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The State Bird of Lucie

The last thing Lucie wanted to do on Thanksgiving Day was stand outside the diner dressed in a chicken suit. Money’s money, though, and Lucie would do just about anything to get away from her stepmother and stepsisters—even if it meant abject humiliation. The warehouse still needed a new heating and air conditioning unit as well as updated plumbing before she could move in.

Two more townspeople passed her on their way into the diner.

“Gobble, gobble,” Lucie said, as instructed.

They guffawed, and Lucie closed her eyes. Remember your goal, she thought. Humiliation plus chicken suit equals freedom.

Besides, it was better to be on the sidewalk than inside with the pyro twins, Max and Mindy. Her two stepsisters had burnt down every house they’d ever lived in—by accident, according to the county arson inspector. Lucie was six the first time it happened. They had been twelve, then, and determined to make Fried Chicken from a recipe they found in one of their mother’s cookbooks. After the third attempt, Angela forbade them to fry anything again.