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In Memory of Gorfman T. Frog Page 4


  “Let me see!” squealed Charu, peering into the bucket so that her braid practically smothered the poor frog.

  “Hey!” said Josh, pushing past her, but then Diego, a fourth grader, stuck his hand into the bucket.

  “I touched it!” he crowed, and turning to his seat-mate, demanded, “You owe me a dollar.”

  Josh had the feeling you got when you tried to put on a too-small shirt and your head got stuck and you couldn’t see and you couldn’t breathe and you wanted to scream Get me out of here! He had to get himself and Gorfman off the bus, fast. He tried to move down the aisle, but Payson stood up and blocked the way.

  “Let me hold Freaky Froggy,” said Payson. “Come on, Josh.”

  How could he have ever imagined that he and Payson were going to be best friends again this year? He didn’t want to be any kind of friend with Payson anymore.

  “No,” said Josh, but it was too late.

  Payson reached into the bucket, held up the frog, and yelled, “Freaky froggy alert!”

  “Put it back!” said Josh. He felt his face growing hot.

  “Whoa,” said Payson. “He’s getting the balloon face again. Watch out, he’s about to pop!”

  “You better put it back!” shouted Josh.

  Somebody cried encouragingly, “Fight!”

  The bus driver roared, “Everybody sit down or this bus-cam is going straight to the superintendent!”

  Josh stumbled through the next few moments—Payson putting back the frog, kids sitting down, him following Cady and Michael up the aisle and down the steps. The doors pulled shut and the bus chugged away.

  “Wow,” said Michael. “You okay?”

  “Saved by the bus driver,” groaned Josh. “How humiliating.”

  Chapter 6

  Free to Go

  Josh headed toward the backyard with Michael following, and knelt down beside the patio pool. Gently, he tilted the bucket.

  The frog slid into the pool and bobbed up and down like a buoy as the water sloshed back and forth. For a minute it dangled there, head barely above the surface.

  After what felt like an hour, Gorfman gave a kick and glided across the pool. Reaching a rock, it clambered on, half in and half out of the water.

  “Go on, Gorfman,” murmured Josh. “You’re free now. You can go.”

  But Gorfman wasn’t going anywhere. His throat pulsed and his eyes blinked. That was all. A hawk flew overhead and made a ring around the sky, then veered off over the woods at the edge of the yard.

  “Come on,” Josh said to Michael. “I’ll show you something.”

  Josh kicked off his sneakers and peeled off his socks. So did Michael. Bare feet felt good. Honey-bees were out roaming the yard, so Josh was careful to sidestep any dandelions that buzzed.

  At the edge of the lawn the warm, springy grass started to feel cool and soggy. Then squishy.

  Josh climbed over an old falling-down stone wall that marked the end of where he had to mow and the beginning of the woods.

  Michael followed. “This is awesome,” he said approvingly.

  After a few minutes of bushwhacking through stands of saplings and ferns, Josh pointed to a clump of skunk cabbages. “Check it out,” he said. “It’s a vernal pool. It’s here every spring and then it dries up.”

  “Awesome,” said Michael again. “You think Gorfman came from here?”

  “Maybe last year he did. Then he hibernated for the winter.” Josh started to say, “But maybe there’s—” when he and Michael both spotted them.

  “Tadpoles!” they shouted at the same time.

  Josh and Michael spent the rest of the afternoon catching and releasing tadpoles. They got totally soaked but they didn’t care. They scooped up tadpoles as small as Josh’s thumbnail and as big as his thumb. Josh talked nonstop, and Michael didn’t mind. Josh was surprised that Michael talked nonstop, too.

  “Think they’re the same species as Gorfman?” asked Michael.

  “Could be,” answered Josh. He dipped his cupped hands into the water and pulled up a tadpole. “They could even be his descendants!”

  “What if they’re deformed?” said Michael, wading in deeper. “What if Gorfman had some kind of disease and he gave it to them?” He sounded worried.

  Josh lowered his hands until they filled with water and the tadpole slipped out and wriggled away. “I wish we knew if Gorfman was messed up from the beginning—like, doomed—or if he started out okay and then something went wrong.”

  “Something like what?” asked Michael.

  Josh was standing knee-deep in the middle of the pool. “Like . . . there was something in the water?”

  “Like I’m outta here!” said Michael.

  They were both laughing, but they came out of the water, flopped down on the ground, and talked about what to do next.

  Maybe they should rescue the tadpoles. They could catch them and put them in the patio pool. But they didn’t know if the water in the vernal pool was good or bad. They didn’t know if the water in the patio pool was good or bad, either. They didn’t even know if water had anything to do with what went wrong with Gorfman.

  Josh and Michael hung out by the vernal pool all afternoon, until the peepers were starting their end-of-the-day peepfest and it was time for Michael to go home.

  Josh led the way back through the woods. They stopped at the patio so Michael could say goodbye to Gorfman.

  Gorfman was still sitting on the rock, same as before. The peepers were peeping away. The sun hadn’t set, but its warmth was all gone, like a bath you’d sat in too long.

  Michael said, “Bye, Gorfman,” to the frog, and he asked Josh, “What are you going to do with him now?”

  Josh surveyed the grassy lawn, then the edge of the yard, out toward the place where the skunk cabbages grew. Where the tadpoles were. In the house, someone switched on a light, which made the woods seem even darker.

  Part of Josh was curious. He wanted to put Gorfman back in the bucket so he’d for sure be there tomorrow.

  Another part of Josh felt guilty. Gorfman looked worse than when he’d first found him. Maybe the terrarium hadn’t been a good place for him. The guilty part of Josh wanted to take Gorfman into the woods and release him in the vernal pool.

  But which was the right home for Gorfman? Where would he want to live?

  It was too big a decision for Josh to make. “I think I’ll just leave him where I found him,” he answered.

  If Gorfman wanted—if he was even able—then he was free to go.

  “Josh!” Josh’s mom was calling. “Joshua!” her voice came up the stairs. “Are you up?”

  Josh forced his eyes open. He definitely needed more sleep. But if he missed the bus again . . .

  His mother shouted, “Joshua Tree Hewitt, you have a game in forty-five minutes!”

  Game?

  The game! That meant there wasn’t a bus to miss! It wasn’t a school day. It was Saturday and he had a game! He rehearsed the hit he was going to make. Thwack—zoom—yes!

  No—

  Wait a minute—

  First he had to check on Gorfman.

  Josh scrambled out of bed and ran downstairs. In the kitchen Cady was eating breakfast, and his mom was packing rice cakes and water bottles into a canvas bag.

  “Where’s your uniform?” asked his mother.

  “Just a sec!” Josh called without stopping. He banged through the back door and down the porch steps.

  There was Gorfman! He was still there! He was swimming in the water! Josh’s heart gave a little jump inside him, and so did Josh, leaping to the patio.

  Then his heart took a dive. Gorfman wasn’t swimming. He was floating, belly-up. Gorfman was still there because he was dead.

  Chapter 7

  Suspended

  Wading into the water, Josh picked up the frog and sat down at the edge of the pool. The frog felt limp and heavy in the palms of his hands, and the legs didn’t fight to get away anymore. They just hung down. The skin wa
s cold.

  Josh felt sick. His insides felt the way the frog looked—all heavy and limp.

  Josh’s mom stood at the back door. “Josh, honey, time to go,” she called.

  Josh looked up. “What?”

  “Time to go,” she said. “Your game starts in half an hour. I made you an egg sandwich to eat in the car, but if you don’t hustle and get dressed you’ll be late.”

  “Mom,” said Josh. “He’s dead.”

  His mom made a funny, wrinkled-up face and hurried over. “Oh, honey,” she said. “No!” She sat down beside Josh, put her arm around his shoulder, and squeezed him toward her.

  His mom’s hug made Josh feel funny, as if he might—he didn’t know—cry or something. He shrugged his shoulders to make her arm slide off him.

  “Do you want to skip the game today?”

  “I can’t!” he cried. “You can’t just not show up!”

  “We can explain to your coach that you weren’t feeling well.”

  “But I’m not sick! It’s not like I threw up or have a fever or something.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re feeling up to playing.”

  “I can’t just not show up!” he shouted. “What about being on a team? Not letting down your team-mates! I have to go! What about all your lectures on commitments?”

  “You don’t have to go,” she said. “But you do have to make up your mind instead of turning this into an argument with me. If you’re going, get dressed and get in the car!” She stood up, took a deep breath, and said in a calmer voice, “You have five minutes to decide.”

  Josh hated it when grown-ups pretended you had a choice when you really didn’t.

  He went inside, ran upstairs, and tugged on his uniform, then ran out to where the whole family was waiting in the car.

  His dad started the engine, and his mom thrust a tinfoil package at him.

  Josh unwrapped the foil, and the smell of cooked egg steamed up. He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. But it didn’t exactly feel right. His stomach was saying: no food allowed. Josh wrapped the sandwich back up.

  Cady looked up from her book—this one had a white horse on the cover—and said, “Sorry about your frog.”

  “Thanks,” Josh muttered.

  “Cady,” said their father, “don’t bother your brother.”

  “What,” protested Cady. “Should I just pretend nothing happened?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it,” said their mother.

  His mom and dad started lecturing Cady about not invading people’s privacy. Usually Josh would have been happy that Cady was getting in trouble instead of him. But he couldn’t feel happy about anything right now. He just had that no-food-allowed feeling in his stomach. He looked out the window as they sped past the gas station, then the field full of wild lupines, then the school, and then they were pulling into the parking lot of the Hollison Parks and Rec fields.

  “Later!” said Cady, scrambling from the car and running toward the playground.

  “Later,” echoed Josh. He got out and headed toward his team. Everyone was there—Payson and the two Bens and some homeschool kids and Cameron, the coach’s kid. Cameron was only nine, but he played on this team because his dad had been drilling the kid since he could walk.

  Coach Bell was bald, and Josh could never stop the little ditty that sang in his head: Bald Bell has the bat, bald Bell has the ball.

  Coach Bell scowled at Josh. “You’re late.” He was a stickler for punctuality.

  Josh started to explain, but he didn’t get any further than the word “I—” before the coach held up his hand.

  “We don’t have time for one of your explanations, Mr. Hewitt. These kids have already warmed up, so I guess you’d better do the same. Take two laps, please. Now.”

  Josh took off around the diamond. Coach Bell acted like he was just making him warm up, but Josh knew it was punishment. He wasn’t stupid! He ran out to first base, then to second, then down the third base line, past the opposing team in their dugout. Some of the kids pointed at him. Now he rounded home and started down the first base line again.

  Payson called out, “Hey, you might go faster if you had another leg!”

  Josh stopped, panting. “What did you say?”

  “You need another leg, like your freaky froggy.” Payson laughed.

  “That’s not funny!” shouted Josh. “You can’t make fun of my frog!”

  “I’m just kidding!” said Payson. “You don’t need to go all ballistic—I mean balloony!”

  “Whoa!” said Cameron. “I think Josh looks a little upset!”

  “I’m not upset!” said Josh, clenching his hands into balls.

  “One more lap, Mr. Hewitt,” called the coach.

  “Ribbit!” said Payson, laughing. “Ribbit!”

  Josh flew at Payson. “You can’t say that!”

  Big-and-solid Payson looked surprised, but not so surprised that he couldn’t put up his arms to fend Josh off. They collided, and Josh started hitting and Payson started shoving.

  Kids were shouting and Cameron called, “Dad! Dad!”

  It was almost like he and Payson were just rough-and-tumbling, like they used to do. Except this time it counted.

  Payson lunged and grabbed Josh’s arm, and they both went down together. Josh slammed onto the hard dirt with Payson on top of him.

  The fall knocked the wind out of Josh. It felt sort of like when you swallowed water. His lungs didn’t work right and he couldn’t catch his breath. And it hurt.

  Payson was crushing him. Josh wanted to say “Get Off!” but he couldn’t even breathe right, let alone talk. Josh had to get him off. He swung his arm and got Payson right in the face. Blood started oozing out of Payson’s nose.

  Josh felt a hand wrap around his wrist and drag him up from the ground.

  “Mr. Hewitt,” said Coach Bell, still holding Josh’s wrist. “You are suspended from today’s game.”

  Josh felt as if he’d just stepped off a roller coaster. Everything was a crazy blur. Bright red blood gushing out of Payson’s nose. Bald Bell whipping out a white handkerchief. His mom and dad rushing over, each grabbing an arm, steering him away.

  “I knew this was a bad idea,” said his mother. “You were so upset about that frog. You should have just stayed home.”

  Josh opened his mouth to answer, but he was still working on breathing. All he could do was make a little squeaking noise.

  “Hey,” said his dad. “Maybe now we can talk without being interrupted.”

  “I don’t think that’s funny, David,” said Josh’s mom. Her face was sort of crumpled, like she was trying not to cry.

  “Okay, okay. I know it hurts. But seriously, what are we doing here? What’s the consequence for this behavior?”

  “Maybe he shouldn’t go tonight,” said his mom.

  “To Matt and Lacey’s? Why’s that?”

  “Just because he wants to. Maybe you shouldn’t get to give someone a bloody nose, and then go have a fun sleepover at your grandparents’.”

  Josh was pretty sure they wouldn’t be talking like this if he was talking, too. It was weird. It was kind of like he wasn’t even there. Just because he wasn’t talking.

  His dad shook his head. “I don’t think so, Jilly. The coach has already suspended him from the game. Besides, that’s not fair to Matt and Lacey.”

  Josh’s mom shrugged. “I know.”

  “Please,” Josh managed to squeak. Matt and Lacey had chickens and they let him watch television and everybody talked and interrupted each other and didn’t get mad about it. “Please, can I still go tonight?”

  His mom and dad looked at him. Looked at each other. Looked at him. Josh could practically see the gears moving in their brains.

  He should be punished.

  But Matt and Lacey shouldn’t be.

  But he should. But they shouldn’t.

  The way Josh saw it, his parents wanted to get rid of him, and Matt and Lacey wanted to s
ee him, and he wanted to go. Everybody wanted it. But he could still see his mom hesitating, like it might be better to say no, and make everybody unhappy instead.

  Cady came galloping up. “Mom,” she panted. “Can I sleep over at Becca’s tonight? Her mom said it was okay.”

  “So can I please go, Mom?” asked Josh.

  He knew better than to ask for his own sake. He had to make it sound like it was for somebody—anybody—else. “You’re always saying you and Dad should have some quality time where the kids aren’t interrupting, and now you could have a date and you wouldn’t even need to pay a babysitter!”

  His dad shook his head, smiling. “Got your voice back, huh?”

  “So is it okay?”

  “Okay, okay,” said his mom. “You can go. But you need to apologize to Payson and the coach, right now.”

  When you had a fight, grown-ups wanted you to make up. They wanted one kid to say “Sorry” and the other kid to say “Okay.” Josh didn’t understand why grown-ups didn’t understand that that wasn’t how kids made up. But he did know that if he didn’t say the right thing right now, he couldn’t go to Matt and Lacey’s.

  Josh looked over to where Coach Bell and Payson were sitting on a bench. Payson was holding a towel to his nose.

  Last year they’d had a whole unit called “Working It Out!” with Ms. Kovich-Carey, the social worker. Josh had turned out to be really good at role-playing, so Ms. Kovich-Carey used to call on him to act out little skits, like inviting a friend over, or apologizing. Luckily Josh actually remembered the three parts to a good apology. Say you’re sorry. Say what you did. Include the person’s name.

  Josh drew a big, bracing breath and walked over to where Payson was sitting. “Sorry I punched you, Payson. I shouldn’t have done that. Sorry I was late and talked back, Coach Bell.”

  “Thank you, Josh,” said Coach Bell. “What do you say, Payson?”