Stop That Frog!

by Henry Winkler

  There cannot be enough dedications to my incredible partner, Lin Oliver, who is a creative surprise every day. And to Stacey always—HW

  For Carcake and Froggy, with hopes that life in the puddle treated you well—LO

  To Mum and Dad, for never telling me to get a proper job!—SG

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Text copyright © 2014 by Henry Winkler and Lin Oliver Productions, Inc. Illustrations copyright © 2014 by Scott Garrett. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York, 10014.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN 978-0-698-19314-7

  Version_1

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  “Today is a very special Wednesday,” Ms. Flowers said to our class. “Can anyone tell me why?”

  My hand shot up high in the air. “Because I changed my underpants this morning!” I shouted out proudly, without even waiting to be called on.

  The whole class burst out laughing.

  “As you can see, Hank,” Ms. Flowers said, “we are all very pleased for you. But your underpants are not exactly what I had in mind.”

  Before she could call on anyone else, our classroom door swung open, and Principal Love came in. He was carrying a tall glass tank with a bunch of leafy green plants at the bottom. As usual, he was wearing his Velcro sneakers, which squeaked when he walked in.

  “Class, everyone say hello to Principal Love,” Ms. Flowers said.

  “Good morning, Principal Love,” we all said at the same time.

  “And don’t forget to say good morning to Fred,” he answered, pointing to the tank. “Fred’s a little sleepyhead in the morning, aren’t you, buddy?”

  I squinted my eyes and looked at the tank. Who or what was Fred? Suddenly, a green blob with a pinkish belly and white spots on its back sprang out from behind a plastic log and attached itself to the side of the glass.

  “There you are, you little froggy,” Principal Love said. Then, turning to us, he added, “He wants to say hello because he’s going to be a member of your class until next Monday.”

  “Does he know that we have a big spelling test this Friday?” my best friend Ashley Wong asked.

  “Yeah, it’s full of hard words like ‘beautiful,’” my other best friend Frankie Townsend added.

  “That’s not a hard word for him,” Principal Love said, “because he is such a beautiful frog.”

  “You call that thing beautiful?” Nick McKelty snickered. “It’s all green and bumpy.”

  “Green is my favorite color,” Katie Sperling said. “And besides, I think frogs are cute.”

  “I like to watch them suck bugs right out of the air and swallow them whole,” Luke Whitman said. That didn’t surprise me, because Luke likes everything gross. The grosser the better.

  “Well, my pal Fred here likes to dine on crickets,” Principal Love said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a plastic container that had a whole bunch of crickets hopping around inside.

  “Since I’m going to be away at a conference, Ms. Flowers has kindly agreed to have Fred stay in your classroom until I return. So I’ve brought him enough dinner to keep his tummy nice and full while I’m gone.”

  “Eeuuwww,” Katie Sperling said. “I can’t believe he wants to eat those gross things.”

  “He probably thinks cheeseburgers are gross,” Ashley pointed out to her.

  Everyone laughed. It was going to be fun to have a frog in our class. I especially liked having him there because it meant that I wasn’t going to be the slowest reader anymore. I’m not very good at reading, but even I can read better than a frog.

  “I promised Principal Love that we would all take very good care of Fred,” Ms. Flowers said.

  “He is my special pet, a White’s tree frog,” the principal explained. “I’ve had him for eight years.”

  “That makes him exactly our age,” Frankie said.

  “When’s his birthday?” Ashley asked. “We could bake him cricket cupcakes.”

  “Yeah, with worm frosting,” Luke Whitman added. “I’ll eat one of those.”

  Principal Love was not amused. In fact, he seemed angry. The muscles in his face started to twitch, which made the mole on his cheek that looks like the Statue of Liberty without the torch seem like it was doing the hula.

  “There is nothing funny about taking proper care of my prized frog,” he said. “I trust that you will all give him the love and respect that he deserves.”

  “Oh, you can count on that, Principal Love,” Ms. Flowers said. “You can go to your conference knowing that Fred is safe with us. Isn’t that right, class?”

  We all nodded so hard our heads almost rolled off our necks.

  “Then I will see you all on Monday,” Principal Love said. And turning to Fred, he said, “You be a good frog and remember the rules we discussed. No croaking during pop quizzes. No jumping on anyone’s nose. And finish one cricket before you ask for seconds.”

  He put his hand on the glass, and Fred extended his front leg to meet Principal Love’s fingers. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. They were shaking hands and saying good-bye.

  Ms. Flowers walked Principal Love to the door. Then she carried Fred’s tank over to the bookshelf that’s under the window. She opened the blinds so Fred could look out on the playground and see the kids playing at recess. I don’t actually know if frogs like handball, but I could tell that Fred had a very good view of the handball court.

  We talked about all the things we would have to do to make Fred happy and comfortable in our class. Frankie volunteered to pick out frog-appropriate music and make a playlist for Fred. Ashley took on the responsibility of misting his tank with water, which kept the temperature froggy-comfortable. Luke wanted to chop up the crickets, but Ms. Flowers said that she thought Fred liked them whole.

  “The last thing we have to decide,” Ms. Flowers said, “is who gets to take Fred home over the weekend.”

  Everybody wanted that job. We all waved our hands in front of her face at the same time, saying, “Me! Me! Me!”

  “Well, let’s wait and see,” Ms. Flowers said. “We’ll observe Fred very carefully over the next few days. Maybe he’ll give us a clue whom
he’d like to go home with.”

  When the recess bell rang, everyone ran out of the classroom but me. I hung back and went over to Fred’s tank. I pulled up Katie Sperling’s desk chair and just watched Fred poking around in the leaves. I stared at him with all my might, and he stared back at me with his droopy, froggy eyes. I never took my eyes off him, and he never took his eyes off me.

  Call me crazy, but I’ll tell you this: I felt like I knew exactly what Fred was thinking.

  I don’t want to brag, but of all the kids in our class, I’m sure Fred liked me best. When it was feeding time, three kids got to drop a live cricket into his tank. I didn’t get a chance to feed him, but when I put my hand into his tank to change his water, he’d jump into my palm and sit there for a long time.

  On Thursday, when I put my face next to the glass, he hopped out from underneath the leaves. He jumped onto the glass next to my face and shot his tongue out, just like my dog, Cheerio, does when I come home from school.

  On Friday, I took over the job of misting his tank with water. When I did it, he hopped off his log and let the drops of water fall down on him like a shower.

  People don’t usually think of frogs as cute. But I’m telling you this: Fred was the cutest.

  Before lunch on Friday, Ms. Flowers told us it was time to pick who would get to take Fred home for the weekend. Katie Sperling raised her hand.

  “I nominate Hank,” she said. “Everybody can see how much Fred likes him, and how well Hank takes care of him.”

  “That’s because they both have webbed feet,” Nick McKelty shouted out. “And slimy skin.”

  “Okay, that’s enough, Nick,” Ms. Flowers said. “Does anyone else have a nomination?”

  “Yeah,” McKelty called out. “I nominate myself.”

  Ms. Flowers wrote both our names on the board. “Boys, can you each tell us what would make Fred’s visit to your house special?” Ms. Flowers asked.

  “Yeah,” McKelty said. “I’ll teach that slimy frog to dance. I’ll show him some of my awesome moves.”

  “Like tripping over your own big feet?” Katie Sperling said.

  McKelty stuck his tongue out at her. It still had some of his yellow breakfast on it.

  “Hank,” Ms. Flowers said. “Your turn.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I could teach Fred anything,” I said. “But I sure would try to be his friend.”

  “Very good,” Ms. Flowers said.

  “Now can we take a vote?” Ashley asked.

  Ms. Flowers hesitated for a minute, and I noticed she looked a little worried.

  “Before we vote, I want to remind you what a big job it is to take care of another living thing,” she said. “Especially when you are in charge twenty-four hours a day.”

  I could tell that Ms. Flowers was talking directly to me. I’m not always as responsible as I should be. I mean to do the right thing, but sometimes my brain takes a vacation and forgets.

  “Hank, if you win, are you sure you want to take on this responsibility?” Ms. Flowers asked.

  Frankie’s hand shot up in the air. “Ashley and I live in the same apartment building as Hank,” he said. “We will be right there if he needs any help.”

  “Thank you, Frankie,” Ms. Flowers answered. “That’s being a good friend. So . . . all in favor of having Hank take Fred home, raise your hand.” (

  Every hand went up except one. I think you can guess who didn’t vote for me. That’s right. Nick McKelty. He only got one vote and that was his own. Maybe next time he calls me a loser, he’ll think about that!

  When everyone else left for lunch, I stayed with Ms. Flowers to go over all the rules for taking Fred home. She called my mom at our deli, the Crunchy Pickle, and got her permission for Fred to spend the weekend with us. My mom even told her that my grandfather, Papa Pete, would come after school and bring one of our delivery carts from the deli so we could roll Fred’s tank home.

  “It may smell a little like pickles and pastrami,” my mom said. “I hope the frog doesn’t mind.”

  “Oh, he won’t,” I shouted into the phone. “Fred and I like the same things . . . except crickets. I’m not a fan of crunchy crickets.”

  I could hardly wait for school to end. When the bell rang and all the kids filed out of class, Nick McKelty hung around just long enough to make a final nasty comment.

  “I bet you and the frog get married this weekend,” he said. “You make a great couple.”

  I tried to come up with a clever answer, but before I could get one out, he was gone. Just like the bully he is, McKelty likes to say something stupid and then slink away.

  Ms. Flowers put together a weekend bag for Fred. She put in his misting bottle, his container of live crickets, and a list of instructions. The first one she wrote in red to make sure I’d remember it.

  “Make sure you ALWAYS replace the screen cover on top of the tank, so that Fred cannot jump out,” it said.

  “Hank, do I need to go over these instructions again with you?” she asked.

  “No, Ms. Flowers,” I answered with confidence. I knew all the rules, including how and when to feed Fred. “I’ve memorized them ten times,” I told her.

  Ms. Flowers helped Frankie, Ashley, and me carry Fred and his tank downstairs. Papa Pete was waiting at the front door with a metal pushcart from the deli. Wow, my mom wasn’t kidding. You could smell the pickles a mile away.

  “Nice to meet you, Fred,” Papa Pete said as he carefully placed the tank on the cart. “Welcome to Zipzer World. We’ve got a big weekend planned for you. We’ll start with a roller-coaster ride, then a visit to the circus, and finish up with a trip to the top of the Empire State Building.”

  “Really?” Ashley said.

  “No, not really,” I said with a laugh. “Papa Pete is always joking around.”

  “How about we start with a nice roll home,” Papa Pete said. “I’ll get you kids an ice-cream cone on the way. What flavor do you think Fred wants?”

  “A double scoop of cricket,” I said. “With fly sauce instead of chocolate.”

  We all cracked up as we headed down 78th Street toward home. I felt so happy that I wanted to hop, just like Fred. It was going to be a great weekend.

  After we ate our ice cream, we headed right to our apartment. As we walked, I began to wonder whether Cheerio was going to like Fred. Then I started to worry about it.

  “Do dogs and frogs get along?” I asked Papa Pete.

  “It depends on which dog and which frog,” he answered. “If you’re talking about Cheerio, we’ll just have to wait and see how he reacts.”

  We walked into the living room and put Fred’s tank down on the coffee table. Cheerio, who had been asleep, jumped off the couch and sniffed all around the tank. His little nose was working overtime, and his tail was wagging like crazy. And the strange thing was that Fred was not afraid of Cheerio. In fact, he came out from behind the plants in his tank and jumped onto the glass. His bulging little eyes opened wide and stared right into Cheerio’s.

  “Well, look at that,” Papa Pete said. “It looks like they want to meet each other.”

  “Ms. Flowers said it was okay for us to take Fred out of the tank, as long as we keep our eyes on him,” Frankie said.

  “Hank, you should hold him,” Ashley suggested, “since he likes you best.”

  Ashley carefully took the screen top off the tank, and I reached in to pick up Fred. He settled into my hand and never took his eyes off Cheerio.

  Cheerio let out the sweetest little whimper and put his nose right on the top of Fred’s head. Fred let out the funniest little croak you’ve ever heard. That scared Cheerio, who backed up on his short legs.

  “It’s okay, boy,” I said to him. “Fred is just talking to you.”

  “I wonder what he’s saying,” Ashley said.

  B
efore we even had a chance to guess, Fred leaped out of my hands and onto Cheerio’s back. Cheerio waited until Fred was comfortable, then took off trotting around the apartment.

  Fred looked all around, checking out the carpets and furniture legs, croaking happily.

  “Now we know what Fred was saying,” Ashley said as we all laughed. “He was saying, ‘Hey, Cheerio, take me for a ride.’”

  “In all my years,” Papa Pete said, “I have never seen anything like this. It’s amazing.”

  He took out his phone and snapped a picture of Cheerio and Fred.

  “Wait until I show this to my bowling team,” he said. “They’re not going to believe it. I don’t even believe it, and I’m watching it happen!”

  We were so interested in Cheerio and Fred that we didn’t even hear the front door open. It was my dad and my sister, Emily. My dad was carrying a large bunch of red and pink roses.

  “Hi, everyone,” he called out. “Emily and I got your mom’s favorite flowers for her birthday tomorrow. She’s going to be so—”

  He was interrupted by Cheerio, who bolted across the living room to say hello. Fred had to hang on with all four of his little legs. As Cheerio ran across the room, Fred looked like a rodeo star riding a bucking bronco.

  I lunged for him and grabbed him off Cheerio’s back just before he went flying into the air.

  “What is that, and why is it here?” Emily asked, pointing to my hands.

  “It is a he, and his name is Fred. He’s my guest for the weekend.”

  “Have you gotten Katherine’s permission for him to stay here?” she asked. Katherine is Emily’s iguana, who doesn’t have a friendly bone in her body. I could say the same thing about Emily, but I won’t.

  “I’m sure Katherine will be glad to have another reptile in the house,” I told her.

  “Frogs are amphibians, not reptiles,” Emily said in her most know-it-all voice. “Reptiles have scales.”