Free I and Sproggy by Constance C. Greene

words. A few words for the listening audience.”
    â€œYou pick it up!” Burton shrieked. He was warming up fast. “You pick it up!”
    â€œIf I had any Scotch tape, I’d wrap his whole head in it,” Adam said.
    â€œI wouldn’t try it,” Steve cautioned. “He looks like he might bite your hand off.”
    â€œAnd enjoy doing it,” Kenny added.
    Burton strutted back and forth on his perch. His proud yellow head was magnificent, his feathers shiny, his insolence enormous. He was clearly enjoying himself.
    â€œMy father said parrots live to be about a hundred years old,” Steve said. “They outlive most people. Just think. If you take real good care of this here bird, he’ll be alive and kicking when you and me and Kenny are six feet under. It makes you stop and think, doesn’t it?”
    â€œSix feet under,” Burton caroled joyously. “Six feet under.”
    â€œSpeak for yourself,” Adam said sourly. “I’m planning on sticking around a lot longer than this moldy character.” He wasn’t going to mention the club. He figured he’d wait until one of them brought it up.
    Kenny studied Burton closely. “I don’t know,” he said. “This guy looks like he’s good for a long time. It must be boring, though, just sitting there. In the long run, I think human beings have a pretty good deal.” For one moment Kenny forgot to be pessimistic. “I mean, they get to go places, eat out, watch TV, stuff like that.” He ran out of enjoyable things human beings did. “Is there anything to eat in this joint?” he asked.
    â€œListen,” Adam said sternly, “you just don’t go into a strange apartment and help yourself to stuff. I’m being paid to parrot-sit, not to raid the refrigerator. Besides, there’s nothing there but an apple and a bald lemon.”
    â€œHow come you know what’s there?” Steve asked.
    â€œI have to check on things,” Adam said vaguely.
    â€œI sure am hungry, though,” Kenny said.
    â€œMy mother says you’re a bottomless pit,” Adam said.
    â€œNo kidding? My mother says the same.”
    The bell rang again. “What is this, Old Home Week?” Adam said. He peered out the peephole at Sproggy standing there, holding a paper bag.
    â€œWe don’t want any,” he said. “Whatever you’re selling, we don’t want any.”
    Kenny shouldered him aside and took a look for himself. “Speak for yourself, bud,” he said and opened the door.
    â€œWelcome to our humble abode,” he said. “What you got in the sack?”
    â€œLet me help you with that,” Steve said, taking the bag from Sproggy’s hands. “Something sure smells good.”
    â€œI had to queue up in front of the most extraordinary wagon parked right on the street,” Sproggy said, directing her remarks toward Kenny and Steve. She ignored Adam and smiled a good deal at the other two.
    â€œThey were selling sausage rolls,” Sproggy continued. “They smelled delicious so I bought a bagful. I met Adam’s mother downstairs, and she told me he was here, so I took a chance you two would be here also.”
    She sure moved in fast on this bunch, Adam thought angrily. You’d think she’d known these guys as long as I have.
    â€œI have never heard of a sausage roll in my life,” Adam said, blood rushing to his cheeks. He was angry at Sproggy, at Steve and Kenny, and, most of all, at himself. He said in a flat tone, full of dislike, “It sounds fairly disgusting.”
    Kenny’s head disappeared inside the bag. “Oxygen, give me oxygen,” he moaned from inside, his voice muffled. “The little lady has purchased what appears to be hot dogs. With mustard and relish.”
    â€œI don’t want any,” Adam said, his mouth watering.
    Sproggy, Kenny, and Steve sat cross-legged on the