Read Online Once Upon a Toad by Heather Vogel Frederick - Free Book Online Page A

up there!” my father shouted, his muffled voice rising through the floorboards.
    â€œSorry!” I called back, releasing yet another toad.
    As impossible as it seemed, this wasn’t a dream, it was really happening. I moved across the attic, as far from Dad and Iz’s bedroom below as possible. I wanted to try an experiment.
    â€œGood morning,” I whispered: one toad. “Good morning,” I sang: two toads. Ditto for humming. I made a mental note to myself to avoid music. Except for whistling. Whistling didn’t produce toads, for some reason.
    Pretty much everything else did, however, and three minutes later the attic was carpeted with them. It didn’t matter how loud or soft I said anything, whether I sang or spoke, or what language I chose to speak in—French (“ Bonjour! ”), German (“ Guten Morgen! ”), Spanish (“ Buenos días! ”), or Swahili (“ Jambo! ”)— every time I opened my mouth and made a noise, a toad appeared.
    I watched unhappily as they hopped, scrabbled, and skittered off across the floor. There were twenty-seven by my count, most of them looking as dazed as I felt.
    What the heck was I going to do? I knew I should probably go downstairs and talk to my father and Iz, but what exactly was I supposed to tell them? That I’d suddenly turned into a freak show?
    Should I call my mother again? A toad infestation of this magnitude absolutely, positively qualified as an emergency. She might even leave the space station and come back to Earth for something like this. This was a hopeful thought. I decided it was worth a try, and began picking my way across the toad minefield toward the attic door. Then I stopped in my tracks.
    Olivia .
    What if my stepsister found out? “Catbox” would seem like a compliment compared to what she’d come up with if she caught me spouting toads. I couldn’t risk it.
    There was only one solution.
    I couldn’t tell anyone.
    Not yet.
    I had to keep this whole thing a secret until I figured out what was happening and until things got back to normal again.
    What if they don’t go back to normal? whispered a little voice in my head. What if you’re stuck like this forever?
    Tears welled up again at this appalling thought, and this time I couldn’t hold them back. Fortunately, it turned out that crying didn’t cause toads, nor did snuffling. What it did cause, unfortunately, was sympathetic croaking. The toads I had already produced, including the one still stuffed into my bathrobe pocket, interpreted my sounds as some sort of amphibian song or distress signal, and they began to chorus back to me from all corners of the attic.
    A toad’s croak is not like the ribbit sound a frog makes. It’smore like a creaky hinge. A single toad isn’t all that loud, but twenty-seven of them croaking in unison is enough to wake the dead.
    â€œWHAT IS GOING ON UP THERE?” my father yelled, and this time I heard his footsteps pounding up the attic stairs.
    I picked up the hem of my bathrobe and flapped it frantically at the toads in an attempt to scatter them under the eaves. My father couldn’t know about this. Not yet.
    â€œNothing!” I called back, adding yet another to the amphibian population. Twenty-eight, I thought, counting automatically. “I’m just—uh—practicing my bassoon. For the talent show.” Twenty-nine and thirty .
    â€œFor crying out loud, Cat, it’s six thirty in the morning! Put that thing away!” The door started to open, then halted as a bloodcurdling scream echoed down the second-floor hallway.
    â€œMom!” screeched Olivia. “Help me!”
    I heard my father’s footsteps pounding back down the attic stairs. I crossed swiftly to the door, opened it, and listened.
    â€œWhat’s happening to me?” I heard my stepsister wail.
    Was Olivia afflicted with toads too? It would certainly level the