RANDOM THINGS I WANT TO TYPE

(Okay, so Max and everyone else besides Max's mom has wings. They're in Mexico, but Max has a hurt wing, and has to stay home. This is kind of funny.)
"Why is Max in the kitchen?" Gazzy asked as he walked in. His face was flushed, hair permanantly tousled from the wind. Clearly he'd been having a glorious, exhilarating time, coasting high above the world. And wasn't that SPECIAL for him. "We're cooking," said my mom. "She's just keeping you company, right?" he asked nervously as my eyes narrowed. Nudge, Fang, Iggy, Angel, and Total all crammed into the kitchen and stared at the wooden spoon in my hand. "No," my mom replied, trying to keep a straight face. "She's cooking." Quick, alarmed glances were exchanged among the flock. (The flock is Max, Fang, Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, Angel, and Total the talking dog.) "Cooking...food?" Nudge asked. I heard someone murmur something about ordering a pizza. "Yes, I'm cooking food, and it's great, and you're going to eat it, you twerps!" I snapped. And that was how I spent my three days of forced rest. The flock saw all the Mayan wonders of the Yucatan, and I learned how to cook something besides cold cereal. So there was much amazement all around.