Free Once Upon a Toad by Heather Vogel Frederick

mildewed old tarp, though, which gave me an idea. I dragged it out into the middle of the floor and spread it out, then went to get something in the far corner that I’d glimpsed when I was up here the other day—a broom. It was missing half its straws, but it might just do the trick for the idea that was beginning to form in my head.
    It was time for a little street hockey, toad huntress–style.
    I kicked off my slippers. This was a game that called for stealth mode. No point attracting any attention from downstairs. Eventually my family would miss me and come looking, but I hoped to clear out the toads before they did.
    Holding the broom out in front of me like a hockey stick, I jogged around the attic counterclockwise, sweeping every amphibian I encountered toward the tarp in the center of the room. The toads fled in panic before me, croaking madly. So much for stealth mode. If I didn’t wind this game up quickly, the entire neighborhood would be up here to see what was going on.
    Once I had a decent number of them cornered on the tarp, I leaned down and grabbed an edge, folding it over like a taco. A lumpy, toad-filled taco. Then I grabbed another edge and folded it in half again. Picking it up and holding it tightly to keep its occupants from escaping, I carried the tarp to the waiting duffel bag. My method wasn’t pretty, but it did the trick. Mostly. A few toads managed to hop out as I made the transfer, so Ispread the tarp out again and made another pass around the room. This time I was pretty sure I’d gotten them all.
    I sat down next to the duffel bag, panting. Toad huntress was not a job I’d want on a regular basis. After I caught my breath, I unzipped the duffel gingerly and counted the wriggling bodies. Thirty .
    I was one toad short!
    A flicker of movement in the far corner alerted me to the lone straggler, which was busy wedging itself under the eaves behind some insulation. I decided to leave it for now and move on.
    A duffel bag stuffed with thirty panicked toads is not exactly invisible—or inaudible. No way was I going to be able to get it downstairs without being seen or heard. Recalling the length of rope I’d seen in the trunk, I crossed the room and grabbed it, then headed for the window above Geoffrey’s room, which overlooked the backyard.
    I unlocked it and tried to ease it open. It didn’t budge. I pushed harder; no luck. No matter how much I wrestled and tugged, the window was completely stuck. Finally, after one last all-out effort, it lurched upward. But the accompanying screech of wood on wood froze me in my tracks. Several seconds ticked by, but there was no response from downstairs. Apparently, Dad and Iz were still preoccupied with Olivia.
    Wincing at each creak and groan, I inched the window up until it was open wide enough for the duffel to pass through. I tied one end of the rope to the squirming bag’s handles, then lowered it carefully toward the ground, watching as it came to rest on the back deck. Satisfied, I tossed the rope out after it. I’dhave to hope that no one spotted it before I managed to get downstairs.
    After forcing the window shut again, I crossed to the attic door. I opened it a crack and waited, listening to the low murmur of worried voices from the floor below. Good; they were still busy. I crept down the attic stairs, pausing again at the end of the hall to make sure no one had heard me, then tiptoed past the open door, hoping no one would notice.
    They didn’t.
    I continued on down to the kitchen, steering clear of the living room, where Geoffrey was once again glued to the TV. There was no sign of the breakfast toads; they must have gone into hiding. I’d have to track them down later. Slipping out the back door onto the deck, I bent down to grab the duffel.
    â€œHey, Cat!”
    I spun around to see Connor Dixon waving at me from his backyard. He was taking advantage of a lull in the drizzle to walk