Once Upon a Toad by Heather Vogel Frederick Page B

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.
    â€œHey,” he said.
    I jerked my chin in response.
    â€œWhere’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.
    â€œToo 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 playedthe 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.
    â€œAh,” 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.
    â€œJust 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’dsuspected, 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.
    â€œPass the ball, Catbox!” she shouted to me from half-court.
    â€œLadies!” 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