“This guy is stupid,” said Georgie.
Agnes grunted. “He should eat horseradish.”
“Here’s our entertainment reporter, Katie Kepley. Katie?”
“Thanks, Mojo. Well, here’s the question that’s on everyone’s mind: Is Bug Grabowski bugging out?’”
“Bug?” said Georgie. “What’s wrong with Bug?”
“It appears that Sylvester ‘Bug’ Grabowski had a mental breakdown and threw himself into the East River at a photo shoot this morning. Though he claims some sort of sea monster pulled him into the water, renowned fashion and advertising photographer Raphael Tatou disputes the story. ‘There was no sea monster,’ said Mr Tatou. ‘Only a very difficult child playing games and wasting everyone’s time. Or maybe he was having an attack of nerves, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m a professional, and I want to work with professionals.’”
Pictures of a wet and dishevelled Bug flashed on the screen. “Hey!” said Mojo the news reporter. “Maybe it’s the giant octopus.” Katie Kepley giggled her signature giggle.
Agnes tsked and waved her knife. “Too much funny stuff for horseradish. Need something else.”
“What? Like pierogi?”
“No,” Agnes said. She thrust the handle of the knife at Georgie. “Chop. I be back.”
Agnes swept out of the kitchen. Georgie sliced potatoes until Agnes returned. Carrying a birdcage. With a bird in it. Noodle stopped batting the bit of sausage around the floor and stared at the cage.
“What’s that?” Georgie asked.
“Elephant,” said Agnes. “See? You not only kidding person.”
“What am I going to do with a bird? Noodle will eat him.”
“Bird is not for cat or for you,” Agnes said. “Bird is for Bug. You bring.”
Georgie looked at the TV screen, at the pictures of Bug, drenched and bedraggled and sad. She thought of the last time she saw Bug, how awkward she felt. “I don’t want to see Bug,” she said.
“Too bad,” said Agnes. “He wants to see you.”
“He does?” Georgie peered in at the bird. “Does it have a name?”
Agnes reached into her pocket and pulled out some sort of official-looking certificate. She handed this to Georgie.
“‘Pinkwater’s Momentary Lapse of Concentration, CD, Number Fourteen,’” Georgie read.
Agnes nodded. “Purebred for bird show.” Deftly, she sliced the last potato and put the slices in a pot. “But bird not blue enough for show. Or something stupid like that. What I know?”
Footsteps echoed in the huge penthouse and Georgie’s mother, Bunny Bloomington came into the kitchen laden with bags. “Georgie! I thought I heard your voice,” she said. “What are you doing home so early? And when did we get a bird?”
“Wombat!” chirped Pinkwater’s Momentary Lapse of Concentration.
“What?” said Bunny.
“The wombat exhibit was, um, broken, so the tour was a little short. They sent us home. The bird must have heard me and Agnes talking about it. He’s for Bug. I’m going to bring it to him later.”
“That’s so thoughtful,” Bunny Bloomington said. “Well. It’s too bad that your very first school trip was cut short, honey.”
“Oh no. I wanted to come home.”
“Why?” said Bunny, instantly concerned. “Is anything wrong? Aren’t you feeling well?” When Georgie first came back to live with her parents, Bunny got more and more terrified she might lose Georgie again, that someone might kidnap her and take her away. After a while, she didn’t want to let Georgie out of her sight. Now it seemed that Bunny was calming down again, but she was still more nervous than the average parent of a thirteen-year-old. Which meant she was still very, very nervous.
“Nothing’s wrong, Mum,” said Georgie. “Everything’s great.”
Bunny unconsciously clutched at her heart. “Oh, I’m so glad. You know, I wasn’t sure about sending you to school. I would have been much more comfortable with a private tutor. I still would. But it does seem as if you’re having a wonderful time.” She studied Georgie’s face. “You are, aren’t you?”
Georgie forced herself to smile. “I am, Mum, I swear. If it was any more wonderful I would probably have to be hospitalised for over-joy.” She kept her lips peeled away from her teeth till her mum beamed back at her.
“I knew everyone would just love you. How could they not?”
After Bunny swept out of the room, Agnes shook her head. “Stop with that fake smiling. You’re giving me creeps.”
“You mean I’m giving you the creeps, Agnes.”
“Yes,” Agnes said. “Those too.” She thrust the cage at Georgie. “You bring Bug. He need friend.” Those sharp eyes appraised Georgie. “And so do you.”
Bad
A few hours later, Georgie found herself nodding at Deter or Dexter or Derek the doorman and schlumping down the street carrying Pinkwater’s Momentary Whatever His Name Was in his tiny gold cage. Other people with birds stopped her every few metres to admire the budgie, ask his name, when she got it, etc. It was only after they’d been chatting for a few minutes that they noticed who they were talking to.
“My Lulabella is just four months old,” one man told her, holding out his arm so that Georgie could admire the scruffy little parrot perched there.
“She’s very pretty,” said Georgie.
“Don’t you just love birds?” the man said.
“Well, actually, this isn’t my bird. I’m bringing it to a friend. I have a cat.”
The man pulled his arm back in and stared at Georgie as if she’d just said, “I have a komodo dragon.”
“What in the world would you want a cat for?” he said. “Cats are the enemies of birds!”
“Cats are cute,” Georgie told him.
“Cute!” the man said. “Say, aren’t you Georgetta Bloomington?”
“Yes,” she said.
“And you like cats?”
“Yes, I do.”
He hurried away, his bird cawing, “Bad, bad, bad.”
“You hear that, Pinkwater?” Georgie said. “I’m bad.”
“Bad,” Pinkwater agreed.
Georgie switched the cage to the other hand. “And people want to know why I like