Once Upon a Toad

  “What’s happening to me?” I heard my stepsister wail.

  Was Olivia afflicted with toads too? It would certainly level the playing field if she was. I could tell Dad and Iz, for one thing. I tiptoed downstairs to see.

  My father was standing in the doorway to the room I shared with my stepsister. Geoffrey was beside him, clutching his blanket. It takes a lot to pry my little brother away from his favorite cartoon, but I guess hearing his sister holler like she was being skinned alive did the trick. I drew closer, craning for a better view.

  Iz was sitting on the edge of Olivia’s bed, surrounded by flowers. Piles of flowers. I spotted bachelor’s buttons and buttercups, marigolds and daisies and rosebuds. My stepsister saw me peeking over Geoffrey’s shoulder and frowned.

  “What are you staring at?” she snapped. As she spoke, a cluster of thistles fell from her lips, along with something else, something that winked and flashed in the early-morning light. My stepmother plucked it from the bedspread and held it up.

  “Tim,” she said, her face full of wonder. “This looks like a diamond!”

  My mouth dropped open. “No way!” I whispered.

  Geoffrey whipped around just in time to see my latest toad make its escape. “Cat!” he shrieked, then leaned over and barfed.

  I turned and fled back upstairs to the attic.

  CHAPTER 7

  Between cleaning up my little brother and all the excitement over Olivia, nobody noticed my absence.

  I closed the attic door quietly behind me and leaned against it, stunned. How could this be happening? How could I be stuck spouting toads, while Olivia was showered in flowers and diamonds?

  It wasn’t fair!

  I desperately wanted to talk to my mother. Calling her was out of the question, though—for one thing, my cell phone was downstairs. For another, even if NASA didn’t mind connecting another call from me to the space station, the house would be overrun with toads by the time I finished trying to explain all the weird stuff that was happening.

  An e-mail would be better. But all the computers were downstairs too, and no way was I going back down there again. Not just yet.

  For now I was on my own.

  I chewed my lip, trying to imagine what my mother would say if I could talk to her. Pull up your socks, probably. That’s her all-purpose advice for curing the droops, as she calls it whenever I get moody or worried or sad.

  But how? My socks, unfortunately, were full of toads. I knew I had to do something, but what?

  I need a game plan, I thought, glancing around the toad-strewn attic. First things first, I decided. Time to get rid of the evidence. I crossed to the trunk and opened it. It was jammed with ancient camping equipment; Jurassic-era stuff that must have been my dad’s back when he was a Boy Scout. Sifting through the moldering heap, I pulled out a decrepit duffel bag. It would have to do. I spotted a tattered butterfly net and pulled it out, then gave the air a tentative swipe. I had a sudden urge to laugh. Just call me Cat Starr, Toad Huntress.

  Toads aren’t easy to catch, even in the best of circumstances. In a dimly lit attic, when you’re trying not to attract attention, it’s nearly impossible. The little suckers spotted me coming a mile away. Every time I sneaked up on one and brought the net down, it would somehow manage to skitter out of reach. Finally I got down on my hands and knees and waited, motionless, until one of them unwisely hopped into range.

  “Gotcha!” I said triumphantly, and scooped it up, along with number thirty-one as it sprang from my lips. I was getting better at this.

  Ten minutes later I was breathless, crabby, and covered with dust. So much for getting better at this. I’d corralled exactly three toads in the duffel bag, in addition to my “Gotcha” one. That left twenty-seven more to go.

  I needed a new game plan.

  I went back to the trunk and rifled through it again. A length of frayed rope—useless. A decaying tent and a bag of tent stakes—nope. At the very bottom was a mildewed old tarp, though, which gave me an idea. I dragged it out into the middle of the floor and spread it out, then went to get something in the far corner that I’d glimpsed when I was up here the other day—a broom. It was missing half its straws, but it might just do the trick for the idea that was beginning to form in my head.

  It was time for a little street hockey, toad huntress–style.

  I kicked off my slippers. This was a game that called for stealth mode. No point attracting any attention from downstairs. Eventually my family would miss me and come looking, but I hoped to clear out the toads before they did.

  Holding the broom out in front of me like a hockey stick, I jogged around the attic counterclockwise, sweeping every amphibian I encountered toward the tarp in the center of the room. The toads fled in panic before me, croaking madly. So much for stealth mode. If I didn’t wind this game up quickly, the entire neighborhood would be up here to see what was going on.

  Once I had a decent number of them cornered on the tarp, I leaned down and grabbed an edge, folding it over like a taco. A lumpy, toad-filled taco. Then I grabbed another edge and folded it in half again. Picking it up and holding it tightly to keep its occupants from escaping, I carried the tarp to the waiting duffel bag. My method wasn’t pretty, but it did the trick. Mostly. A few toads managed to hop out as I made the transfer, so I spread the tarp out again and made another pass around the room. This time I was pretty sure I’d gotten them all.

  I sat down next to the duffel bag, panting. Toad huntress was not a job I’d want on a regular basis. After I caught my breath, I unzipped the duffel gingerly and counted the wriggling bodies. Thirty.

  I was one toad short!

  A flicker of movement in the far corner alerted me to the lone straggler, which was busy wedging itself under the eaves behind some insulation. I decided to leave it for now and move on.

  A duffel bag stuffed with thirty panicked toads is not exactly invisible—or inaudible. No way was I going to be able to get it downstairs without being seen or heard. Recalling the length of rope I’d seen in the trunk, I crossed the room and grabbed it, then headed for the window above Geoffrey’s room, which overlooked the backyard.

  I unlocked it and tried to ease it open. It didn’t budge. I pushed harder; no luck. No matter how much I wrestled and tugged, the window was completely stuck. Finally, after one last all-out effort, it lurched upward. But the accompanying screech of wood on wood froze me in my tracks. Several seconds ticked by, but there was no response from downstairs. Apparently, Dad and Iz were still preoccupied with Olivia.

  Wincing at each creak and groan, I inched the window up until it was open wide enough for the duffel to pass through. I tied one end of the rope to the squirming bag’s handles, then lowered it carefully toward the ground, watching as it came to rest on the back deck. Satisfied, I tossed the rope out after it. I’d have to hope that no one spotted it before I managed to get downstairs.

  After forcing the window shut again, I crossed to the attic door. I opened it a crack and waited, listening to the low murmur of worried voices from the floor below. Good; they were still busy. I crept down the attic stairs, pausing again at the end of the hall to make sure no one had heard me, then tiptoed past the open door, hoping no one would notice.

  They didn’t.

  I continued on down to the kitchen, steering clear of the living room, where Geoffrey was once again glued to the TV. There was no sign of the breakfast toads; they must have gone into hiding. I’d have to track them down later. Slipping out the back door onto the deck, I bent down to grab the duffel.

  “Hey, Cat!”

  I spun around to see Connor Dixon waving at me from his backyard. He was taking advantage of a lull in the drizzle to walk Peanut, his family’s dachshund. I blushed, acutely aware of how stupid I must look in my bunny jammies and dust-covered robe. I might not have a crush on Connor the way Olivia and Piper did, but still, who wanted to get caught looking like this, let alone holding a bag full of indignant toads?


  I maneuvered the duffel behind me and waved back as casually as I could.

  “Better hurry if you’re going to catch the bus,” he called.

  No way was I opening my mouth to reply. The stupid bunny jammies were bad enough. Toads would be a disaster. I made a face and pointed at my throat, then mimed coughing.

  “Too bad. Well, hope you’re feeling better in time for the talent show tomorrow night. I heard you guys practicing last week—you sounded really good.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up. He tugged on Peanut’s leash and the two of them headed inside. “See ya in band!” he called, shutting the door behind him.

  Connor Dixon played the saxophone. Technically, the saxophone is a woodwind like the bassoon, since they’re both reed instruments, but unlike the bassoon, the saxophone is one of the cool instruments, like the trumpet or the drums. Those are the instruments of choice for the popular boys. The only one lower than the bassoon on the bandie food chain is the tuba.

  I stepped off the deck. My slippers sank into the wet ground. Squelching my way across the soggy grass, I headed for the enormous rhododendron bush at the far edge of my dad’s property, the one Geoffrey loves to play under. Last summer I’d helped him build a fort inside it.

  Ducking under the branches, I felt myself relax for the first time all morning. I was finally safe—out of sight and sound of anyone in our house or the Dixons’.

  I squatted down and unzipped the duffel bag. “Hi, guys,” I said, adding a new toad to the ranks. I turned the bag upside down and watched as they scrambled to freedom. As I stood up again, my bathrobe wiggled. I’d forgotten about the one still in my pocket. I scooped it out and set it down, and it hopped off after the others.

  That took care of the first action item on my to-do list. Next up, I needed to get ahold of my mother, or A.J., or both. One of them would know what to do. I squelched my way back toward the house.

  “Where have you been?” my father asked as I came in, startling me. He lifted an eyebrow at my muddy slippers.

  Thinking fast, I grabbed a pad of paper from the counter by the phone, along with the pen beside it. Needed a little fresh air, I wrote. Not feeling too well.

  His brow furrowed in concern. “Really? What’s the matter, Kit-Cat?”

  I gestured at my neck and grimaced, then scribbled again. Sore throat. I think I have laryngitis.

  He patted my shoulder. “Maybe you should go back to bed. I have to call the school anyway—your sister’s staying home too.”

  As I turned to go, a toad hopped out from behind the refrigerator.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said my dad in disgust. “Geoffrey!”

  I scooted upstairs, feeling like a traitor. One good thing about having a little brother is that you can blame all sorts of things on him, including stray toads.

  Olivia wasn’t in our room. I heard the shower running and hoped she’d save me some hot water, as I was covered with attic dust. I could only imagine what my hair looked like. I fished my cell phone out of my backpack and was just turning it on to text A.J. when Iz came in.

  “Sorry, sweetie, but we’re a cell-phone-free zone this morning,” she told me, plucking it from my hand. “Your dad says you’re not feeling well.” She pressed the palm of her other hand against my forehead. “Hmmm. You do feel a little warm.” She inspected me, her forehead crinkling with concern. “What’s with all this dust?”

  I shrugged, swatted at the streaks on my bathrobe, and she sighed. “Never mind. You can shower later. Under the covers with you. I think it’s just as well that both you girls stay home from school anyway, given everything that’s happened around here.”

  My father came in, trailing Geoffrey. “G-Man’s been collecting pets again,” he informed my stepmother. “Toads this time. I found two of them under the refrigerator.”

  “Cat,” said Geoffrey, pulling his finger out of his mouth and pointing it at me.

  I sucked in my breath. Busted! Fortunately, however, my father completely misinterpreted him.

  “Sorry, buddy. I know you want a cat, but the answer is still no. And no toads, either.”

  My little brother desperately wants a pet. He points to every kitten and puppy he sees, but he can’t have one because Iz is allergic.

  My stepsister breezed in just then, her hair wrapped in a towel. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Why’s everyone crammed in my room?”

  Our room, I wanted to say, but didn’t, of course. My lips were firmly sealed for the time being.

  Iz bent down and plucked another diamond from the drift of daisy petals that fluttered to my stepsister’s feet. “Just collecting cell phones,” she told her, staring at the gem. “Your stepfather and I have discussed it, and we think it’s best to keep this, uh, development under our hats for the moment.”

  “Mo-om!” protested Olivia, clutching her cell phone to her chest. My stepsister’s cell phone is her life. “What’s the big deal?”

  Iz pointed to the pile of snapdragons that her protest had produced. “That’s the big deal,” she said. “We don’t need word of this getting out to anyone. Not until we figure out a solution. Understood?”

  Olivia heaved a dramatic sigh, and a dandelion puff arced from her mouth to the floor. Then she nodded reluctantly.

  “Good,” said Iz, prying her cell phone away. “I’m going to go call the school.” She and my father left with Geoffrey, shutting our bedroom door behind them.

  Olivia flopped down on her bed. “You’re quiet this morning,” she said, showering her pillow with what looked like columbine.

  I shrugged, and she looked at me with sudden suspicion. “Hey, you’re not, you know”—she pointed to her mouth—“like me, are you?”

  I almost laughed. Like you? As if! Instead I shook my head, then clutched my throat and grimaced. I would have ventured a cough, but I was worried that it might result in a toad.

  “You think you have a sore throat!” Olivia sighed dramatically again, catching another dandelion puff in her cupped hands. “You should try dealing with this.” She gestured at the flowers that were piling up on her bedspread.

  You are so clueless, I thought bitterly. Turning my back on her, I reached into my backpack and pulled out a book.

  Somehow I managed to make it through the rest of the morning without speaking. Everyone was so wrapped up in my stepsister that it wasn’t all that difficult. Between phone calls to Portland’s big research hospital, in hopes of finding a specialist who might be able to cure Olivia, my father and Iz kept coming in to check and see if maybe her affliction was only temporary and had worn off. No such luck, of course. Only Geoffrey kept a wary eye on me. He didn’t say anything else, though, and I hoped that after a while he’d think this morning was just a weird dream.

  Olivia was thrilled to be the center of attention and kept up a steady stream of chatter, squealing whenever she produced another diamond. By lunchtime she had quite a collection. Iz slipped out toward the middle of the afternoon and drove downtown to a jewelry store to have them checked out. She returned home looking thunderstruck.

  “They’re real,” she said to my father. “Every one of them.”

  My father smiled weakly. “Well, I guess we can be grateful your college education is now paid for,” he told Olivia.

  She gave me a smug look, as if maybe she’d planned the whole thing. My stepsister’s predicament didn’t seem to be disturbing her all that much, and I fought the urge to blurt out a toad and scare the socks off her. Miss Prissy Pants hated anything to do with the outdoors, especially insects and creepy-crawlies. When we were little she used to cry just at the sight of an earthworm on the sidewalk after a rainstorm, and I could only imagine what she’d do if I unleashed an amphibian or two.

  My father and Iz called a family meeting after dinner.

  “We’ve been talking, Olivia, and we don’t think we should let you go back to school tomorrow,” my stepmother began.

  “Mo-om!” she protested amid a gust of poppies.
“Why not? It’s not like I’m sick or something. It’s boring being stuck in my room with nobody for company.”

  “You’ve got Cat,” her mother corrected her.

  “She doesn’t count.”

  “Olivia!”

  “Well, she doesn’t,” Olivia retorted, spitting out a small shard of ice. Or what looked like ice. It was another diamond, of course.

  My stepmother took it from her and tucked it into the black velvet drawstring bag she’d been using to hold the other gems. She sighed. “The thing is, this—whatever it is of yours—is bound to attract a lot of attention, and that’s not necessarily a good thing.”

  Olivia lifted a shoulder. “What if I promise not to talk? I can pretend to have laryngitis too, just like Cat.”

  “Cat is not pretending!” said Iz, coming stoutly to my defense. I dropped my gaze, feeling guilty. I don’t like to deceive anyone, especially not my stepmother. But what other choice did I have?

  All of a sudden a stricken look crossed Olivia’s face. “What about the talent show?” she cried. “You’ve got to at least let me go back to school for the talent show tomorrow night!”

  “We’ll have to wait and see what the doctor says,” her mother told her. “We’ve managed to track down someone who may be able to help you.”

  Good luck with that, I thought grimly.

  “And this week is Field Trip Friday, too!” my stepsister wailed, gushing out an enormous hydrangea blossom. “We’re supposed to go to the zoo!”

  Geoffrey did his little happy-feet dance. The zoo is my little brother’s favorite place, and Iz had promised to bring him along when she chaperoned.

  “Like I said, we’ll have to wait and see,” Iz repeated.

  My father turned to me. “How about you, Cat? You seem to be feeling better.”

  I nodded, then wrote: Yeah, but I still can’t talk.

  “Hmm,” said my dad. “I’m going to see if Dr. Douglass can fit you in after we finish with Olivia tomorrow. But I don’t see any reason you can’t go back to school meanwhile. As long as you promise you won’t breathe a word of what’s happened here today, okay?”