

Louisa and Marie pushed the birds inside and shut the door. They dashed to the front, trying to hold in their laughter. That morning, Virginie had prepped the floor from the back door to the podium with two thin trails of the tastiest chicken feed. In her most nonchalant stroll, Louisa returned to her seat. Her butt hadn’t yet warmed the wood when she heard the first cluck.

On stage, in a chair next to the Grand Chancellor, Madame La Ray’s head swiveled at the sound. A smattering of laughs came from the seated students in the audience. Onstage, the black hen pranced down the aisle between the sitting termanale students. The bird clucked and pecked her way into view. By contrast, using more stealth, the reddish-brown chicken on the far side of the stage ate her way forward without a sound.

Suzette’s face turned a deeper shade of red as the laughter grew. She stuttered through her next words, not understanding what was happening. Madame La Ray walked to the podium, her button boots booming on the wood flooring. She put her hand on Suzette’s arm, and the girl stopped, tears in her eyes.

She directed Suzette toward the black chicken a few feet behind the podium. “It’s all right, dear. It’s not you.”

Upon seeing the farm animal, Suzette spun and searched the gathered students until she found Louisa. Her red face twisted with rage. Louisa made sure Buttons wasn’t looking her way and winked at Suzette. The catty girl’s eyes bulged.

The headmistress turned to the youngest soldier on stage. Young was relevant in this case. The colonel was fortyish and not in his sixties like the retired generals next to him. “Please help.”

With an incline of his head, he stood and bent toward the black hen.

Fly, Louisa screamed inside, urging the bird to flee.

As the colonel’s hands grasped for the chicken’s wings, the hen squawked and ran forward. The soldier lost his balance and fell to all fours. On the far side, a graduating student lunged for the red bird on the side. That hen flapped its wings and jumped. It landed in the second row on the heads of parents and visiting citizens. A woman in a tall hat made from a pile of red ribbon screamed and swatted at the animal. The rust-colored chicken released a high-pitched cry of distress and flapped several rows away, a feather flying free.

The Clan of the Dissipated sat in their chairs, reveling at the next twenty minutes of chaos as Parisian socialites and city-raised students failed, time and again, to capture the wayward birds. At last, one of the youngest students, wearing a green sash and a broad grin, held the brownish-red hen to her chest.

The colonel who had made the first unsuccessful capture attempt snatched up the black bird. Holding it high, he yelled, “I have it.”

The mayhem in the auditorium seemed to still, some participants looking around with wild eyes while others were more wary.

Eugénie turned to them, “Watch this.” The tall, rangy girl strolled down the aisle toward the stage and yelled to Buttons. “Madame La Ray. Where’s number two?”

The headmistress turned to Eugénie, “What?”

“I saw three chickens.” Eugénie pointed to the black one. “That’s number one.” She pointed toward the young girl with the rust-colored bird. “That’s number three.”

Louisa covered her mouth as Virginie stood up and thrust a finger toward the far side of the audience seating. “Over there, I saw a white one.”

A woman near the location she had pointed at let out an ear-splitting scream. Flush with terror, the woman in a daisy-colored silk dress shoved people out of the way as she ran to the exit. Pandemonium descended again, and Louisa bent over, attempting to catch her breath, between loud guffaws.