I reach for the fluttering brown sparrow darting through the room, but my fingers close on empty air as Bun zips toward the ceiling.
"Damn. You were so close," Ron says.
"Yeah, damn," Jer echoes.
Sara sighs. "You're not supposed to use bad words."
Meanwhile, I'm waving my hands frantically as I shout, "Bun, please come down!"
The tiny bird chirps manically, wings beating frantically in hunger-induced chaos. She's been shifting nonstop for twenty minutes—from bunny to kitten to fish (a terrifying thirty seconds of flopping), and now this. My heart hammers against my ribs even as I wonder how a toddler who can barely walk a straight line has already figured out flying.
"She's losing it," Ron says beside me, craning his neck upward. "The pizza's taking too long."
Jer nods grimly. "Sugar crash. Plus she's still growing."
He sounds so wise, but I don't think her growth has anything to do with her current state of mania.
