The Bird Brain Incident had happened like this:
It was November. Milton had been in sixth grade for less than three months, and even though he had not officially christened the year the Most Totally, Terribly, Horribly, Heinously Rotten Year of All Time, it definitely already was. Dev had started spending occasional lunches with his new friends. Milton’s parents’ arguments had gotten more frequent and louder. Milton brought his HandHeld to school every day.
On the Bird Brain Incident afternoon, he was playing Isle of Wild, hiding his HandHeld under his desk in Science class. Sea Hawk was prowling through a particularly dense area of rain forest in search of a flower that could cure a deathly ill Dear Lady DeeDee. At the front of the room, Mr. Nelson was giving a lecture on taxonomy.
“There are 1.9 million named species on Earth,” he said. “But scientists estimate there are more than 8.7 million unnamed species yet to be discov—Milton P. Greene. Whatever you’re doing, stop. Focus.”
Milton paused his game to make earnest eye contact with Mr. Nelson. “I’m totally focused,” he assured his teacher.
Mr. Nelson continued with his lesson. “Each species is given a scientific or Latin name,” he continued. “That name tells scientists where that organism fits into the—Milton, this is your last warning.”
Milton paused his game again. “No more warnings required,” he said. “Please continue discussing organisms and Latin names.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Nelson. “Latin names. Right. Those names don’t usually change, but they can. Scientists are always discovering new traits or new connections, and that information can lead to renaming.”
Milton tried to pay attention. He really did. Science was his favorite class, and Mr. Nelson was his favorite teacher. But lately, it had become very difficult to concentrate, and after a few minutes, he pressed Play as discreetly as possible. Mr. Nelson’s voice grew fainter and fainter, while the sounds of the rain forest filled his ears (despite the HandHeld being on Mute). Soon Milton was completely absorbed in hand-to-paw combat with a rabid Siberian tiger that had come leaping out of the underbrush while Sea Hawk was busy gathering tiny lavender flowers.
Then a hand reached out and grabbed the HandHeld.
Milton was so caught up in his game that in that instant, he was Sea Hawk and Mr. Nelson was the rabid Siberian tiger. He reacted (as he later explained to Ms. Wilks, the assistant principal), out of pure instinct.
And pure instinct told him to yank the HandHeld back with one hand while karate-chopping Mr. Nelson’s nose with the other hand.
He had also let out the sharp, earsplitting, bird-of-prey call that Sea Hawk used to frighten off potential predators.
Having only taken that one karate class in his life, it was very unlucky that his chop was delivered so effectively. Blood gushed out of Mr. Nelson’s nose immediately, and Milton really did not like blood.
So when the injured and thoroughly discombobulated Mr. Nelson made a second grab for the HandHeld, the nauseated and also thoroughly discombobulated Milton leaped to his feet and started running.
He ran and cawed across the room (with the soundtrack of his classmates’ screams of horror and delight in the background), out the door, and all the way home, where he curled up under his covers and played Isle of Wild until his frantic parents arrived, took his HandHeld, and tried to force him to talk about what had happened.
The school had suspended him. He had to write an apology letter to Mr. Nelson (who had actually been very nice about the whole thing). He had lost his HandHeld for a month, although his parents were already too distracted to consistently enforce this. It was on his first day back after his suspension that those kids had surrounded him. The caws and shouts of “Bird Brain!” had been repeated with gusto several more times and then at random for weeks after. During that time, Milton had wished he could make himself invisible.
And then—it was like he was.
Dev seemed nervous even saying hello in the halls, like he was afraid the caw-ers would reappear any second. Kids Milton had been friendly with if not actual friends with avoided him. He escaped into Isle of Wild more than ever.
Yes, in a year of most totally terribly, horribly, heinously rotten things, the Bird Brain Incident stood out as one of the top two most totally terribly, horribly, heinously rottenest.
And now, for better or for worse, Fig knew all about it.