“What about her?” the science guy asks. He’s looking at me. Obviously.

“None of your business!” Grover yells.

“Special dispensation,” Mrs. Tyburn says.

“She’s not staying.”

That was Rose.

So they pull up their anchor. They probably don’t really have an anchor. It’s probably just an expression. All the Swans stand there and watch until they get to the dock at Star. I watch too because I don’t know where else to look.

Then there are hands on my shoulders. “Come on, Small-fry.”

I walk back to the shop with Rose. The bells chime when we walk in. And my stomach grumbles.

“Did any mail come today?”

“Nothing for you today.”

Rose’s cane is over by the fruit.

“Can I get a chicken, please, Rose?”

“Sparky?” Sparky’s the smallest.

“Actually, I think I’ll have Calvin.”

Rose takes her shears down from their hook on the wall, I get the knife from the crate under the counter, and we walk through the shop to her backyard, stopping in the kitchen on our way out so I can put a big pot of water on to boil. I find Calvin, all red and quick, trying to steal whatever the other chickens are pecking. When he sees me coming, he does that chicken jog, changing directions really fast, and I feel stupid chasing him in front of Rose. She’s laughing at me while she clips some tarragon in the herb patch, which is obviously really helpful. She’s much better than I am at this, but she always makes me do it myself. She says it’s good for me. She’s probably right but it’s a fucking pain in the ass.