Free The Classy Crooks Club by Alison Cherry Page A

did yesterday to open the door, and I think of how proud Maddie will be when I tell her how much I’ve improved.  My heart starts racing when I hear the birds rustling around on their perches, but I know I have to keep it together if I want to execute my plan. “Hi, guys,” I croon softly to them as I reach for the light switch, careful to keep my back to the wall and one arm up to protect my face from attacks. “It’s me. Don’t freak out.”
    The light goes on, and then I’m the one who freaks out. Because sitting on a chair in the middle of the room is my grandmother, fully dressed and wide awake.
    â€œJust as I thought,” she says.
    â€œI . . . um . . . I was . . . ,” I start, but there’s absolutely no explanation that makes sense. I mean, she saw me break into the storage room. I can’t exactly pretend I came downstairs for a glass of water and got lost.
    There are several empty chairs arranged in a semicircle, and she pats the one closest to her. “Come here,” she says, and bizarrely, she doesn’t sound mad. “It’s time we had a little chat.”
    I inch toward the chair, glancing behind me every few seconds to make sure there’s no parrot flying silently behind my head, and Grandma Jo raises an eyebrow at me. “Annemarie, why are you walking like that? Are you injured?”
    â€œNo, I . . . um. I don’t want the birds to, like, fly up and attack me from behind?”
    My grandmother sighs heavily. “That’s not going to happen. Their wings are clipped.”
    I’m not sure what that means, but she makes it sound like it’s something to prevent attacks. Maybe it’s like declawing a cat, though all the parrots’ claws look totally intact. I perch on the very edge of the chair, my spine not even touching the back. My heart is pounding even harder than it was last night when I first found the birds.
    â€œGrandma Jo, I’m so, so sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t—”
    â€œQuiet,” my grandmother snaps. “We’ll wait for the others to arrive. In the meantime, I’ll make us some tea.” And then she gets up and clomp-click-rustle s out of the room with her cane, shutting the door behind her and leaving me alone with the birds. If this is supposed to be my punishment, it’s a really, really good one.
    I sit rigid in my chair in the bird-filled storage room for what feels like forever, wondering who “the others” are and what will happen to me when they get here. Did Grandma Jo call the police? Is it illegal to break into a room in the house where you’re living? I can’t go to jail for this, can I? I twist my bracelet around and around on my wrist.
    The white bird with the Mohawk-style head feathers is sitting closest to me, and when I look at it, it shrieks, “Let me out, let me out!”
    â€œTrust me,” I tell it. “I know exactly how you feel.”
    But when the doorbell finally rings, it’s not the police—it’s Cookie and Edna and Betty. None of them have taken the time to get dressed, and they tromp into the storage room in their pajamas like this is some sort of bizarre sleepover party. Cookie’s in a red silk kimono with droopy sleeves and a dragon on the back. Edna’s wearing a long, shapeless dress that doesn’t look much different from what she wore during the day, but her hair is up in some sort of turban. Betty has on a flowered nightgown with ruffles around the neck and wrists, a blue terry cloth robe, and slippers shaped like rabbits, and her hair is in pink plastic curlers. If I’m on trial, this isn’t exactly the scariest jury I’ve ever seen.
    â€œThis is so exciting !” Cookie gushes as she takes the chair next to mine. She gives my leg such a hard squeeze that I flinch. “I’ve always wanted to be called out of bed for a