Once Upon a Toad (10 page)

I held up three fingers of my right hand in the Scout's honor salute. Telling anyone anything about what had happened was the furthest thing from my mind. My lips were sealed. Possibly permanently, at this rate.

He smiled. “Good. I'll write a note explaining your situation, then.”

“Lucky,” murmured Olivia, shooting me a spiteful glance. She coughed, then spit a bright green coneflower into her hand. I knew it was a coneflower because I'd helped Iz plant some in the garden last summer. We'd bought them at the nursery together. I remembered that they had a funny name. But what was it?

Echinacea purpurea.
Green Envy, that's what.

I stared at the flower in my stepsister's hand. Was it just a coincidence, or was Olivia's floral output linked to her mood? And speaking of coincidences, how weird was it that we'd both just happened to come down with this strange whatever-it-was at the very same time? I mulled this over as I got ready for bed.

I thought about tomorrow, too, and wondered if I could really make it through an entire day of school without a single toad slipup. Mrs. Bonneville didn't take any guff, and I doubted she'd
take any toads, either. They might not be on her list of rules, but spitting was, and somehow I was pretty sure she wouldn't be thrilled if I started spitting them in class. And there was the talent show, too!

I was going to have to stay on my toes.

CHAPTER 8

“Cat still got your tongue, Cat?” said Olivia as she pranced downstairs to breakfast the next morning. She was all smiles, of course. It's easy to be all smiles when you're popping out priceless gems and petals instead of wart-encrusted amphibians. I shrugged and nodded as she held something out to her mother.

Iz took it and added it to the drawstring bag matter-of-factly, but I noticed that my father looked a little freaked out. He'd probably been hoping that a good night's sleep would cure Olivia.

It hadn't, and it hadn't cured me, either. I knew that for a fact because I'd been up early again, out under the rhododendron bush talking to myself. Myself and I were in agreement—we still seemed to be a bottomless source of toads.

Iz tucked Olivia's priceless crop into the messenger bag she used as a purse and a camera case. “Eat quick, honey,”
she told my stepsister. “Our appointment's in forty-five minutes.” She turned to me, and I noticed the shadows under her eyes. Iz obviously hadn't slept much. “I expect we'll be a while, but we should be home in plenty of time to get you to Dr. Douglass's office after school.”

I nodded, and she looked at me closely. “You'll be okay getting yourself to the bus, right?”

I do it all the time at home in Houston,
I wrote on the notepad I carried with me everywhere now.

“We'll drop Geoffrey off at preschool on our way this morning,” she continued a few minutes later as she helped my little brother on with his raincoat. “He's going to go home afterward with one of his friends, so you won't have to worry about him.” She gave me a hug. “You're sure you're okay?”

I nodded again, but inside I didn't feel all that okay. I was dreading facing the whole “Catbox” thing again, plus what if, despite my best efforts, I had another toad episode at school? Who could I call for help? My father and stepmother would be at the specialist with Olivia, and they'd confiscated our cell phones.

For the first time since the toads appeared, I was tempted to say something.
What about me?
I wanted to holler.
I need a specialist too!
I didn't open my mouth, though. For one thing, Iz and Dad had enough on their minds without worrying about me, and for another, no way did I want Olivia to find out about the toads. I would never live it down.

The house was oddly quiet after they all left. I was used to being on my own—sometimes my mother had to be at the Johnson Space Center at the crack of dawn, and she often worked long hours—but it was different here than back home.
The Houston high-rise where I lived with my mother was always full of other people. The D'Angelos were just a quick elevator ride away. Here in Portland, my dad's house was on a stub of a dead-end street nestled in the woods, with only the Dixons for company. Plus, the bungalow was older and creakier than our condo back home, and I found it a little creepy when it was empty like this. To distract myself, I finished my breakfast in front of the TV, then went upstairs to get dressed.

A few minutes later I heard Connor Dixon calling good-bye to his mother and looked out the bedroom window to see him heading down his driveway. I glanced at the clock and gave a squeak of alarm. Snatching the web-footed creature my squeak had produced from off my bedspread, I pelted downstairs and grabbed my raincoat and backpack. I slammed the front door behind me, tossed the toad over the porch railing into the bushes below, then vaulted down the steps and ran toward the bus stop at the end of our street. Connor waved when he saw me.

“Hey,” he said.

I jerked my chin in response.

“Where's your bassoon?”

I looked at him, aghast. I'd run right out of the house without it! This toad thing really had me rattled. I turned and started back up the street, but Connor grabbed my sleeve.

“Too late,” he said, pointing to the bus that was now rounding the corner. “Don't worry, it's not that big a deal. I forgot my sax once, and Mr. Morgan was really nice about it.”

Of course he was,
I thought. Mr. Morgan was probably happy for any excuse to spare his delicate, shell-like ears. Connor played
the saxophone about as well as I played basketball.

I just gave him a regretful smile in response, as if to say,
Oh, well
. Connor was right—Mr. Morgan was nice, and he would probably let me off the hook as far as band went, but the Hawkwinds had planned a final run-through during lunch for the talent show tonight. The bus wheezed to a stop in front of me, and I mounted the steps glumly. My friends were going to be disappointed.

When Mrs. Bonneville took attendance, I held up my hand and waved.

My teacher frowned. “I thought I made myself clear, Cat. Mrs. Bonneville prefers her students to speak up and say ‘Present.'”

Well, this one won't be speaking up anytime soon,
I thought, handing her the note from my dad.

“Ah,” said Mrs. Bonneville, scanning it. “Laryngitis. I see.” She narrowed her eyes at me, and for a minute I was sure she could tell I was faking. Then she shrugged and said, “All right, then.”

I sucked it up just like my dad told me and ignored the scattering of “Catbox” comments as best I could, and I managed to make it through homeroom, social studies, math, and band without spilling a single toad. As predicted, Mr. Morgan was very nice about me forgetting my bassoon.

“Just lend us your ears today, Cat,” he said, waggling his own at me, “and your moral support. As for tonight, I'm sure we have nothing to worry about, given that you're such an experienced musician.”

Lunch was a little tricky, and I almost slipped up twice, but the notebook-and-pen routine worked pretty well. As I'd
suspected, Rani and Juliet and Rajit were disappointed that I wasn't able to practice the Bach piece with them one more time, but I dutifully sat through the final run-through anyway.

After lunch Rani and I headed off to PE. Only one more class after that, and I was home free! Without Olivia around to hassle me, I found myself beginning to relax a little about halfway through the basketball game. For once, I didn't totally stink, and I even made a basket.

Then Piper Philbin ruined everything.

“Pass the ball, Catbox!” she shouted to me from half-court.

“Ladies!” scolded Ms. Suarez. “Watch the trash talk!”

I gaped at her. I hadn't said a word! Why was she blaming me, too?

Piper smirked and beckoned for the ball. I passed it to her, all right—hard. She grunted as she caught it and spun away, scowling. I moved down the court, saw an opening under the basket, and slipped through when Taylor Brown, who was supposed to be guarding me, looked the other way.

I was wide open.

I motioned wildly to Piper to pass the ball back. She ignored me and faked past Taylor instead. I could tell she had no intention of giving me the chance to score; she wanted to make the basket herself. I moved toward her, hoping to force her hand. Instead she drove for the net, giving me a sharp jab with her elbow as she dribbled past. I went flying into the sidelines, where I stumbled and fell to my knees with an “Oof.”

A toad promptly sprang onto the court.

I froze. Behind me, a cheer went up, and for one awful
second I thought I was in for a repeat of Friday's “Catbox” uproar. Nobody was paying the least bit of attention to me, though. They were cheering for Piper.

I grabbed the toad and stuffed it under my jersey, then scrambled to my feet.

“Everything okay, Cat?” asked Ms. Suarez.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then shook my head. Faking a limp, I headed for the locker room. It was the only thing I could think of to do.

“Cat!” she called.

I ignored her and kept walking.

Ms. Suarez blew her whistle, but I still kept walking. I could hear her trotting after me as I ducked through the door.

Croak.

I had to get rid of the evidence, fast. I opened the first locker I saw and flung the toad inside, then slammed it shut and sprinted across the room. By the time Ms. Suarez poked her head in the door, I was sitting on a bench rubbing my leg.

“What's the matter?” she called. “Are you okay?”

I winced and pointed to my knee, which was conveniently still red from where I'd fallen on it.

She glanced back over her shoulder, checking on the rest of the class, then jogged over and inspected it quickly. “You'll be all right,” she told me. “Stop by the nurse and get some ice afterward, if you want. Class is almost over anyway.”

Ms. Suarez returned to the gym, and a few moments later the bell rang.
Uh-oh,
I thought, as my PE classmates flooded through the doors. I stood up quickly and limped over to my locker, then busied myself getting changed.

Thirty seconds later there was a loud shriek from the far
side of the room. I turned around to see Piper Philbin catapult onto the bench, where she hopped up and down in a panic, pointing at the floor.

I'd accidentally put the toad in Piper's locker.

“Calm down, calm down,” said Ms. Suarez, crossing to join her. “What's the big deal?”

“What's the big deal? It's a
FROG
!” screamed Piper.

Fleabrain,
I thought scornfully. Didn't she know the difference between a frog and a toad?

Croak
. The creature sprang across the aisle, and the room erupted in terrified squeals as my classmates stampeded for the door.

“Girls!” called our gym teacher crossly, blocking their path. “For heaven's sake, it's not Sasquatch.” Grabbing a towel, she threw it over the toad and picked it up. “Sit down and put your head between your knees,” she ordered Piper, who was still hysterical. “Try and breathe normally. I'll be back in a sec.”

As she carried the toad outside, Piper looked up. “Who put that thing in my locker?” she demanded. She scanned the room, her gaze settling on me.

Wiping my face clean of expression, I held out my hands and shrugged, as if to say,
Who, me?

“I don't know how you did it, but nice work,” whispered Rani as we headed down the hall to science class.

I ducked my head to hide my smile. Maybe there was an upside to this whole toad thing. It wasn't every day that someone like me could give someone like Piper Fleabrain a taste of her own medicine. I felt more cheerful than I had since this whole mess started.

I was also more worried than ever. I'd come close to blowing it back there on the basketball court. Nothing but sheer dumb luck had saved me. If I had been spotted by anyone—especially Piper—well, it was bad enough that I was the laughingstock of the school, thanks to the Hawk Creek Tappers and their stupid stunt in the lunchroom. If someone saw me spouting toads, I could only imagine the uproar. The school would probably expel me, for one thing. I was pretty sure toads were considered some sort of health hazard. Even if they didn't kick me out, though, I'd have no friends. Nada. Zilch. I doubted even the Hawkwinds could handle toads. The chaos in the locker room had just proven that. Toads are scary. People are afraid of them—especially girls.