Life According to Og the Frog Page 9

  Scritch-scritch-scritch!

  No animal in the swamp goes “scritch!”

  I’m awake now, and the sound is Humphrey writing in his notebook.

  It’s not a bad sound, and I nod off again.

  It’s as chilly as a water moccasin’s heart. I’m aware of some sounds—the last bell of the day, Humphrey spinning on his wheel—but mostly I doze.

  Sometime during the night, a loud machine goes back and forth outside. A whirling orange light streams through the window.

  The only other sound I hear all night is Humphrey squeaking right outside my tank. I wake up just enough to say good night.

  Humphrey gives up and goes back to his cage. Room 26 is quieter than a water snake silently slithering through the dark water.

  From Hero to Zero

  THE TEMPERATURE IS falling rapidly. The swamp looks bleak. Most of the birds have flown away, and the green leaves are gone. My tummy is empty, my leaps are lower, my heart is slower. The days are shorter, and it gets colder and colder. It’s time to find a place to burrow in so no one can see me . . . but I’m so, so sleepy.

  I snooze. I slumber. I dream.

  But after a while, I leap up with a feeling of panic.

  Humphrey hasn’t been spinning on his wheel for a long time, and it’s light outside now.

  The last time I heard him squeak was hours ago, and now I remember what a weak squeak it was.

  Suddenly, I get it. My brain’s a little fuzzy, but I remember that Humphrey needs to eat a lot more often than I do. Is he really hungry? Really hungry?

  If I just take a long nap, I’ll be fine. Poor Humphrey needs food and water.

  The furry guy always tries to help his fellow students, and he even helps giant tads like Aldo.

  He has big plans in his little brain.

  But I’m stuck in my tank. How can I help?

  “Humphrey, are you all right?” I ask him.

  It seems like a long time before I hear a sad and pitiful squeak.

  Soon, Humphrey drags himself out of his cage. I think he’s probably headed for my tank, but instead, he takes a turn and heads for the pile of food containers Mrs. Brisbane keeps on the table.

  He is hungry, poor fellow.

  He stops and looks up at the tall bags and jars of hamster food towering above him. But as tiny as he is, he charges at the huge bag of the little brown nuggets the tads feed Humphrey. I don’t know what they are, but I’ll bet they don’t taste half as good as crickets.

  “Be careful!” I tell him, but it’s too late.

  The bag wobbles back and forth and then—BAM! It crashes right down on Humphrey.

  I hear him squeaking, so he must be okay, but he’s trapped under the big bag. How in the swamp is a little critter like him going to get out?

  I don’t know how I can help. But at least I can try.

  Almost without thinking, I say, “Help is on the way, Humphrey!”

  But I don’t have a door like Humphrey, and my tank has a cover. But wait! I’ve reached it a couple of times during my recent workouts. Maybe there’s a chance . . .

  So I hop.

  And I leap.

  And I jump.

  I can almost hear Granny Greenleaf saying, “If at first you don’t succeed, leap, leap again!”

  I jump higher and higher until I finally touch it.

  Then I leap even higher, and would you believe it? The top just pops right off.

  With one more giant leap, I sail out of the tank and land on the tabletop!

  I’m not one to brag, but my species, Rana clamitans, is noted for our impressive leaping abilities. And today, I may have outdone them all.

  “I’m on my way, Humphrey! Don’t worry!” I say.

  I’m sure he’s plenty worried, since all he hears is “BOING-BOING!”

  Since leaping is my strong point, I can throw my entire body at the bag. But I have to be careful that it doesn’t crush Humphrey. What I want to do is open up the space around him.

  It’s hard work, but let’s face it, a bag of hamster food isn’t as scary as a large-beaked bird.

  “Get ready, Humphrey! I’m here!” I tell him.

  I run at the bag and smack it again and again. I pretend it’s Chopper, the mean old turtle, and I’m fighting for my life. Except it’s Humphrey’s life I’m fighting for.

  The space gets bigger and bigger until I see an opening. But where is Humphrey?

  By now, I’m so worked up, I’ve switched to my extreme danger call, which is “SCREE-SCREE!”

  And then Humphrey staggers out into the open.

  After all that wobbling back and forth, I’m afraid the bag might fall right back on the little guy.

  “SCREEEEE!” I warn him.

  And what do you know? Suddenly, Humphrey grabs onto my back.

  I hop away as fast as I can with Humphrey clinging to me. The bag crashes down, barely missing us, but I keep on hopping.

  It’s just like a scene in a movie I saw on TV, where everybody rode horses. I don’t know if anyone ever rode a frog before, but here we go!

  “SCREEEE!” I shout. “Hang on, Humphrey!”

  “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK!” he replies.

  BING-BANG-BOING! I understand him perfectly.

  Suddenly, all the lights come on! I stop hopping, and Humphrey slides down off my back.

  Mrs. Brisbane, all bundled up in a heavy coat and hat, rushes over to our table. “How on earth did they get out?” she asks.

  Mr. Morales is there, too, and they both seem pretty amazed to see us out of our cages.

  Aldo rushes into the room, shouting, “Never fear, Aldo’s here!”

  All three of them are here because they’ve been worried about us.

  Mrs. Brisbane puts Humphrey back in his cage and gives him some of those nuggets.

  Mr. Morales returns me to my tank and gives me two lovely crickets. I’ll bet George never had the principal feed him!

  Soon, Miranda, Heidi, Garth, Sayeh and a bunch of other people arrive.

  Everybody’s been worried about us!

  And then I wonder: What did George do the last few days? Was he cold or hungry?

  “I checked Room Twenty-seven, and Miss Loomis must have taken George home on Thursday,” Aldo says.

  So George is safe to RUM-RUM as much as he likes!

  The day has a very hoppy ending. Aldo leaves to go study for a test, but Mr. Morales helps Mrs. Brisbane take Humphrey and me to her home until school is back in session.

  In the car, I hear Humphrey say, “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK!”

  “Anytime, pal,” I answer.

  * * *

  Back at the Brisbanes’ house, Mr. Morales and Mrs. Brisbane manage to sort out what happened—except they think Humphrey got out because someone didn’t close his cage door.

  They don’t know that he can open that door anytime he wants. He does it all the time! And he closes it again when he’s back in the cage. But—frog’s honor—I’ll never tell.

  “Maybe Og was trying to help Humphrey get food and managed to leap out of his tank,” Mrs. Brisbane says.

  “It’s hard to believe,” Mr. Morales agreed. “But it’s the only answer.”

  Mrs. Brisbane turns to look at me. “You’re a true hero, Og.”

  Humphrey squeaks. I’m pretty sure he agrees with her.

  If I were a loudmouth bullfrog, I’d probably be bragging about what I did. Instead, I simply say, “No problem.”

  * * *

  Two days later, we’re back in Room 26, and the snow is melting quickly under a sunny sky.

  I’m proud and pleased when Mrs. Brisbane tells the whole class about my heroic deed.

  A.J. loudly shouts, “Three cheers for Og!”

  To my amazement, the whole class crie
s, “Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray for Og!”

  “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK!” my neighbor cheers with them.

  He sounds pretty happy, but later, when we’re alone, I wonder if Humphrey would have come to my rescue.

  He couldn’t move heavy things by himself, and he’s too small for me to ride on his back. But if he could, would he save me? I just don’t know.

  * * *

  There is no time to worry about that question during the week, because there’s so much going on in Room 26.

  Poems are written. Cards are made. Hearts are cut out of paper. Red paper hearts are strung across the chalkboards and on the bulletin board.

  The cards are called valentines. The poems are for a poetry festival. I’m not sure what either of those things are, but I keep my eyes and ears open.

  It turns out that Valentine’s Day is a day when humans give each other cards and candy and heart-shaped things to show how much they care.

  Even Humphrey and I receive valentines from the big tads.

  My favorite is from Mandy.

  Red is the rose,

  Green is the frog.

  I love my new friend.

  His name is Og.

  I know that sometimes I am a pain,

  But he helps me to NOT complain!

  Nobody ever said anything like that to me back in the swamp.

  Nice.

  All the big tads are excited because their parents are coming in the afternoon to hear the poems.

  While my friends are at lunch, I take time to daydream. But my concentration is broken when I hear Humphrey scribbling like crazy in his little notebook.

  What in the swamp could he be writing?

  Whatever it is, he uses his teeth to tear the page out of his tiny notebook. He even reads it aloud.

  Squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak,

  Squeak squeak-squeak-squeak,

  Squeak-squeak-squeak squeak,

  Squeak squeak, squeak squeak!

  Too bad I can’t understand a word of it!

  Next, he swings his cage door open, and I glance at the clock.

  “They’re coming back any minute,” I try to warn him.

  I guess he understands, because as fast as I’ve ever seen him move, he slides down the table leg, races to Mrs. Brisbane’s desk, drops the paper on the floor, and scurries back up onto the table.

  If no one notices it this afternoon, Aldo will probably just sweep it away!

  Once Humphrey is safely back in his cage and our classmates come back in the room, I keep a close eye on that paper.

  And I’m very relieved when Mrs. Brisbane picks it up!

  * * *

  It’s fun to see the parents of the big tads arrive later in the day. Most of them come over to our table to say hi to Humphrey and me.

  The big tads do a good job reading their poems. And if they get stuck, Mrs. Brisbane gives them a little help.

  A funny thing happens near the end of the day. Mrs. Brisbane reaches in her pocket and takes out that ragged scrap of paper Humphrey left on the floor. She explains that she found it and says, “It expresses the feelings the children in this room have for each other.”

  I listen very carefully as she reads.

  A friend doesn’t have to be a work of art,

  Just have a heart.

  A friend doesn’t need to have fur or hair

  To care.

  A friend doesn’t have a thing to do

  But like you.

  A friend doesn’t need to say a word

  To be heard.

  It’s not so hard to be a friend

  In the end.

  Humphrey wrote that? I like it a lot, even though it gives me a funny feeling in my stomach because I think he wrote that poem about me.

  And if he did, I guess the little fellow and I are truly friends. I don’t think that could happen back in the swamp, where amphibians and mammals are never friends.

  But it’s just the kind of thing that happens all the time in Room 26.

  For a cold-blooded frog, I feel awfully warm inside.

  * * *

  Later that night, I think about all the nice things the big tads—and Humphrey—wrote about me. So I write a poem, too. I don’t have a notebook, but I write it in my head.

  Of all the places I get my kicks,

  My favorite (so far) is Room Twenty-six.

  To my human friends, I just want to say,

  I wish you a happy Valentine’s Day.

  I never thought I’d be friends with a hamster,

  But now I am—of that, I am sure.

  There! I didn’t exactly rhyme something with hamster—but I came pretty close! I think that’s good enough to be on a heart-shaped card.

  I sleep peacefully that night, knowing that my friends in Mrs. Brisbane’s class love me as much as I love them.

  * * *

  On Monday, Mrs. Brisbane makes an announcement, and I am bowled over.

  “Students, it is time for us to come to some kind of agreement about Og’s future. You’ve heard what Dr. Okeke had to say. Tomorrow we will be holding a debate on why you think Og should stay in Room Twenty-six or be moved to the wildlife center at Piney Woods.”

  “SQUEAK!” Humphrey scrambles to the front of his cage. “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK!”

  The little guy sure is excited.

  “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK!” he repeats.

  I realize this is the first time he’s heard about Piney Woods. “You were sleeping when Dr. Okeke was here before,” I tell him. I sure wish I could speak Hamster.

  Mrs. Brisbane asks Mandy to pass out sheets outlining the assignment.

  “The questions on this worksheet will help you figure out the pros and cons of Og going to Piney Woods,” she explains. “What do you feel would be best for Og and for everyone in our class and why?”

  “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK!” Humphrey shouts.

  “Settle down, Humphrey,” Mrs. Brisbane says, then turns back to the class. “After you answer all of the questions, I want you to prepare your arguments. After the debate, we will take a vote and decide once and for all.”

  She doesn’t bat an eyelid. Her lips don’t quiver.

  Does she want me to leave Room 26?

  Do they all want me to leave Room 26?

  Do I have no say in it? (Well, it’s clear that I don’t.)

  I feel a bit dizzy.

  Just last week I thought I was a hero, but right now I feel like a total zero.

  The Great Frog Debate

  THE SWAMP IS still cold, but I’m waking up. Everything looks different, and I don’t see anyone I know. Where are Granny Greenleaf and Uncle Chinwag? Where’s my pal Jumpin’ Jack? They must be sleeping somewhere. Isn’t anyone awake? Then I hear them.

  We are the bullfrogs, defenders of the swamp!

  We are the bullfrogs, mightier than all!

  Bullfrogs reign! Bullfrogs rule!

  RUM-RUM! RUM-RUM! RUM-RUM!

  Help! They’re surrounding me! Can’t somebody get me out of here?!

  I’m not sorry to wake up from that daydream. It was a little bit too real.

  Room 26 isn’t as noisy as the swamp was in my dream, but there’s tension in the air as the big tads prepare for the Great Frog Debate. That’s what they’re calling it.

  I’m as worried as a bullfrog who’s lost his voice. I’m as edgy as a duck stuck in the muck.

  What I’m trying to say is: I am nervous. And so are the big tads. Even Mrs. Brisbane seems a little anxious today.

  And Humphrey? He’s squeaked so much already, I’m afraid he’s going to lose his voice!

  “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK!”

  I dive into the water side of my tank and try to Float. Doze. Be. It’s not working tod
ay.

  Sayeh’s nose is about two inches from a piece of paper she’s been studying, while Heidi is talking to herself.

  Gail’s not giggling at all. And when A.J. greets me with his usual “Hi, Oggy!” his voice is much softer than usual.

  Garth cleans his glasses over and over.

  Mandy frowns. She looks over at me, but for once, I can’t make her smile.

  I don’t feel much like smiling, either.

  Tabitha stares into space, looking glum. When I say, “Cheer up!” she doesn’t even glance my way.

  I look around my cozy tank with its clean pool of water . . . the lovely green moss . . . my rock.

  Miranda, Richie and Seth all toss Froggy Fish Sticks into my tank when Mrs. Brisbane isn’t looking. I don’t eat them all, because if I’m going back to the swamp, I have to be in lean shape for jumping. Besides, I’m really not hungry.

  After taking attendance, Mrs. Brisbane sends the tads off to gym first thing in the morning. I have no idea what they do there. But when they get back, she tells the class that instead of our regular subjects, we’ll start with the debate.

  That’s good, because I don’t think my friends could think about anything else this morning. I know the last thing on my mind is math.

  If amphibians like me could sweat, I’d be sweating.

  The worst part is, I’m not even sure what my fate should be!

  When Mrs. Brisbane says, “Let the Great Frog Debate begin,” my fabulous leaping legs suddenly feel all wobbly.

  “Let us start with a speaker on the side of Og moving to Piney Woods,” she says.

  A lot of hands go up. Even Heidi, who usually forgets to raise her hand, is waving hers in the air. Naturally, Mrs. Brisbane calls on her.

  Heidi has notes written on a piece of paper. She has a very determined look on her face, but her hands are shaking and the paper is, too.

  “It’s not that I don’t love Og, because I do,” she begins. She glances over at my tank. “I truly do, Og.”