"Cool Crusaders cap!" the little boy said, pointing at Siggy's head.
"Thanks! I really like football." Siggy turned back to driving his toy Chevelle over the pebbles next to the swing set.
"Can I have it?" the other boy asked.
Siggy slowly looked up at the boy in confusion. His grandad had given him that hat, and it was important to him. Now this stranger wanted it just because he liked it, and Siggy found himself annoyed. "I'll give you this hat, but you have to trade me something."
"I don't have anything to trade," the boy said, shrugging.
Siggy stood to his feet, standing an inch taller than the other boy. "That's not true. You have something you always carry around with you."
The boy frowned, looking down at himself. "Like what?"
"Your soul," Siggy said. "Promise me your soul, and you can have my hat."
The little boy's eyebrows raised. "Well, I gu—"
"Ah-bup-bup-bup! No, no, no," Tilda said, hurrying to usher Siggy in the direction of the car. "Tell your friend 'bye'."
"I was just making a deal, Tilda," Siggy said defensively.
"You're too young to make deals, and so is he. Your great-grandfather would skin us both alive," Tilda insisted.
"Yeah, but he'd put us right back together," Siggy said, widening his eyes.
"Not the point, Sig," Tilda sighed.
