Free Oddest of All by Bruce Coville Page B

eyes began to bulge more than ever. He grabbed for his ears, but they were shrinking—shrinking—
gone!
Sliding his hands upward, he felt his hair disappearing into his clammy skin. Looking down, he saw his legs grow longer, stronger, and greener.
    An instant later his terror was replaced by a rending pain that seared him from head to toe.
    And then it was over, the transformation complete.
    Staggering to his feet, Dennis found that despite having become a frog he was still his regular height, maybe even a bit taller. Clearly he was the kind of frog he had seen at the king’s court. He held his hands before him, marveling at his long, green fingers and the webbing that stretched between them.
    A cool night breeze lifted the curtains, carrying with it the odor of the swamp. Dennis found the smell irresistible. He scrambled over the sill and onto the lawn, where he dropped to jumping position.
    The cool, dew-laden grass felt sweet against his flat white belly. He blinked twice, took another deep breath of the moist air. Then, without really thinking about it, he unleashed the power of his mighty legs.
    The force of his leap sent him hurtling into the air.
    Too high!
he thought, as he soared across the yard, his heart hammering in terror.
I’m going too high!
    Yet when he landed and realized he had survived the leap, he felt a surge of joy.
It’s almost like flying!
    Flexing his legs again, Dennis bounded gleefully around the lawn, leaping higher and higher.
    A chorus of tiny peeps brought him to a halt.
    He turned. The field behind the house looked as if it was starting to percolate. Then he saw the cause. Leaping toward him were his . . . well, his cousins: thousands of frogs, tiny ones in the lead, larger ones—though not so large as him, of course—bringing up the rear.
    The frog moon floated above them like an enormous silver coin.
    His cousins surrounded him, an avenging army of frogdom. The littlest ones crept forward to stare up at him, their goggling eyes awash with admiration.
    Dennis felt a sense of purpose surge through him. Taking a deep breath, he puffed out his throat and emitted a sound that astonished even him, a deep bass note, a trumpet call of warning that reverberated through the night—the sound of a mighty amphibian who had had enough.
    Fire in his froggy eyes, Dennis turned to lead his leaping army toward old man Bingdorf’s estate.
    Someone had to stop that man’s polluting ways.
    Someone had to protect the water.
    Someone had to say, “This is enough. You cannot do this any longer!”
    And he, Dennis Juggarum, was just the frog to do it.

The Thing in Auntie Alma’s Pond
    W ATER.
    Margaret hated water.
    So why was she standing at the edge of Auntie Alma’s pond, staring at the black water as if she could see more than a few inches past the murky surface?
    As if she were looking for something.
    A dragonfly darted past, its flashing emerald wings startling Margaret out of her thoughts. She raised her eyes to gaze again at the little rowboat that floated in the pond. It seemed strange to see it caught in the middle like that, not free to drift to one side or the other.
    Why is it anchored there, anyway?
she wondered uneasily. She shrugged. Probably one of her cousins had done it. They were always playing pranks.
    The thought of her cousins made her sigh. It would be nice if a few of them were around now. Auntie Alma’s place was just too quiet without them. Sure, their rowdiness annoyed her sometimes. Even so, they would liven things up a bit. She sighed again. If only that rowboat was back on the shore, where she could get at it.
    Turning, she started back toward the house. It would be a long time before she forgave her parents for leaving her here like this. Their separation had been bad enough. Now, to “work on getting back together,” they had shoved her off on Auntie Alma . . . left her here to rot for the summer while they