by Gail Donovan
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1 - Josh Explodes
Chapter 2 - Thanks, Frog
Chapter 3 - The Serious Talk
Chapter 4 - Severe Consequences
Chapter 5 - Gorman & Gorfman
Chapter 6 - Free to Go
Chapter 7 - Suspended
Chapter 8 - The Bio-Grands
Chapter 9 - Confession Time
Chapter 10 - Silent Lunch
Chapter 11 - Power Failure
Chapter 12 - Xandra Screams
Chapter 13 - Power Up
Chapter 14 - Plan A
Chapter 15 - Plans B, C, D & E
Chapter 16 - Frogly Awesome
Chapter 17 - Heaven
DUTTON CHILDREN’S BOOKS
A division of Penguin Young Readers Group
PUBLISHED BY THE PENGUIN GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2009 by Gail Donovan
Illustrations copyright © 2009 by Janet Pedersen
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.
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CIP Data is available.
Published in the United States by Dutton Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
www.penguin.com/youngreaders
eISBN : 978-1-101-04624-1
http://us.penguingroup.com
For Zora, who inspired this book,
and Lydia-Rose,
who named it
—G.D.
Acknowledgments
My thanks to Ann Harleman,
Elizabeth Searle, and Frances Lefkowitz.
Chapter 1
Josh Explodes
The alarm went off like it wanted to do permanent damage to Josh’s brain. Time to get up. If his legs still worked after last night’s practice. Run! Run! Run! Let’s see some legs out there!
Josh got out of bed, which he considered a minor miracle, trudged downstairs, and opened the fridge, still trying to wake up. The cold air helped. It was going to be another hot, sticky day. Thursday. Two days to go until the game. Last Saturday he’d gotten a hit. Thwack—he made contact. Zoom—the ball went flying. Yes—a solid single.
“It’s a hit!” he boomed. “Hewitt is on base! Let’s hear it for Joshua Tree Hewitt!”
Josh was named for a place his mom claimed was so beautiful—Joshua Tree National Park. Josh had seen pictures. The spiky-leaved trees looked like something out of Dr. Seuss. But if he was going to be named for a park, why couldn’t it have been something cool, like Death Valley?
“What are you talking about?” asked Cady. She was sitting at the kitchen table, eating toast and reading. On the cover of her book was a horse with a tail and mane the exact shade of brown as Cady’s ponytail, which came down to her waist.
Cady’s real name was Acadia, which was another park their mom really liked. She was seven and in second grade, and when she wasn’t reading horse books she was playing with toy horses. Or trotting around and jumping imaginary jumps, like she was a horse.
“My hit,” said Josh. “The one I made last weekend, remember?”
“Get over it,” said Cady. She stood and, lifting up her hands into the rein-holding position, started to trot from the room.
“Hey!” said Josh. “I don’t get it. It’s like you have people-hands and horse-legs. So which are you? The horse or the rider?”
“Both,” said Cady, and trotted off.
“Whatever,” said Josh, peering into the open fridge. Orange juice, cream, beer. Where was the milk?
“Milk!” shouted Josh. “Let’s see some legs! Run! Run! Run!”
“No more running,” panted Josh’s mom, coming into the kitchen. “I just did six miles.”
Josh’s mom ran every day. She said if she didn’t get her run in, she’d bite somebody’s head off. Then, as if jogging every morning wasn’t enough, she spent the rest of the day jumping around with a bunch of other women at the fitness studio she ran. Sometimes she called Josh motormouth, but he thought it was like she was a motorbody.
His mom reached into the open fridge for the orange juice, poured a glass, then took a long swig. Then she stared at Josh as if she was seeing him for the first time. Slowly, she asked, “What. Are. You. Doing?”
“Looking. For. The. Milk,” Josh answered back. He liked the way he sounded, sort of like a robot, so he kept going. “But. I. Don’t. See. Any.”
Josh’s mom held up her hand. “We’re out of milk,” she said. “And you know what I meant. What’s the rule?”
Josh knew the rule, but if she wanted him to recite it like some kind of parrot, that was fine with him. “Clothes first, then breakfast,” he said, and made a noise like a parrot squawk. “Breakfast in pajamas is for weekends. Unless I have an early game.” He squawked again. “That’s the rule.”
“If you know the rule,” she said, “then why are you breaking it?”
“Mom,” said Josh. “I didn’t wake up and think, Let’s go break a rule! I just woke up hungry. And I don’t see what difference it makes if I get dressed first and then eat, or eat first and then get dressed. I mean, I have to do both before I go to school, right?”
Smiling, Josh’s mom shook her head. “Serves me right for asking you a question. Never mind. You need to stop talking and start getting ready for school. And stop standing there with the fridge wide open!”
“I’m trying to get ready for school, but there’s no milk,” he said, and added, “Payson doesn’t have to get dressed to eat breakfast, and plus his mom buys frozen waffles. I don’t see why you can’t buy frozen waffles, or they have frozen pancakes, too—”
“Josh!” said his mother. “When you’re talking, you’re not moving. So close your mouth, please. And please close the refrigerator.”
Josh hated it when grown-ups said please when they weren’t really asking. They were giving you an order. Okay: order given; order received. He pushed the fridge closed so hard that the bottles on the inside of the door rattled.
“Joshua,” sai
d his mother. “Please don’t slam doors!”
Josh’s dad came into the kitchen. “What’s up?” he asked, supercalm.
That was the thing about Josh’s dad: he was good at staying calm in an emergency. He had to be. He worked in the emergency room at the hospital. He was so good at staying calm, Josh sometimes wondered if he even knew how to get upset.
Josh’s mom said, “Somebody’s going to miss the bus again.”
Josh’s dad said, “You’ll make it if you start hustling. Get some breakfast, okay?”
Josh pulled a box of cereal from the cupboard. “I’m trying to,” he said. “But there’s no milk.”
“Don’t argue,” said his father. “Just do it.”
Cady came trotting back into the kitchen. “Hey!” she said. “How come he gets to eat breakfast in his pajamas!”
It was bad enough that his sister was practically perfect in his parents’ eyes. Did she have to point out his flaws, too?
“’Cause I’m so special,” he said.
“Mom!” protested Cady.
Josh’s dad said, “Take it easy, Cady. And Josh, Cady wasn’t talking to you, so you didn’t really need to say that, did you? I want you to start pretending you’ve got a remote control. It has a pause button. Use it. Just pause before you say every single thing that comes into your head, okay?”
“Why don’t you just tell me to shut up?” shouted Josh. “That’s what you mean!”
Josh’s mom answered, “Because we don’t use that sort of language around here. Come on, Josh. You know better than that.”
“Fine,” said Josh. “I get the concept. Pause button.” He pointed an imaginary remote at himself and pushed an imaginary button. Then he opened up the china cabinet, took out a bowl, and shook in some cereal.
Cady said, “If he misses the bus, can I get a ride to school, too?”
“Nobody is missing the bus,” said Josh’s mom. “And Josh, would you please close the cabinet after you open it?”
He couldn’t do anything right! They wanted the cabinet closed? Fine! He took the handle and slammed it as hard as he could. Closed!
There was a noise like ice cracking, and Josh stared in surprise as shards of glass rained down on the kitchen floor. He’d meant to close the glass-fronted cabinet door. He’d even meant to slam it. But he didn’t mean for it to break.
“Joshua Tree Hewitt,” snapped his mom. “I just asked you not to slam doors!”
“I didn’t!”
“What do you mean?” she cried. “We just saw you slam it!”
Josh tried to explain. “I mean I was trying to close it like you told me to, but I wasn’t trying to break it—”
“Enough!” Josh’s mom held up her hand like a crossing guard stopping traffic.
“What is wrong with you?” demanded his father, looking at Josh as if he was some kind of freak. “When you do something wrong, you don’t argue. You just say you’re sorry.”
“I’m not arguing,” he protested. “But if you think I was trying to break it, then that’s not fair, because I wasn’t. I mean, I’m sorry it got broken, but it’s not like I tried to break it, and you’re acting like I did—”
Up went the hand again, and Josh stopped trying to explain. It was hopeless anyway. The more he talked, the more mad they got. As usual.
Except he had one more thing to say: “I said I was sorry!”
“You did,” admitted his mom wearily. “Somewhere in there, you did. Now I’m going to clean this up, and you’re going to eat breakfast. But tonight we’re going to have a serious talk.”
“Okay,” said Josh’s dad. “Let’s get rolling, because you are not missing that bus again.” He opened up the fridge. “No milk. Right. Well, you can put some water in this cream and it’ll be like milk.”
“Gross!” said Josh. “No way!”
“It’s either that or orange juice in your cereal.”
“Fine!” said Josh stubbornly. “I’ll have orange juice!”
“Suit yourself.” Josh’s dad sloshed some juice into the bowl and handed it to Josh. “Now hurry up and eat your”—he grimaced at the cereal floating in the orange liquid—“breakfast.”
Josh headed out to the back porch, and as the screen door slammed behind him he heard his dad ask, “What is his problem?” Then his mother closed the wooden door so he wouldn’t hear the answer.
Josh sat down on the porch steps. He didn’t need to hear his parents to know what they were saying the problem was: he talked too much.
He couldn’t help it. He talked to himself. He talked to his friends. He even talked to the sunflowers growing beside the back porch.
“Come on, guys,” he said. “Power up. Make me proud.”
The plants were only knee-high now, but Josh was hoping they were going to be mammoth. Last fall he had saved the seeds from the tallest sunflower he could find, and this spring he had planted them. He was going to save the seeds from whichever plant grew biggest this year to grow even bigger ones next year, and even bigger ones the year after that.
In the meantime, he was supposed to be eating breakfast.
Josh peered doubtfully at the bowl in his hands. Oat pops floating in orange juice. Not a pretty picture. He dipped in his spoon and tried putting a spoonful in his mouth, but even before he swallowed he could feel his stomach sending up a warning: Alarm! Alarm! Definitely not edible! Eject! Eject!
He yanked the spoon out of his mouth and tossed it. The spoon landed in the garden pool with a splash. A second later he heard another splash.
Josh tiptoed across the patio flagstones to investigate. There was something in there besides water lilies—something swimming! A frog!
“I’m gonna getcha,” he said. He reached for the frog and missed. Now the frog was kicking around in the middle of the pool, out of Josh’s reach. Warning the frog, “You can’t escape the long arm of Death Valley!” he waded into the water.
The screen door slammed.
“Joshua Tree Hewitt,” cried his mom, “what are you doing?”
“There’s a frog,” called Josh as he lunged. “And I got it!”
“And I’m going to eat frog legs for supper,” she yelled, “if you don’t get yourself ready to go, right now!”
Josh stood up and almost dropped the frog. Was he seeing clearly?
He could feel his waterlogged pajamas sliding down his behind, but he didn’t dare reach to hold them up. There was no way he could risk letting go of this frog!
“Uh, Mom,” he said, “I don’t think you should eat these frog legs.”
“And why is that?”
“’Cause he’s got one too many.”
Chapter 2
Thanks, Frog
Eeew!” shrieked his mom, quickly followed by “Ow!” because she had spilled hot coffee on herself. Finally she got some real words out. “I don’t believe this,” she said. “I do not believe it. David!”
Josh looked at the frog and the frog looked right back at him with its big frog eyes, like it was saying, You got a problem with this? And for a second Josh was thinking, Yes! Of course he had a problem with a five-legged frog!
Then the frog, wriggling, touched one of its feet to Josh’s bare arm, straining to get away.
“Hey, that tickles!” said Josh, holding on tight. The frog was green with big black spots, and its skin felt smooth and cool. He could feel its heart thumping.
“David!” called Josh’s mom again. “Come see this!”
Josh’s dad pushed open the screen door. “Wow,” was all he said, totally calm.
Cady came out on the back stoop. “Gross!” she shrieked. “Double gross!”
That settled it. “It is not gross!” said Josh.
“Yes, it is!” cried Cady.
“Well, it probably thinks you’re gross!” said Josh. “Did you ever think of that?”
“Mo-om!” complained Cady.
Just then Josh heard the school bus chugging up the hill. He braced himself. First he’d b
roken the cupboard glass and now he’d missed the bus. Even if his mother had just run six miles, she still might bite off his head.
The bus came into view, first tiny and yellow, then big and yellow, like an out-of-control, mutant sunflower. It slowed down in front of their house, but Josh’s father waved it on. “I’ll give them a ride,” he said.
Saved! Relief washed over Josh. This was one time calm-in-a-crisis was working in his favor. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t thank me,” said Josh’s father. “Thank that frog.”
Josh grinned at the frog. “Thanks, frog!”
Josh’s mom said, “I guess we can add missing the bus to the list of things to discuss tonight. Now, what are you going to do with that . . . frog?”
“Why don’t you bring him in for sharing?” suggested Cady, and, pretending to be Josh, she said in a singsong voice, “‘Oh, Ms. O’Reilly, I have something special to share. . . .’”
Josh flashed his sister a grin, and together he and Cady let out a mock scream: “Aaah!”
Half an hour later, Josh was in Hollison Elementary with a bucket in his hand, waiting for the morning announcements to be done. Ms. O’Reilly had said he could share right afterward.
Good morning, came a kid’s voice over the intercom. Today is Thursday, June 1. Hot lunch will be . . .
Josh stopped listening and started jiggling his leg against the side of the bucket, until he realized that he was probably making the frog seasick. He felt kind of seasick himself. What was Ms. O’Reilly going to say about his frog? He didn’t really want to scare her. He wanted her to like it.
Ms. O’Reilly had started out the year liking him because he raised his hand a lot. A raised hand meant you were paying attention. Teachers loved that. Then she decided that his answers were too talky. Long-winded, she said. This was fifth grade, she said, and she wanted straight answers. Honestly, she didn’t know what they’d been doing in fourth grade. She’d been teaching for twenty-seven years and she’d never had a class less ready for middle school.
