HOMEKIDS STORIESABOUTCONTACT

THE GUARDIANS OF LORE

Chapter One: Daydreams

Chapter Two: Soy

Chapter Three: The Treehouse

Chapter Four: Tiger Lillies

Chapter Five: The Un-Tradable Lunch

Chapter Six: Bathroom Break

Chapter Seven: Dragon Breath

Chapter Eight: Launch

Chapter Nine: Flight of the Bed

Chapter Ten: Pavidale

Chapter Eleven: For Fairy Eyes Only

Chapter Twelve: Plans

Chapter Thirteen: Road Trip

Chapter Fourteen: Over the Seventh Sea

Chapter Fifteen: Stormside

Chapter Sixteen: Boy Meets Frog, Again

Chapter Seventeen: The Mountain

Chapter Eighteen: Sebastien

Chapter Nineteen: The Wells

Chapter Twenty: The Pen and the Sword

Chapter Twenty-one: The Hero

Chapter Twenty-two: The Lake

Epilogue 1

Epilogue 2

Epilogue 3

1. DAYDREAMS.

I was sitting in class when I first saw it.

Miss Weaver had been my teacher for a few months, and was known around Stagwood Elementary for the stack of black hair that rose a foot above her head. Before the school year started, I'd heard a few rumors about her, and within a week I realized that they were all true. For one thing, she did, in fact, wear the same outfit every day; the colors changed, but she always had on striped pants and a striped jacket. For another thing, she was mind-numbingly boring. It was the kind of boring that made your eyes shut without permission. The biggest problem, though, was the stories. She was obsessed with tales of former students who had become some kind of famous. The first couple of times weren't bad, maybe even kind of interesting. But, by the second week of school she had started repeating herself, just like her outfits. 

By then, I knew all the stories by heart. The professional football player who got excellent marks in Math. The State Senator who was a teacher's pet. I knew every word. So, instead of trying my hardest to listen, I spent most of class drawing in my notebook. 

Most days, I drew imaginary places and then spent the rest of the time whipped up creatures to live there. They'd have horns where horns don't go, fur where scales should be, and all the wings. They were odd. And they each had a story that I wanted to tell. But, on that day, I never even got to the first pair of wings. I had barely gotten started when it appeared, and changed Stagwood, and me, forever.

If it had chosen to press its little green face against any other window, I might not have seen it. And if I hadn't been trying to decide whether my dragon should have four legs or two, I might not have looked out window at that exact moment, dropping my pencil on the page. 

It was a frog. And it was staring right at me.

I couldn't stop looking at the frog and it couldn't stop looking back. We were locked in a staring contest. Maybe some frogs blinked, but with its eyes smushed against the glass, this one didn't. Stagwood Forest was just beyond the schoolyard and it was riddled with frogs, but they always avoided people. I knew right away, in a way that I could think better than I could say, that this frog was different.

I tried to listen back in to Miss Weaver, just in time to hear the end of her story about Martin Shandals, the now-famous comedian. Martin had transferred schools half way through the year, so I always felt to me like that one shouldn't count. We were supposed to be learning long division, but something had reminded her of Martin. I knew exactly what bad joke she would end the story with, but much less about long division. 

"Whenever he acted up in class I'd say, 'we've got a real comedian on our hands don't we?' And I was right!" she said with a guffaw. 

I was certain that Miss Weaver would see the frog within moments, but I was wrong. Nobody did. More importantly, when I looked again to see if it was still there, I noticed something new. Something shiny. And when I realized what it was, I forgot all about class, and Miss Weaver, and Martin Shandals. There was no denying it: the frog had put on a tiny pair of glasses. 

I wanted to lecture it, to explain that frogs don't wear glasses. It bothered me that it didn't already know that. On top of that, it had been staring at me for at least five minutes by then. And that seemed to be bordering on rude. Could a frog even be rude? I wasn't sure. But, the bigger question was why it was so interested in me.

I wasn't the type of kid who got attention. Teachers always wrote "needs to participate more" on my report cards (with a smiley face to make my parents feel better). I never got into trouble and barely ever stood out on purpose. A few years earlier, I accidentally peed my pants because my zipper had gotten stuck in the bathroom at the last moment. I tried to convince everyone that I had fallen into a puddle at recess. The custodian, Mr. Salazar, charged outside with a mop and brought me with him to point out the puddle. My guess is that we wasted a half-hour looking around at the dry gravel. Luckily, my mom dropped off some new clothes and nobody really noticed my wardrobe change (…or that it hadn't rained in weeks). 

That's how it was. Whether I did something spectacular or sneezed myself out of a chair, nobody cared, and almost nobody said my name. As far as school was concerned, all those things had happened to "some kid". So, why would a frog with glasses jump up on a windowsill to stare at "some kid"? 

Teachers, on the other hand, were a different story. Once her lesson started back up, it didn't take Miss Weaver long to realize that I wasn't paying attention. She called me up to the blackboard to make an example out of me. 

"Since you don't feel the need to listen, why don't you solve a problem on the board instead?" she said, sitting down at her desk. 

My stomach did a flip. Then it did a flop. The problem would take a minute or two to solve, and being in front of the class always made me nervous. How could I be expected to do anything when there was a spectacled frog staring me down?

I walked to the right of the equation on the board so that I could check on the frog easily in secret. Despite the distraction, I did my best to focus. But, it wasn't easy. Halfway through, I saw the frog move towards the front of the classroom. It stopped at the window next to Miss Weaver's desk. It took me a moment to figure out what it was doing, and another to believe it. It was trying to lift the window!

Finishing the problem became almost impossible. I made a mistake and then quickly erased it. By the time I looked over again, the window was open. Why should that surprise me? Of course a frog with glasses would also be super strong. The window was only open an inch, but that was enough for it to slip through. I dropped the chalk, and some of my classmates laughed. Bending down to pick it up, I tried convincing myself that when I stood back up again the frog would be gone. "It's not there. I just think it's there."

When I straightened up, the frog was sitting on Miss Weaver's left shoulder. 

This was a brave frog.

Her head blocked the class from seeing it, and I realized that I was still the only one who could. Either the frog was real or my imagination had outdone itself. It wasn't all that surprising that Miss Weaver didn't feel it there, because the shoulder pads inside her orange striped jacket were large and fluffy. I had heard that she rested her head on them like pillows during her breaks. I tried to remind myself of the situation. There was a frog sitting on Miss Weaver's shoulder and nobody else knew it. And I was supposed to be doing math.

Now that it was closer, I could see the frog better. It didn't look like some new species of frog to me. It looked like every other frog I had seen (except for the glasses). I wondered if they made contact lenses small enough for a frog. But, it wasn't the right time to worry about frog vision- that would be a job for a frog eye doctor, anyway.

I had daydreams all the time when I was drawing, and sometimes I got lost in them. It really was possible, I thought, that my imagination had just carried me off. I tried one last time to explain the frog away as part of an impressive daydream. I concentrated hard, finished the problem, and put the chalk down. The frog couldn't be real. I shook my head confidently. 

When I turned to Miss Weaver, I saw the frog look me square in the eyes and nod. A moment later, it disappeared into Miss Weaver's hair.

2. SOY.

I didn't see the frog for the rest of the day. Maybe it stayed in Miss Weaver's hair or maybe it jumped back through the window when I wasn't looking. All day long, I expected her to find it and let out a scream, but she never did. 

When the bell rang, I ran out of the school onto the side of the grass that had the most bushes. I had seen frogs hide in there before, but there was no sign of any. Truthfully, I wouldn't have known what to do with the frog if I had found it. Would I capture it? Would I ask it questions? If I was caught talking to a frog outside the school, I think people might finally start to remember me, but in a #donttalktothefrogkid kind of way. 

I liked most of the kids in my class just fine, but I was only really close with one. His name was Soy, and he was definitely, without a doubt, my best friend. Soy had kind of reddish-blond hair and a round face. He and I had been friends since preschool, and I knew that I could talk to him about anything. The downside to that was that he also felt he could talk to me about anything. Since he had eight older brothers and two older sisters, his questions were always about things that I didn't understand and didn't want to.

Here's how it would usually go: Soy's brothers would talk about older kids things, and then make fun of him for not getting it. He would ask me about it, and we'd look it up. It only took a few Google searches for me to get banned from using the Internet with Soy. 

The bottom line was that if I was going to tell anyone about the frog, it would be Soy. I decided that our walk home would be the best chance. 

"Did you see anything outside today during math?" I asked Soy as we started walking. 

"What do you mean? On the grass?" he asked, jumping over cracks in the sidewalk. 

"I mean right outside the window. Like right up against it," I answered.

"Like a person?" he asked, still hopping. 

Soy sat in the row farthest from the window, so it would've been possible, but still weird, for someone to walk by without him noticing. 

"No. It's more like… I saw a frog up against the window," I explained.

"Awesome," he said.

"Yeah, but it wasn't a normal frog. It opened the window and it came in the classroom and jumped on Miss Weaver's shoulder and it jumped inside her hair," I spit out. 

Soy stopped jumping and looked at me. 

"That happened… today?" he asked. 

"Yeah, I mean I'm pretty sure. And when I thought I might be making it up, the frog nodded at me," I said. 

Soy looked confused. I thought I heard something move in the tree above us, but Soy answered before I could look. 

"It nodded at you? I don't even think frogs have necks, do they?" said Soy.

"This one did, I guess. I mean most frogs don't wear glasses either, but it had those too," I explained.

All of a sudden, Soy seemed a couple steps further away. 

"The frog was wearing glasses?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yes," I shot back.

"Why would someone go around putting glasses on frogs?" he asked.

"I dunno… maybe it bought them on its own," I replied. 

Soy was standing at least ten steps away now. 

"Right… Well, maybe Miss Weaver will let us look in her hair tomorrow, and we can ask the frog where it got 'em… So, I think I'm just gonna head back home today instead of coming over. My mom has lots of stuff for me to do. See you later!" Soy said, turning to run away. 

"Soy!" I yelled. "Stop right there. I can prove the frog is real." 

"Oh yeah? How?" he asked with an eye roll.

"It's sitting on your backpack," I said. 

3. THE TREEHOUSE. 

Soy had the frog in his hands within seconds. He was always good with outdoorsy stuff like that. His mom was usually busy with his siblings, so Soy was left to play outside a lot. By third grade, he had caught a pet turtle, salamander, and flying squirrel. Unfortunately, his older brothers Rick and Hank stole the squirrel and kept it in their room. Once a week they played a game where Rick threw the squirrel from the second story window, and Hank caught it midair with a trash can as it glided down. Soy tried to get them to stop, but they never listened. It wasn't until a particularly windy fall day that he caught a gust and flew over their heads to freedom.

The frog didn't put up much of a fight. I started to wonder if it actually wanted to be caught. 

"Do you believe me now?" I asked.

Soy peaked inside his hands, and then lifted his head with wide eyes. "Well… this frog is wearing glasses. I'll give you that."

Both of our minds were racing with questions.

"Let's bring it to my treehouse, so we can figure this out," I said. 

I had built most of the treehouse in my backyard myself. My mom and dad insisted on one of them being there when I used certain tools, but that was about it. Building things always made me feel good afterwards, and I had gotten pretty good at it. The treehouse had been done for a while, but there were still a few things I wanted to add to it before winter.  

When we got there, I told Soy to use the elevator. It was really just a rope with a weighted pulley system, but I called it the elevator anyway. We used it when we needed to carry things that we couldn't bring up on the ladder. I climbed up and then lowered it down for him. All those years of critter-handling had paid off, and he got it inside the treehouse without any problem. I shut the door and quadruple-locked it, so that the frog couldn't run away (and also to give us some privacy). 

"Okay, Soy," I said, "let him loose." 

Soy lowered his hands and opened them, letting the frog hop to the floor of the treehouse. I had a small drafting table, drawings, and bits of wood all over, which provided plenty of places for the frog to hide. Luckily for us, it didn't move at all. 

Instead it looked up at me, and in a loud voice said, "What do you mean, 'him'?"

Soy fell backwards from a crouch onto his rear. The frog was looking right at me, waiting for an answer, but all I could do was shake my head.

"It's rude to assume I'm a 'he', don't you think? I happen to be a girl," said the frog proudly. Soy was now holding his head with both hands. 

"It can talk!!" he said in disbelief.

"Calling me an 'it', after I just told you I was a girl, is just plain inconsiderate, Soy!" she insisted.

I knelt down closer, looking for anything that might make sense of it all. Maybe the frog was a robot? But nothing about the way it moved was robotic. And would a "Made in China" sticker really make me feel better? It… she… had just called my best friend by his first name! Soy was so flabbergasted that he was gnawing on his backpack strap, so I doubted that they had met before. 

"I'm sorry," I said to the frog, kneeling down, "we didn't mean anything by it. Truly."

The frog hopped even closer and said, "You've always been kind." Then she whispered, "It's a powerful thing. Remember that."

"I will," I said, amazed that I had just gone from meeting a talking frog to taking advice from a talking frog in a matter of seconds. 

"But, um, if you don't mind me asking, how is it that you can talk?" I said. 

By that point Soy had half of the backpack strap in his mouth. 

The frog crooked her head at me slightly. "Do you think that humans are the only animals that can talk?" she asked. 

I was startled. Was it possible that animals could talk, and somehow no one in the world knew about it? Was everything that I thought about animals wrong? I took a seat on the floor, too. Soy spit out his strap. 

"That's not okay," he said. "I tell my pet iguana all of my secrets. If he can talk, I need to know who he's been talking to."

The frog gave out a little laugh, then she said, "Oh, I'm just kidding. Animals can't talk any more than humans can flap their arms and fly." 

I was embarrassed, but mostly relieved. 

"What about some kind of iguana sign language?" asked Soy, still nervous. 

Ignoring Soy's question, I asked the frog, "How is it that you can? Talk, I mean." 

"For starters, I'm not a frog," she explained. "The only reason that I—" 

Without any warning, there was a knock on my treehouse door. 

"What are you up to in there? Why is this door closed?" asked my mom sternly.

I searched my brain for an answer that didn't have the word frog in it. 

"Soy and I were, um, we were doing homework, and the breeze kept blowing our papers away." I replied.

"He's a clever one" the frog whispered to Soy. 

I gave the frog a signal to be quiet. It may have been the first time in the history of the world that one had spoken, but for the time being, she needed to stop. If my mom heard a girl's voice, I was worried she might break through the door again. She had a habit of doing that any time something seemed suspicious. It was only a week before that she had seen the smoke from one of Soy's firecrackers and broken through three locks. I added the fourth the next day, but it was becoming clear to me that metal was no match for "mom strength". So, for the moment, I needed this frog's vocabulary to shrink back down to "ribbit". 

"Well, come on inside the house. There's a man from the school board here who needs to speak with you." She lowered her voice and spoke softly into the crack of the door. "He looks pretty official. He's got a fancy suit and a shiny yellow bowtie. Don't worry though, he told me me you've done nothing wrong." 

"Yellow?!" screeched the frog.

"What was that, honey?"

"Oh… I said, 'Hello!'" I lied, using the best high-pitched voice I could muster.

"Honey, 'Hello' usually comes at the beginning of conversations. We're pretty far into this one," she answered.

"Ah, right. I just sometimes forget when you're supposed to say it," I replied nervously. 

"Oh… I didn't realize. Maybe we can work on that, sweetie," she said, closer to the door than ever. "Because that's definitely a problem. Just hurry up and come down, please." 

I heard my mom climb down the ladder, then watched her go back inside the house through the sliding back door. The frog jumped up onto the open treehouse window in a panic. I was amazed at how high she could jump, and knew at that moment that she could have left any time that she had wanted. 

"Whatever you do, don't mention me," the frog whispered frantically. "I'll find you later." 

And with that, she jumped out the window into a bush below.

4. TIGER LILIES. 

I sent Soy home and told him not to say a word until we could agree on a plan. He was too frazzled to argue. Soy walked home along the path behind my house that crossed the woods to his. I had no choice but to head inside. When I slid the back door open, I saw my mom and the man in the bowtie sitting in the living room. She sat smiling by the fireplace, and he sat in the flowery love seat closest to the front door, taking up most of it with his long skinny frame. His tall legs were bent at sharp angles to both sides, just like his elbows. My mom and the man were mid-conversation when I walked in. I saw him notice me from the corner of his eye, but he kept speaking. 

"They're absolutely beautiful, Mrs. Caelum. I don't believe I've seen lilium bulbiferum that vibrant before" said the man as he touched the lilies that were on the table between them.

"Oh, you're too nice!" said my mom with a giggle. 

My mom wasn't known for giggling, but flowers were one of her most favorite things in the world. She filled the house with them whenever she could. The most that my dad would say about it was that fake flowers would probably cost less. 

"Does your son have an appreciation for flowers as well?" the man asked, finally turning to look at me. 

His blond hair was pressed firmly against the top of his head, and his pale skin looked almost wet. His grin was toothy… larger than it should be. I felt uneasy. The talking frog had been surprising, odd even, but I preferred it to him.

"Ah, there you are! Come have a seat and say hello to mister…," my mother said, stopping for a moment. "What was it again?"

"Ream," he finished. "And it's a pleasure to meet you, young man."

"Hello," I said. 

"Well done," my mom whispered happily at hearing me place my 'hello' correctly. "Mr. Ream is from the school board," she projected, "and he's here to…" 

Once again she wasn't sure how to finish her sentence. 

"I'm here to speak with you about Miss Weaver's class. We've begun an initiative where we, the board members, speak directly with students to learn more about their experiences in the school system. We'd like to have an open dialogue between the administration and the children."

"I think that's just wonderful," said my mom. 

She was smiling ear to ear, looking for me to agree. I gave a nod, then waited for someone else to speak.

"Mrs. Caelum, we've found that students tend to be more free and honest with their feelings when their parents can't hear. I assure you, I've been trained in creating an atmosphere where students can speak their mind without fear of punishment," said Mr. Ream.

"I see," said my mom. She turned to me and spoke in her usual kind voice. "I'm going to be right here in the kitchen if you need anything, sweetie. Remember that you can be honest with Mr. Ream, and nothing bad will happen. Okay?" 

I nodded. Mr. Ream followed my mom with his eyes as she walked by him to the kitchen. She'd been right about his suit. It was a dark blue and, from what I could tell, was fancy and expensive. But his bowtie was what stood out. It was a color yellow that I had never seen before, and I could see why she had mentioned it too. As he moved, the light reflected off of it in every direction. It didn't move like clothes usually do. In fact, it didn't move at all. I also couldn't help but notice that he was taller than my mom, even when he was sitting down. When she left the room he turned to me abruptly.

"Has anything strange happened at school in the past couple of days?"

I shook my head hard and fast. 

"You can tell me. I'm here to help," he said in a friendly voice. "You see, I didn't tell your mom this because I didn't want to worry her…" 

Now Mr. Ream leaned in closer. His mouth looked larger by the second. I was almost positive that he could eat a whole sandwich in one bite. 

"There's a..." he said, pausing, "person who has been bothering students. Some little birdies told me that perhaps they've been bothering you. " 

Then he gave the largest smile I had ever seen. Two sandwiches, at least. I knew, deep down, that he meant the frog. That's why she had acted so funny when she heard about his bowtie. 

"Well, what does the person look like?" I asked shyly.

"That's the tricky part," he replied, "This... person likes to disguise themselves in different ways. Ways that might even seem impossible." 

His mouth was only a foot away now. Three sandwiches and a side of fries.. 

He continued, "They may even be disguised as an animal."

My eyes got wide. Mr. Ream's got small.

"You have seen them!" Mr. Ream said, trying to hide his excitement. 

I shook my head defensively. "I didn't say that, you did."

"But you have, haven't you," he said sympathetically. "Tell me what happened. It's for your own safety." 

I didn't know what to believe.

"What's so dangerous about her, anyway?" I asked. 

The moment I said it, I wished that I could take it back. I wished that I could grab the words out of mid-air and zip them right back into my mouth. But I knew that's not how words work. 

"'Her?'" he said.

I couldn't look at him.

He spoke sharply in a whisper. "So, it's true. She has come to see you. Tell me why." 

I shook my head. 

"Why did she choose to reveal herself to you? Why you? Tell me!" he demanded. 

"It was nothing," I answered despite myself. "I was just..."

"You were just? You were just what?" he prodded. 

I was confused, but I knew beyond a doubt that I did not want to tell him anything more. And I was not going to make the same mistake twice. 

"I was just catching frogs in the woods with Soy and we didn't know it was a special frog and we caught it by accident, I swear, and she begged us to let her go, so we did," I said in one breath. 

Mr. Ream sat back in his seat and listened to me ramble on.

"And she wanted nothing to do with us, and made us promise not to tell anyone about her, and… am I in trouble?" I asked, pretending to cry. 

I had learned how to fake cry the year before when I tried out for a small part in the school play. As it turned out, the role of "Weeping Willow" wasn't even a speaking part. It's just a tree. No crying required. Still, after forty minutes of standing up on stage, not being allowed to move, I cried a little anyway. 

"No," he hissed, "you've just disappointed me. I thought for a moment that you were the…" 

My mom walked in smiling, with a vase in her hand.

"Sorry to interrupt but I thought you might enjoy seeing my latest- " she stopped inner tracks when she saw me. 

"What are you two talking about in here?"

"Oh, Mrs. Caelum, your son and I were just —," Mr. Ream sputtered.

"Why is he crying??" my mom asked more forcefully. She rushed to my side to console me.

"It's nothing," Mr. Ream pleaded, "sometimes these talks can be emotional, and if you wouldn't mind my asking just a few more questions…"

The tears were flowing more freely now. I had become the Weepiest Willow in the world.

"I would mind," she said firmly, "and if you'd like to keep your job, you'll leave right now." 

Mr. Ream straightened his jacket and grabbed a briefcase from behind the couch. "Yes, of course. Thanks for your time," he said. He opened the door and turned to me. "Be sure to let me know if your story changes," he said with an unfriendly glare.

My mom put her arm around my shoulder. 

"Out!" she shouted.

I spent the rest of the night listening to my mom speak on the phone with people from the school district. Apparently, Mr. Ream was highly regarded, but my mom didn't care. She was beyond angry. She yelled at some of the school people and even threatened to call the police once. By bedtime she seemed a little calmer. 

Whatever Mr. Ream wanted with that frog, it wasn't good. I decided then and there that I wasn't going to let him get to her. 

The next morning my mom gave me an extra long hug and apologized (for the tenth time) for letting Mr. Ream into the house. I told her (for the tenth time) that it was all right. Soy and I met in front of my house to walk to school, as usual. I hadn't spoken to him since the treehouse, but it was immediately clear that he had gotten over his backpack-chewing phase. 

"How do you think it learned to talk? She, I mean. How come she could talk?" he asked. Without waiting for answer, he continued, "And how did it know my name? She, I mean."

"I don't know. Same as you," I said honestly.

"What about the dude with the bowtie?" he asked excitedly. 

"His name is Mr. Ream. Soy… he knew about her," I said.

"About the frog?" Soy asked.

"Yeah. He said that he was looking for someone who could disguise themselves as an animal. She was right to warn us. There was definitely something off about him." I said.

"You didn't tell him anything, right?" asked Soy. 

I looked down at the ground. 

"I accidentally let on that I met her," I confessed.

"You did what?" Soy said in shock.

"I didn't mean to. It came out by accident. And then Mr. Ream grilled me on why she had come to talk to me. Apparently, it's a big deal that she did."

"So what'd you do? Draw him a picture of it and tell him everything? Are you recording this conversation for him right now? My brothers say if you're wearing a wire you have to tell me," Soy said angrily. 

"No. Quit being silly, Soy. I told Mr. Ream that we were catching frogs, found her by accident, and let her go."

"Oh. Okay, that's not bad actually," Soy said.

"Thanks," I said with my head still hanging. 

"And if he looks into it at all, the story will check out since I do love catching frogs. In fact, I should catch a few extra this week, just to be safe. So… what now?" Soy asked.

"I really don't know, but we need to find out why that frog's here and why Mr. Ream is after her," I answered.

"I'm in," said Soy. "I'd take a frog in glasses over a man in a bowtie any day."

It felt good to have Soy on my side.

"We'll figure this out together," he said, patting me on the back. 

My smile faded as he continued to pat… 

He was checking for a wire.

5. UN-TRADABLE LUNCH.

The first half of the day was more normal than I expected. Miss Weaver continued a Social Studies lesson and only stopped once for a story. 

"The legislative branch of the government is important. Probably the most important, if you ask me. It's quite remarkable, but a former student of mine is actually a State Senator now. One of the youngest we've ever had! And since I was his favorite teacher, I can ask him for favors. I don't want to brag. I really hate to brag. But I can tell you that he's gotten me out of at least twenty parking tickets," she said with a proud laugh. 

I always wondered how many parking tickets you could get before they stopped letting you park. I didn't know how to drive yet, but of all the things you had to do, parking seemed the easiest. 

I had been too preoccupied to eat breakfast. My mind had been racing with questions. So by lunchtime I was starving. Soy and I sat together in the lunchroom everyday and we usually didn't care much about which spot. The lunchroom was long and narrow with brightly colored green, blue, and orange tables. With a secret subject to discuss, Soy and I decided to sit at the far end of the longest blue table, as close to the corner as we could get. There were twelve seats between us and any classmates, which was good because Soy's voice was known for being loud. After our third grade spelling bee, it was agreed, for everyone's sake, that Soy would never be allowed to speak into a microphone again. 

"So… how are we going to find the frog?" he asked, looking around.

"I don't know. I'm not that good at finding regular frogs," I answered. 

"Well, I've been thinking. Frogs like flies, right?"

"Yes." I started pulling my lunch out of my bag.

"And they like ponds?" Soy added.

"Yes," I said again.

"Well, that's something," he said.

"That's not a plan though, Soy," I replied.

"The rest is on you! I spent all morning on that," Soy shrieked. 

When I reached inside my bag again, I stopped trying to think of a plan. To be honest, my mom wasn't the best at packing lunch. Every once in awhile, she made one so bad that it was completely un-eatable and un-tradable. Still, she had never given me anything slimy. Never anything wet. And definitely never, ever anything that moved. There was no doubt in mind: I was holding a frog. 

It had to be her. It was the only thing that made sense. Then I reminded myself that none of this truly made any sense. I tried not to panic, but I knew that I had to warn Soy from across the table, without causing a scene. The frog sat still, breathing in and out inside my hand. 

"Eets een my beg," I said through clenched teeth. 

"What did you say to me?" Soy asked with an eyebrow raised.

"I said, eeeets eeeenn my beg," I repeated. 

"Huh? Who's seen your pig?"

"No, eeeeeets eeeeeen myyyy begggg," I said slowly.

"Wait a second. Did you get a pig?" Soy asked with his arms crossed. "If you really have a pig you better let me ride it..." 

Soy was convinced that you could ride any animal larger than a cat. Also, sometimes cats. My mom said Soy was the reason we could never own any pets. 

"Soy," I said, unclenching my teeth, "put your hand in my bag."

I slid the bag over and watched him stick his hand inside. His face changed immediately.

"Ohhh," he exclaimed, "it's in your bag!"

The frog must have somehow understood what was going on because she was still waiting patiently. 

"Let's bring it out and ask it some questions," Soy said. 

The bag moved a little bit. 

"She, I mean! Let's bring her out!" he said too loudly.

"Shh, we don't want anyone to hear," I whispered, trying to think of what to do next. 

Soy was eating make-your-own soft tacos that he'd bought from the cafeteria. They were one of his favorite lunches. He still had the ingredients for two more tacos, with the tortillas waiting on the side. I had an idea, but he wasn't going to be happy with it.

"Give me your tortillas," I said.

"What? Why?" he said, shielding them with his arms.

"Soy, I'm sorry… Im gonna need your lunch."

"But… it's soft taco day," Soy replied sadly, "my third favorite day of the month."

"Trust me," I reassured him as he slowly slid them over. I was sure that if it was "grilled cheese day" or "pizza day", I wouldn't have been so lucky.

In a flash, I used the tortillas and our milk cartons to construct a small fort for the frog. The opening faced me, so that only I could see inside. Gently, I laid my lunch bag down nearby, showing the frog what I had built. 

"Listen," I whispered into the bag, "when I say so, jump out into the fort. Okay?" 

There was no reply, but I was pretty sure that she had heard. Soy and I checked the surroundings one more time, trying to seem casual. The kids who were sitting closest to us had gotten up to talk to the girls sitting two tables over. Soy looked left, then right, and gave a nod. 

"Now," I whispered. 

With a quick green blur, the frog jumped from the bag to the taco-day-fort. When she turned around, I saw her glasses. It was her. 

She spoke loud enough for Soy and me to hear, but nobody else. "Are you all right?" she said. "What did the man in the bowtie ask you? What did he do to you?" 

"He didn't do anything to me, but he did ask about you," I answered.

"Ream has been on my tail for a while now," she said, testing the tortilla wall with her leg. 

"Frogs don't have tails," said Soy.

Nobody respond. But it did make me realize something. 

"We don't know anything about you. I don't even know your name yet," I said.

"You may call me Delilah, or Deli for short," she replied. Her face got much more serious (as serious as a frog's face can get). "It's very important that you tell me exactly what you told Ream. Can you do that?" She asked. 

"Yes. I, well… I accidentally told him that you and I spoke. I'm sorry," I said, and meant it.

"That's all right," Deli said. "It's not your fault."

"Then he asked why you came to talk to me… Why did you come to talk to me?" I asked. 

"Don't worry about that now," she said. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him that Soy and I caught you by accident in the forrest, and that you were angry about it," I answered.

"Brilliant!" she said. "It probably won't hold him off for long, but it might confuse him. Then what happened?" 

"Then my mom saw that he had upset me and kicked him out straight away," I told Deli.

"Oh, she did wonderfully! Your mom is a strong one, you know," she said. 

I wanted to know how she would know that, but there were other things that I wanted to know more. 

"Who is he?" I asked.

"That," she said with a deep breath, "is a complicated answer."

"He's an alien, isn't he?" asked Soy in an excited voice.

"No, he's not an alien," Deli replied, but in a way that didn't make Soy feel silly for asking. It made me like her a bit more. 

"Can you tell us who he is then?" I asked.

Deli paused for a while before answering. "He's a dragon," she said. 

I wasn't sure how to respond. I thought the word must mean something different than the one I knew.

"Technically, he's the King of the Dragons," she added.

Soy rolled his eyes. 

"Thanks for clearing that up," he said, "I was going to guess unicorn." Deli couldn't see his eye roll, but Soy's tone made it clear that he thought she was delusional.

"You mean like… a dragon-dragon?" I asked.

"Wait, maybe she meant dragonfly," interjected Soy, "like this guy Ream must be the dreaded King of the Dragonflies!" 

Deli wasn't amused. 

"I mean dragons!" she said firmly. "As in fire-breathing, hard-scaled, big-not-small dragons," she rebutted.

"But..." I said like I was breaking bad news, "dragons aren't real." 

Deli brought one of her frog legs up to her head and smacked it.

"Listen to me. There are things in this world that we don't know, until we do," she said. 

It was a good point, and it was made by a talking frog. If we were arguing in a courtroom, that would have been her "Exhibit A". 

"Okay, fair enough. But if dragons are real, then why hasn't anybody ever talked about them before?" I asked.

"They have. You can read about them in hundreds of books," she countered.

"You mean like in fairytales?" asked Soy as he raised his head above the fort, trying to peek in. 

Before Deli could say another word, a hand hit the table and started tapping its nails. Soy and I froze. Deli tucked herself back under the cover of the fort as far as she could go. 

"The bell has rung, boys," said Miss Weaver. "Lunch is over, and Principal Lance would like to see you." 

I had completely forgotten about the bell, on account of the existence of dragons. Miss Weaver was not in a good mood. She always got that way when it was her turn to chaperone the lunch room. Probably because it cut into her shoulder pad naps. 

"We're not done with our lunches, Miss Weaver," I said as politely as I could. 

"This looks more like play time than lunch! I can't have you building houses out of food," she said, struggling to find a reason, "because... because then everyone would want to do it!" 

Soy was nodding in agreement.

"It's true. I'm already jealous of yours," he admitted.

Suddenly, Miss Weaver was walking away to grab one of the garbage cans at the other end of the table. 

"Deli!" I whisper-shouted, "she's bringing a garbage can. You've gotta hide!" 

Without a word, Deli leapt forward. A split-second later Miss Weaver turned around and dragged the trash can over to us. She used one arm to push all of our food into the can. That put Soy in a worse mood than Miss Weaver. His soft taco lunch was gone forever. Never to be eaten. 

"Get moving. Don't keep Principal Lance waiting," said Miss Weaver. 

At that moment, I didn't care about the principal or Miss Weaver. I cared about dragons, and the frog named Deli hiding inside my shirt. 

6. BATHROOM BREAK. 

It's hard to imagine a better principal than Principal Lance. He had grey hair down to his shoulders, even though he was bald in the front. He was the oldest person at Stagwood, but he didn't act like it. I had never heard anyone say a bad word about him, and I wouldn't have either. Every year, on my birthday, he called me into his office and gave me a candy bar. I know he did the same for Soy (who usually finished his before he got back to the class and showed up with chocolate all over his face), and probably everyone else in my class. Still, he had a way of making me feel like I was more than some kid. 

Principal Lance's office was small and crowded, but friendly. He had stacks and stacks of dusty books that looked like they were hundreds of years old. I heard that a girl once sneezed on one of them by accident, and it blew away in pieces. The way the story goes, Principal Lance laughed so hard that he forgot why he had sent for her. But, as Soy and I walked into his office, it seemed less friendly than usual. Miss Weaver gave a small awkward bow and left us. As it turned out, Principal Lance wasn't alone. What I saw first in the chair next to us was a yellowish-gold bowtie, and then the large grin of Mr. Ream. My stomach dropped. 

"Have a seat, kids," said Principal Lance. "You've done nothing wrong, but Mr. Ream has insisted that he speak with you. And I insisted on being present. And so, with all this insisting going on, here we are!" 

I always liked the way that Principal Lance explained things.

Deli moved ever-so-slightly inside my shirt and I adjusted my posture without thinking. Ream's eyes shot towards me and narrowed. I had expected him to speak to me first, but he turned to Soy with a smile instead. 

"I don't believe we've met. Hello, Soy. My name is Mr. Ream," he said. 

"Hello. My name is Soy," said Soy.

"Yes… as I said, hello, Soy," said Ream, already losing patience. 

Soy had a knack for making people lose their patience faster than anyone I'd ever met. My dad called it "impressive", but my mom preferred not to talk about it. 

"Hello," said Soy a second time.

"Soy, do you know why I'm here?" asked Ream.

"No. Do you know why I'm here?" Soy asked back.

Ream was about to lose his cool. He turned to Principal Lance. 

"If you would let me speak with them alone, we could be done with this much faster," Ream said.

"As I've told you, if you'd like to speak with my students, you'll do it with me present," said Principal Lance. 

"I'm here as a representative of the school board," Ream said sternly.

"And I am here as caretaker to these children. Unless you are their parent or guardian, you may not speak to them without me present," Principal Lance said even more sternly. 

Soy's face was already covered in chocolate from a small bowl that Principal Lance had left unguarded. Ream looked over at Soy, shuddering at the thought of being his parent or guardian. 

"This will not be brought up in front of the children again," finished Principal Lance.  

"Very well," resigned Ream. "Soy, I need to know if you've noticed anything unusual in the past couple of days." 

Their conversation was starting just like mine had, and that got me worried. The longer Ream questioned Soy or me, the more chances we would have to slip up again, even with Principal Lance there. I could still feel Deli inside my shirt, and I didn't want to think about what would happen if Ream got his hands on her. Or, if we believed Deli, his claws. 

"Sir, may I go to the bathroom?" I blurted out. 

"Of course," said Principal Lance. 

Ream gave the slightest hint of a smile. He relished the idea of talking to Soy without me around. 

"Um, also, I'm not allowed to go without my bathroom pal," I said.

"Pardon?" said Principal Lance.

"Miss Weaver told us that we have to go with a bathroom pal if we want to use the bathroom. I could get in a lot of trouble if she finds out that I went alone." I realized that I was learning how to think on my feet more and more since meeting Deli. It wasn't the greatest lie ever told, but I hoped it would do.

"Bathroom pal? Seems a little unnecessary at your age. 'Bathroom buddy' has a nicer ring, anyway. Well, so be it. Go on then, Soy," said Principal Lance. 

I nudged Soy before he could object.

"Yeah…" said Soy, "I'd better go with him. He always gets lost without me." 

Soy was the one who had walked into the girls' room by accident, not once, but twice that year already. But I wasn't about to argue with him. Not then, at least.

"You can't let them both go." said Mr. Ream. "What if they..."

"What if they run away?" interrupted Principal Lance. "Would you like me to disable their getaway car, just to be safe?" he laughed. "Mr. Ream, when my students need to use the restroom, they use the restroom." 

He rose and ushered us towards the door.

"And that goes for their bathroom pals, as well," he said, giving me the tiniest wink.

As we walked out, I could tell that Ream was upset, but he dared not argue against Principal Lance again. Ream knew that we were up to something, but, luckily for us, he didn't know what. Not-so-luckily for us, neither did I. 

Leading us through the brightly lit hallway, I didn't stop at the nearest bathroom. Instead, I kept walking, looking down at the green tiles under my feet, wondering what to do next. 

"Where are we going?" Soy asked. 

"I'm not sure yet."  

We passed the library, then turned the corner and passed two more bathrooms: one for students and one for visitors. Either one would have done if I was actually looking for a bathroom. At the moment, the last place I wanted us to be was somewhere that Ream expected us to be. If there was a book called "Dealing with Dragons", I was pretty sure Chapter One would be: "Don't Tell the Dragon Exactly Where You're Going then Corner Yourself", or something like that. 

After turning the corner to an empty hall, I stopped. If we were going to figure this out, we'd need Deli's help.

"What are we supposed to do now?" I whispered to Deli inside my shirt.

"You need to get to your home," Deli answered, "it's not safe here anymore." 

"What's she saying?" asked Soy.

"She said we need to get to my house," I told him.

"What's at your house?" he asked me.

"What's at my house?" I asked Deli. 

A mop splashed onto the floor, and my head flew up to see the custodian, Mr. Salazar, staring at me. 

"I sometimes talk to my belly button. Sometimes," I stammered at him.

"Me too," said Soy without skipping a beat.

He pulled his shirt away from his body, stuck his head down, and said, "Hey, little guy, come on out and say hi!" 

Soy's bellybutton was sometimes an innie and sometimes an outtie, so I wondered if this was actually a conversation that he'd had with it before. Mr. Salazar shook his head, and continued mopping in the other direction.

I didn't want to risk running into anyone else, so we snuck into the empty auditorium across the hall. When I got inside, I remembered that there was an exit behind the stage that would lead us straight into the woods. During play rehearsals, when the auditorium got too hot, they opened the door and let the breeze in. "No sense wasting money on air conditioning," Miss Weaver would say. She was the self-appointed director every year since she, "knew how to deal with stars." 

I was pretty familiar with the stage area. Not only had I been the (first actually) Weeping Willow, I had also been a stagehand. Soy knew a little about the stage, too. He had tried out for the lead once, but was given the role of a crocodile instead. Despite that, he ended up being mentioned in every single review, although indirectly. "Was the crocodile supposed to talk?", and "Why did it have an accent?" were two of his favorites.

Now, the stage exit was our best shot at escaping without being seen.

"This way," I said, hurrying down the side aisle. 

The set for the next play was still being built. There was a fake forest, and a small hut with pieces of wood scattered all around it. I hadn't paid attention to what the production was, since deciding not to try out again. Soy had gotten a lifetime ban* for his crocodile performance and it wouldn't have been much fun without him. 

*Soy had told me that he outgrew the theater. It wasn't until I saw "BANNED FROM THE THEATER" posters with his face on them that I found out the truth.

I let Deli out onto the stage, and then Soy and I hopped up after her. The glowing red exit sign was in sight when we passed the hut, but a loud noise from the front of the auditorium stopped us in our tracks.

"Get down!" yelled Deli.

We crouched behind the flat wooden hut. Deli instinctively crouched too, which I thought was strange. Then I saw the terrible news for myself through a window in the hut. It was Ream, and he was being escorted down the center aisle by Mr. Salazar. 

"They came in here. They were acting all odd, talking to their tummies," said Mr. Salazar.

"Hmm, I see. Thank you, that will be all," Ream said with a wave of his hand. 

"Who did you say you worked for again?" asked the custodian. 

"The school board. The one that decides your salary," replied Ream as he strode down the aisle towards us. 

Mr. Salazar mumbled something I couldn't hear and left the auditorium. Ream was looking down each row of seats as he approached. When he was halfway down, he started speaking. 

"I know that you're in here," he said.

"Is he talking to us?" whispered Soy.

"We need to get out of here!" said Deli.

"He'll see us if we run for the exit," I said.

"Okay, then… we need to find a way to make him angry!" she whispered. 

"If he really is a dragon, is that such a good idea?' asked Soy.

"It's the only way. Trust me," said Deli. 

I looked around the set. I'd never set out to make an adult angry before (especially one that worked for the school), but this was cause for an exception