Frogged

by Vivian Vande Velde

  “Luella,” Imogene explained to everyone, “has been helping me and watching over me.”

  “Oh.” Luella’s father was obviously surprised. Luella’s mother looked proud and pleased. Luella’s brother looked dumbfounded. Then the father’s gaze shifted to Ned. “So you . . . ?” he started. “You and Luella . . . ?”

  “Never,” Ned proclaimed, his hand over his heart as though shocked at the suggestion. “As beautiful as your daughter is—and she is very beautiful—as kindhearted and good . . . and innocent . . .”

  Imogene remembered the context in which she’d last heard him use that word: as a substitute for dimwitted.

  He shook his head. “I would never dishonor her that way.”

  “And so you are . . . ?” Luella’s father persisted.

  “A weary traveler,” Ned said. “The three of us”—he indicated himself, Luella, and Imogene—“met here just moments ago.”

  Imogene could have said, Yes, but not for the first time. But she let it slide, because otherwise she’d have to betray Luella.

  Her own mother brought the conversation back to Imogene’s frogged state. “How do we turn you back to yourself?” she asked.

  “Well . . .” Imogene said.

  Once more, Prince Malcolm stepped forward. “Please pardon my boldness,” he said, “but, from my reading, I do believe I know the solution, and—”

  “No!” Imogene cried. “Back away!”

  Startled, Prince Malcolm backed away.

  “You don’t understand,” she told him. “If you kissed me . . .” She had the sudden uneasy worry that he might have had a different solution in mind, and that she had just needlessly embarrassed herself. But he nodded for her to go on. She sighed for all that she would miss in her life. Because, really, being a human had so many advantages over being a frog. She continued, “The spell doesn’t end. It just gets passed on.” Then, to be sure that he—that all of them—understood, she finished, “If you kissed me, if anyone kissed me, then that person would become a frog in my place.”

  “All right,” Prince Malcolm said. “Nonetheless . . .” Once more he stepped forward.

  “What do you mean nonetheless?” Imogene demanded, ready to jump out of her mother’s hands if that became necessary. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

  “It would have been hard not to,” Malcolm pointed out, which Imogene guessed was his polite way of saying she was perhaps a bit louder than a perfectly proper princess should be. He, for one, was definitely much improved in manners since the last time they’d met, when he’d thought the funniest thing anyone could say was underwear. Now he said, “But that’s what princes do: They help where they can, particularly where princesses are involved.”

  “Well, I’m sure that’s very brave of you,” Imogene said. And it was brave, she thought. Impressively so. The boy was sweet and brave as well as being good-looking. She continued, “But I wouldn’t want the responsibility of knowing you were intentionally going to spend your life as a frog because of my carelessness.” Well, it was really Harry’s carelessness, but she had every intention of being a better person than Harry. Another thought came to her. “Or,” she finished, “that you were planning on passing the spell on to some other unsuspecting soul.”

  Prince Malcolm did not put his hand to his heart, but all in all looked more sincere than Ned when he declared, “I would never do that. That would be wrong.”

  Luella suggested, “Maybe you could find someone who wants to be a frog.”

  And, while everyone looked at her with varying degrees of Did she really say that? astonishment, Imogene thought, Who—besides a frog—would ever want to be a frog?

  The answer was Nobody.

  And that, she saw, was the solution. “Luella! You are brilliant! We need a frog!”

  “Luella ain’t any kind of brilliant,” Tolf pointed out. “We already got a frog. What we need is a princess.”

  It was Imogene’s mother who caught on first. “Here,” she said, and unceremoniously handed Imogene to Malcolm. “Don’t drop her.”

  And with that, she hiked her skirts up as though totally unmindful of her queenly dignity, and she waded into the stream.

  “Quiet!” Imogene commanded.

  The people all held very, very still.

  And in the silence, Imogene could hear frogs croaking. And among all the croaks that she recognized as meaning “Food!” and “Dark’s coming!” and . . . and, well mostly, “Food!” she heard the distinctive croak that she thought of as the “Hey, girls!” call.

  “To your right,” she directed her mother. “The far bank. Under that big leaf.”

  That particular frog’s croaking had changed from “Hey, girls!” to the “Up!” warning, but luckily the creature decided to take its chances by staying still rather than by diving. Imogene’s mother scooped him up in her bare hands as though holding frogs, even frogs who weren’t her daughter, was something she’d always done. “Now what?” she asked.

  “On the rock,” Imogene said. In case the frog made a break for it, she didn’t want him too close to the water.

  Ned moved in to supply a steadying hand for the queen to use to haul herself up the bank of the stream, her shoes squishing with each step. She set the male frog down on the rock, then held her hands out, doing her best to keep him contained.

  He could jump over your hands in a heartbeat, Imogene thought as Malcolm brought her closer. But the male frog had caught sight of her, and he stayed where he was.

  Malcolm held her out, and Imogene puckered her little frog lips. Frogs are not really good kissers, but apparently this one was willing to give it a try.

  Touching his lips was just about as much fun as kissing Harry had been. Once again she felt alternately fizzy and dizzy and topsy-turvy.

  But after all of that, she also felt she had knees—who could have guessed one could be so nostalgic about having knees?—human knees that were pressing into the rock as she leaned over the frog, with Prince Malcolm’s sure and steady hands at her waist, holding her from slipping. Oooh, this is nice, Imogene thought—a thought that covered a whole lot of things.

  Princess Imogene Eustacia Wellington, who had come to suspect she was destined to spend the rest of her life as a frog, was once again human.

  “Thank you,” she said. To Malcolm, who continued to hold her, for her human knees were wobbly. To her mother, who had understood her and quickly moved to do what was needed. To Luella, who had supplied the answer (even if she hadn’t known it was the answer). To the townspeople, who were now cheering for her. To the old witch, in case she was listening. To the frog with whom she’d just exchanged a kiss.

  The frog with whom she’d just exchanged a kiss hopped off the rock and back into the pond. Imogene hoped that, having been magically kissed into being twice the frog he’d been before, he’d be able to avoid getting eaten and would find the lady frog of his dreams.

  While the crowd continued to cheer, the prince gave Imogene a kiss. “Sorry,” he said, this time not at all sincerely, “I couldn’t help myself.” And Imogene liked it better than all of her previous kisses combined.

  Her mother, between weeping and touching Imogene’s hair so delicately and gingerly it almost seemed as though she was afraid Imogene would break, asked someone to please (please—her mother actually said please!) run ahead and ring the church bells to let the other search parties—especially the ones where her husband and her son were—know the good news as soon as possible. Only then did she hold Imogene out at arm’s length and say, shaking her head, “Imogene, your dress.”

  Imogene glanced down at the dress she’d been wearing for the last two weeks—which gave every single appearance of having been worn for the last two weeks—and she took hold of her mother’s arms and responded, “Yes, but, Mother, your dress.”

  For a moment, her mother looked shocked. But then she laughed.

  And then they all headed up the hill toward the castle, with every one of the townsfo
lk invited to share in the birthday celebration turned into a Hurray, we found the princess! celebration.

  Harry did have the good sense to slip away without joining them.

  And the witch, of course, had never shown up.

  Imogene heard Luella’s father invite Ned to sit with them, apparently not having noticed that Ned was telling Luella all about how he was thinking of switching from plays to puppet shows, since puppets were less trouble than actors, and that oh by the way did she know that society had no constraints against female puppeteers?

  Imogene watched Ned and Luella walk up the path arm in arm and thought, Why not? Maybe—maybe I’m not such a bad princess, after all. She went ahead and took hold of Malcolm’s arm. “You,” she told him with newfound boldness, “are a good person. Maybe a little reckless. But you have a good heart. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Thank you,” he said. Then he smiled at her and added, “It helps to know what’s expected in various situations. I have to admit I learned everything I know from this very helpful book called The Art of Being a Prince.”

  Which would have left Imogene speechless except that a princess is never at a loss for words. So she said, “That’s very interesting.”

  And then Princess Imogene Eustacia Wellington twined her arm around Prince Malcolm’s, and together they walked back to the castle.

  Afterword:

  All the Best Princess Stories End “And Then They All Lived Happily Ever After”

  (No argument there)

  And then they all lived happily ever after.

  About the Author

  VIVIAN VANDE VELDE has written many highly acclaimed books for teen and middle grade readers, including Three Good Deeds, Heir Apparent, Deadly Pink, and the Edgar Award–winning Never Trust a Dead Man. She lives in Rochester, New York. Visit her website at www.vivianvandevelde.com.