6 CLASSY CHICKENS
“Was it Missus Beryl?”
I brushed aside Jay’s question, snatching Gee’s arm and dragging him into the quiet of the passage. Jay tried to follow us, but the wrath of a thousand angry pandas in my eyes must have convinced him to stay behind.
I shoved Gee into my bedroom and shut the door behind us. Enough was enough, and I was determined to get answers out of him.
“Hey! Watch the merchandise,” he protested, dusting off my robe’s sleeve.
“Shut up and sit down,” I said, pointing to my unmade bed.
Gee opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t. Instead, he made the smart choice and sat down on my bed as instructed.
Like a disappointed parent after I’d caught my child flinging the dog’s poop over the wall, I folded my arms and waited for the shame to reflect on his face. “And
