Birdie had a frog on her shoulder.
His name was Gerald. He was no bigger than a grape. He had a very serious face, and he had opinions about everything.
"Don't eat that piece of toast," said Gerald.
Birdie looked at her toast. It was regular toast. It had butter on it and everything.
"It's suspicious," said Gerald.
So Birdie ate a banana instead.
Her mum raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with the toast?"
"Gerald says it's suspicious."
"Ah," said Mum. She ate the toast herself. Nothing happened to her, but Gerald said that proved nothing.
After breakfast, Birdie sat on the living room rug to draw. Gerald sat on her left shoulder and watched.
"Hold your texta with three fingers," said Gerald. "Not four."
Birdie switched to three fingers. Her texta wobbled. The horse she was drawing came out looking like a lumpy cloud with legs going every which way.
"Beautiful," said Gerald. "That's exactly what a horse looks like."
"It's not, Gerald."
"I have seen many horses," said Gerald, who had never seen a horse.
Birdie stuck the drawing on the fridge with a magnet. The magnet slid. The drawing floated down to the floor. The magnet slid some more. Three other drawings fell too, and a takeaway menu, and a photo of Birdie's cousin Nico.
Everything from the fridge was on the floor now, in a big papery pile.
Gerald cleared his throat. "I meant to warn you about that magnet."
After lunch, Birdie and Gerald went to the balcony. It was half sunny and half trying to rain.
The dog next door was on the neighbour's balcony. A big golden dog named Chunks. He was sitting very still, staring at Birdie.
"You see?" whispered Gerald. "He's planning something."
"He's just sitting there."
"That's phase one."
Chunks yawned.
"Phase two," said Gerald.
Chunks lay down and closed his eyes.
"He's very good," Gerald whispered.
Birdie giggled so hard she snorted, and the snort surprised her so much she sat right down on the balcony floor with a thump. Gerald held on to her ear to keep from falling off.
"Careful!" said Gerald, straightening himself up very proudly. "I nearly fell into your collar."
The afternoon got long and grey. Rain came, tapping on the windows. Birdie's mum was busy on her laptop. The apartment got quiet.
Birdie lay on her bed and looked at the ceiling.
"Gerald?"
"Yes."
"Is today Tuesday?"
Gerald thought very carefully. "Yes."
"You said never trust a Tuesday."
"I did say that."
"But nothing bad happened."
Gerald puffed up his tiny chest. "You're welcome."
"What?"
"You followed my advice all day. You skipped the suspicious toast. You held your texta properly. You kept an eye on that dog. Of course nothing bad happened. My advice worked."
Birdie opened her mouth. Then she closed it.
She thought about this for a long time.
"Gerald, that doesn't make any sense."
"It makes perfect sense."
And lying there in her warm room, with the rain tapping and the lumpy horse drawing stuck back on the fridge with a better magnet and Chunks asleep next door — it sort of did.
"Gerald?"
"Yes."
"Same time tomorrow?"
"I'll be on your shoulder at seven sharp," said Gerald. "Wednesday is even worse than Tuesday."
Birdie pulled her blanket up to her chin. Gerald settled into the warm spot between her shoulder and her neck. The rain tapped. The apartment hummed.
And on her left shoulder, a very small, very serious frog closed his very small, very serious eyes.
