“I still can’t believe River’s getting married,” I whispered to Cameraperson. “Part of me thought it’d be you and River. Morgan’s cool though.”

  Cameraperson raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, because he’s obsessed with me.” I grinned. “Okay. Children’s spelling bee. Nothing bad ever happens with competitive children and ambitious guardians.”

  Cameraperson nudged me.

  “I know. I was being sarcastic.”

  “Miss Alistair?”

  I spun. “Alison. You must be Tropical?”

  “Tropi-Cāl.”

  “I’m calling you Cal. Where should we set up?”

  “You’re fine here. You’re here to film the bee and provide color commentary.”

  My face flushed. Cameraperson put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Color commentary?” I growled.

  “Yes. Like in sports. Spelling bees are the new hot thing.”

  “He’s loonier than Daffy Duck—and I’ve met him,” I muttered.

  Cameraperson shrugged.

  “How much to meet Daffy?” Cal asked.

  I blinked. “You heard that?”

  “Yes. And I’d like to meet him,” Cal said, then cackled and turned. “Now get to work!”

  Once he was gone, I whispered, “Super-hearing?”

  “Bingo,” Cal shouted from the far end of the field.

  Cameraperson winked, then pointed at his mouth and ears.

  “I can’t communicate like you. Too much to say.”

  They smiled.

  “Let’s work on our banter—say something.”

  They shrugged and wiggled their thumb.

  “You‘re struggling with River’s wedding playlist? You?”

  They nodded.

  “Oh. My. God. You totally have the hots for River! I’m gonna text him.”

  Cameraperson snatched my phone.

  “You’re right. He’s taken.” I gave them puppy eyes. “But you two are so cute. He fumbles his words. You watch him fumble his words. I love it.”

  Cameraperson, beet red, started setting up.

  “Aww. You’re embarrassed. I’ll stop.”

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  I lunged for my phone. “Right after I text him.”

  They loomed over me, glaring.

  “You’re right,” I sighed. “I wouldn’t want to hurt them.”

  Music kicked in. Ace of Base, “The Sign.”

  We sat behind two mics as the Spelling Bee began.

  “Hello, I’m Alison Alistair, live from Isla de Ligré’s Intergalactic Spelling Bee. We’ve got kids ages six to seventeen, plus their emotionally invested guardians.”

  “Who will throw the first punch—parent or child? Cameraperson?”

  They wiggled five fingers.

  “A bird riding a Liger? Interesting.”

  “Hello!” Cal boomed, “I am Tropi-Cāl, organizer of this momentous event! First up: Blayne, from Pluto.”

  Blayne walked to the mic.

  “Well, Cameraperson. Here we go.”

  “Blayne, spell ‘nautical’.”

  “N-A-U-T-I-C-A-L. Nautical.”

  I clapped. “Remarkable. Someone from the party planet can spell.”

  Cameraperson raised an eyebrow.

  “They asked for commentary.”

  “Next up: Troia from Long Island.”

  She took the stage and lowered the mic.

  “Troia has taken the stage. You’d think someone from Long Island would be taller.”

  Crickets.

  “Troia, spell ‘Xanathar.’”

  “That’s a proper noun,” Troia replied. “They’re not allowed.”

  “You little shit,” Cal snapped. “This is my bee.”

  Some parents stood up. “Those are the rules!”

  “You ruined everything!” he shouted.

  “Stop bullying her!” yelled Blayne.

  “Get him!” a group of kids shouted in unison.

  “Audience, the riot has begun.”

  Cameraperson stood, eyes wide.

  “Yes, Cameraperson. They set the stage on fire, and some kids ran into the jungle.”

  I chuckled. “Tropi-Cāl’s pants are on fire. Fitting for a liar, liar.”

  Cameraperson smirked.

  “That one just came to me.”

  They pointed toward the trees.

  “Oh snap! Two kids on ligers barrelled out of the forest. Torches in hand, charging the audience. Everything’s burning!”

  Tropi-Cāl screamed, “I was going to be richer! You should be serving me! I’m a billionaire!”

  “What do you say, CP? Has Cal sealed his fate?”

  They shook their head.

  “You’re right. We’ll all be assassinated in the next few days.”

  I pointed, heart racing.

  “They’re heading this way, CP.”

  “We’re on your side!” I yelled.

  No use. “Time to go.”

  Too late. Flames engulfed the table, mics, camera, my pants, Cameraperson’s skirt, and the backdrop.

  Then the birds joined the fray.

  Big, screaming, angry birds.

  “They’re protective of the Ligers!” I yelled, grabbing one by the legs.

  Cameraperson led the way as three birds dive-bombed, talons like razors.

  “This might be the end! It’s been an honor working with you.”

  They scowled.

  “Not dramatic—just realistic!”

  Cameraperson grabbed a stick and swatted a bird into a tree.

  “Badass,” I said.

  They winked.

  Wielding sticks, we sprinted to our helicopter, swatting birds like it was the homerun derby.

  Gasping for breath, we made it aboard. I held up a very angry bird.

  “This demon’s going into Thomason’s office to thank him for this ‘cushy’ assignment.”

  Back in Oregon, we watched through Triple T’s office window as the bird laid into him.

  That office now belonged to the bird. And honestly, it’s doing a better job.

  Thomason’s back on the eighth floor, picking pieces of ceiling out of his hair.

  River and the Bug is wrapping up right now—only the epilogue left. Alison and CP play a central role in there, and if you’re curious how all this started, that story’s a great place to jump in.

  River and the Bug, River and Friends Part 2 - The Beagle and the Robin, and The Reaper Wears a Scarf on my page.