Jennifer Murdley's Toad Page 3

  Good luck,

  S. H. Elives

  P.S. You should probably be aware of one more thing. When asked a direct question, the toad can only respond with the truth.

  Jennifer folded the note and stashed it in her pocket.

  “Well,” said Bufo, “what did it say?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  The toad looked indignant. “What do you mean by that?”

  Jennifer shrugged. “Mr. Elives forbid me to repeat it.”

  Bufo blinked twice, then began to pace back and forth in front of the terrarium. “Of all the nerve,” he muttered angrily. “When I think of the things I’ve done for him. And to repay me like this! The nerve! The nerve of the man!”

  Jennifer watched the toad for a moment, then returned her attention to Brandon’s phone.

  “Do you suppose that was Mr. Elives calling?”

  “Who knows?” replied Bufo crankily. “Now that I’m around, anything is possible.”

  Jennifer blinked. “Do you mean that?” she asked nervously.

  “Of course,” said Bufo, jumping for the edge of the tank and scrambling back inside. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondered,” she said, without specifying that the reason she wondered had to do with the last line of Mr. Elives’ note: “When asked a direct question, the toad can only respond with the truth.”

  Combining that with the statement “Now that I’m around, anything is possible” was enough to make a person very nervous indeed.

  Later that night, when Jennifer was trying to go to sleep, Bufo croaked, “I’m hungry.”

  Jennifer didn’t answer.

  “I’m hungry,” repeated the toad, this time more loudly.

  Jennifer rolled over, trying to ignore him.

  “FEED ME!” bellowed Bufo.

  “Be quiet!” hissed Jennifer, sitting up in her bed. “You’ll wake my parents.”

  “Well, I’m hungry,” muttered Bufo peevishly.

  Jennifer sighed. “What do you want to eat?”

  “Flies!”

  “Don’t be disgusting. Besides, I don’t have any.”

  “Then I’ll settle for some raw hamburger.”

  Sighing again, Jennifer got out of bed and poked her feet into her fluffy bunny slippers. A few minutes later she was back with a bit of hamburger.

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” said Bufo in an odd voice as Jennifer placed the meat in the terrarium.

  “What did you call me?” she asked, yanking her hand away.

  “Sweetheart,” said Bufo in that same odd, throaty voice. Then, seeing the look on her face, he added, “Oh, don’t get nervous. I’m not going to ask you to kiss me to break a spell or anything like that. I am not a prince in disguise.”

  That was a relief. Jennifer had been half expecting the toad to ask her for a kiss all day. Without realizing it, she wiped her lips. “Then why did you call me sweetheart?”

  Bufo looked crushed. “You didn’t recognize that?”

  “Recognize what?”

  “My Humphrey Bogart imitation! I was doing Bogey and you didn’t even know it!” He turned away from her, his bumpy brown shoulders slumping morosely. “Gad, this is humiliating.”

  “But I don’t even know who Humphrey Bogart is,” said Jennifer, bewildered.

  Bufo whirled around. “You don’t know Bogey? What do they teach you in these schools?”

  “Not much,” said Jennifer glumly.

  “I should say not,” snorted Bufo. “Not knowing a great actor like Humphrey Bogart . . . it’s . . . it’s . . . appalling!”

  “An actor?” Jennifer loved movies. “Does he have a new film coming out?”

  “He’s been dead for decades.”

  Jennifer’s face fell. “Then what good is he?”

  “That’s the problem with the youth of America,” said Bufo, his voice totally different from before. “They have forgotten how to honor the past.”

  Jennifer’s eyes widened. “I know that voice! It’s the president!”

  “It’s nice to know you’re not totally ignorant,” said Bufo.

  “Don’t be so rude. How do you do that?”

  “It’s my birthright,” he said in a high voice. “I’m a tongue toad.”

  Jennifer’s eyes grew even wider. “That’s my voice!”

  She put her hand to her throat, as if to make sure her voice box was still there.

  Bufo beamed at her. “You got it, kiddo,” he said, doing Bogart again.

  “Can you do anyone?” she asked, fascinated.

  “Anyone or anything. I do a mean tiger, a superb hyena, and a pitch-perfect humpback whale. I also do traffic sounds, jackhammers, and chain-saws. Wanna hear my version of Niagara Falls?”

  “Yes,” said Jennifer, fascinated. “I mean, no! You’ll wake up my parents.”

  Bufo shrugged. “Some other time,” he said in his own voice. “Right now, I want to eat my hamburger.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “I am,” replied the toad smugly.

  But Jennifer didn’t hear him. She was heading for her bed, one thought bouncing through her head: I wonder if he can imitate Sharra Moncrieffe?

  The thought stayed with her as she drifted off to sleep. After a while she dreamed, a familiar dream in which she was the most beautiful girl in the school. She loved the dream because of the way it made her feel, and hated it as well, because sometimes it was so vivid that when she woke up and went into the bathroom she was shocked to see her real face.

  In her dream she heard someone weeping. After a while she realized it wasn’t in the dream after all. Someone was weeping. She opened her eyes. The room was dark.

  The weeping continued.

  It took her a moment to realize that it could only be coming from Bufo.

  FOUR

  The First Kiss

  Jennifer slept fitfully for the rest of the night. She wanted to speak to Bufo, but it was clear that he thought that she was asleep and could not hear him. She had cried in the dark enough times herself to know that he wouldn’t appreciate being questioned.

  She dreamed, off and on, of toads and princesses. When the morning sun roused her and she saw Bufo sitting on her pillow staring at her, she wondered for a moment if she were still asleep.

  “It’s about time you woke up,” he croaked.

  Suddenly Jennifer knew that this was no dream. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m bored.”

  “Well, it’s not my job to entertain you!”

  “Don’t you want me to feel welcome?” asked the toad, pitching his voice a little higher. He seemed to be on the verge of tears. After what she had heard last night, Jennifer might have fallen for it, if she hadn’t heard that same voice in an old movie the weekend before.

  “Drop the Shirley Temple imitation,” she snapped. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  Bufo looked sullen. “I’m still bored,” he said, this time in his own voice.

  Jennifer hesitated for a moment. “Well, you can come to school with me if you want,” she said at last. “That is, if you think you can behave.”

  “School!” Bufo cried. “Ack! Gag! Barf!” He turned around and began to make throwing-up noises.

  “Oh, calm down,” said Jennifer. “If I can cope with it, you can.”

  “I was merely expressing an opinion,” said Bufo. “I would be pleased to accompany you on your day’s rounds.”

  Suddenly Jennifer wondered whether she should have kept her mouth shut.

  “That’s the first time I ever saw someone get oatmeal in his own hair,” said Bufo as they headed down the front steps after breakfast.

  “Neatness is not Skippy’s specialty,” said Jennifer.

  Bufo was riding on her shoulder, so they could talk while they walked. If they saw anyone else coming, he was to go into the shoe box she had tucked under her arm.

  They had walked a few blocks, chatting companionably, when he muttered, “Trouble at ten o’clock!” His voice sounded li
ke that of a bomber pilot in an old movie.

  “Huh?”

  “There’s someone ahead and to your left,” he said, sounding exasperated.

  Looking in the direction Bufo indicated, Jennifer saw Sharra Moncrieffe heading straight toward them. Scooping Bufo off her shoulder, Jennifer dropped him into the shoe box.

  “Hey, Murdley!” called Sharra. “What are you wearing today—your father’s boxer shorts?” Without waiting for Jennifer to answer, she asked, “What’s in the box?”

  “It’s a toad,” Jennifer replied cautiously.

  “A toad! Grossamundo!”

  At Sharra’s cry of disgust an indignant thump sounded from the box.

  Sharra’s eyes went wide. “Wow. He must be a big one.”

  “Very,” said Jennifer proudly.

  “Let me see.”

  Jennifer eyed Sharra suspiciously.

  “What do you think I’m going to do?” asked Sharra. “Steal it? Who wants an old toad, anyway?”

  THUMP.

  “I’m just afraid he’ll jump out of the box,” said Jennifer. Which was the truth, though she didn’t add she was even more afraid of what Bufo might try to do to Sharra once he was out.

  “Oh, you can catch him again. Let me see.”

  Reluctantly, Jennifer lifted the lid of the shoe box. Bufo sat hunched in one corner, glaring murderously at Sharra.

  “Oooh, he’s an ugly one, isn’t he?” she squealed.

  Jennifer slammed the lid down as Bufo began to lunge at Sharra. She heard him thud against it and fall to the bottom of the box again.

  “I like toads,” she said defiantly. “If you think they’re so ugly, what did you want to see him for?”

  Sharra shrugged. “It’s like going to the zoo.”

  THUMP!

  Jennifer had a feeling Bufo was going to shout something rude at any moment. But before she could figure out how to break away from Sharra, she heard Ellen cry, “Hey, guys, wait up!”

  Jennifer felt uncomfortable as her friend trotted up to join them. She still hadn’t decided whether she was speaking to Ellen after the way she had blabbed yesterday’s underwear secret.

  “What’s in the box?” asked Ellen.

  “A huge, ugly toad!” exclaimed Sharra. She turned to Jennifer. “You know, you’re really weird, Murdley. Why don’t you get a good pet?”

  “Like Ponko?” asked Jennifer sarcastically.

  Ponko was Sharra’s cat, and Jennifer thought the animal was just as stuck up and obnoxious as its owner.

  “Perfect example!” said Sharra.

  Jennifer snorted. “You got the spelling wrong. You have to put an s in front of the t in pet to get what Ponko really is.”

  Sharra glared at Jennifer. “Ponko is a purebred Persian,” she said ferociously.

  “A purebred Persian pest!”

  “You are such a peasant!” cried Sharra. Flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder, she stalked away from the two girls.

  From inside the box came another loud thump.

  “Oh, be quiet!” hissed Jennifer.

  “Boy,” said Ellen, “Sharra was really mad.” Jennifer decided she was talking to Ellen after all. She had just remembered the time when she herself had accidentally told someone that Ellen was in love with Scotty Kiefer—a slip that had made a few days at least as hard for Ellen as yesterday had been for her.

  “You shouldn’t talk to Sharra like that,” continued Ellen. “You know she’ll get even some way.”

  “Oh, phooey,” said Jennifer. “I couldn’t care less about Sharra Moncrieffe and her creepy cat.”

  “Hear! Hear!” said a voice from the box.

  Ellen’s mouth fell open. “What was that?”

  “Not bad, huh?” said Jennifer, forcing a laugh.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you didn’t see my lips move. I’m learning ventriloquism.”

  “What?”

  “Ventriloquism. You know—like those guys on TV who make dummies talk.”

  “Who are you calling a dummy?” Bufo shouted.

  “Wow!” said Ellen. “That’s fantastic. I didn’t see your lips move at all.”

  “Any fool can do it!” bellowed Bufo.

  “Oh, hush!” snapped Jennifer, whacking the top of the box. “Come on, Ellen. We’ll be late for school.”

  “School,” said the voice in the box. “Yuck!”

  Later that morning Jennifer tried to concentrate as Mrs. Hopwell explained how to turn adjectives into adverbs. But with everything that had happened since yesterday, she just couldn’t keep her mind on the lesson.

  Additionally, she was fretting over what Ellen might say about the voice in the box. When she had told Ellen she wanted to keep her “ventriloquism” a secret until she had practiced for a while longer, Ellen had pledged her silence. But she had already failed the test of silence once this week, and Jennifer wasn’t sure she could count on her.

  To make things worse, Sharra, who sat two seats away, kept turning around and glaring.

  What happened next would never have worked if Jennifer’s desk hadn’t been right under the loudspeaker. The principal had made his morning announcements a couple of hours ago, and the speaker had been silent since then. Now a sudden crackle of static was followed by his voice saying, “Attention, please.”

  The class grew silent. All eyes turned toward the speaker.

  Jennifer wondered why people did that. You can’t see anything, she thought. I guess it’s just something you’re trained to do.

  You were also trained to expect that when you heard the principal’s voice it would come out of the speaker.

  Which probably explained why she was the only one who happened to notice that Mr. Monroe’s voice was actually coming from the box on her desk.

  “Sharra Moncrieffe, please report to the office at once!”

  A whisper rippled through the class. It was rare for Mr. Monroe to call someone in over the loudspeaker, and usually it meant big trouble. But since Sharra never got in trouble, it had to be something else.

  “Sharra Moncrieffe, report to the office,” repeated the voice. “And boy,” it added, “are you in trouble!”

  A burst of laughter sounded through the room. Sharra’s face turned beet red. Mrs. Hopwell looked confused.

  Sharra stumbled out of the room, looking nervous and angry. After she was gone, Jennifer tapped the box on her desk and whispered fiercely, “Knock it off, Bufo.”

  The only answer was the sound of contented humming.

  Sharra was fuming when she returned to the classroom. She had waited outside the principal’s office for two hours before the secretary finally realized there had been some mistake and that no one had called for her.

  Since nobody in the class knew it had been a mistake, the room was alive with winks, nudges, and stifled giggles as Sharra slipped back through the door. The idea of Sharra Moncrieffe getting in trouble was too delicious to ignore.

  Sharra cast an angry eye around the room as she moved quietly to her seat. Mrs. Hopwell, who had been correcting papers, looked up when she heard the door close.

  “Is everything all right, Sharra?” she asked quietly.

  “Perfectly,” said Sharra. Though her voice was sweet, Jennifer could tell she was seething underneath. “It was all a mistake of some kind. I’m not in any trouble. No trouble at all!”

  The ripple of laughter that had started around the room stopped on her last words, which were spoken so fiercely they all but dared anyone to laugh and survive.

  Jennifer concentrated on drawing little boxes on her paper. She was afraid if she caught Sharra’s eye she would either explode with laughter or blush with guilt, giving herself (and Bufo) away.

  And that was the end of that—until shortly after lunch, when a voice from Jennifer’s desk said, “Mrs. Hopwell?”

  The teacher turned from the math exercise she was writing on the board. “Yes, Sharra?”

  Sharra looked surprised.
“I didn’t say anything!”

  Mrs. Hopwell glanced at Sharra strangely, then turned back to the problem of Fred’s quarts and Joe’s monkeys.

  “Mrs. Hopwell!”

  The teacher lifted her chalk from the board and turned back to the classroom.

  “What is it, Sharra?” she asked, speaking very slowly and distinctly.

  “Nothing,” said Sharra, looking mystified.

  The others were starting to giggle. Mrs. Hopwell glared at Sharra for a second, then turned back to the board again.

  Sharra cast a suspicious glance around the room.

  Jennifer began to squirm uncomfortably. Sharra squinted at her as if she were trying to read her mind.

  When Sharra finally turned her attention back to her paper, Jennifer gave the box sitting on her desk a sharp rap with her pencil. “Bufo!” she whispered, “Knock it off!”

  For a moment the room was quiet. Mrs. Hopwell glanced over her shoulder once more, looking for any sign of trouble. Nothing. She returned to the math lesson.

  “MRS. HOPWELL!” roared Sharra’s voice.

  The class burst into laughter. Mrs. Hopwell slammed down her chalk and whirled to face the room. Her cheeks were red, her eyes angry.

  “It was Jennifer Murdley!” cried Sharra, leaping to her feet. “I heard her. Jennifer’s the one who did it!”

  Jennifer jumped to her feet as well. “I did not!” she cried. “I didn’t say a thing!”

  “You did, too!” shrieked Sharra. “I know all about it. You’re learning ventriloquism and . . .”

  Jennifer didn’t hear the rest of what Sharra had to say. She turned to look at Ellen.

  Ellen was looking at her desk.

  “Big mouth!” hissed Jennifer.

  “So it was you, Jennifer,” said Mrs. Hopwell. “Well, that’s a highly unusual talent you’re developing. But I would suggest that you find something more constructive to do with it than torment your friends and disrupt my classroom.”

  “Sharra’s not my friend,” said Jennifer sullenly.