Stink and the Freaky Frog Freakout (Book #8), Page 2

  “You don’t see them. You hear them. You learn to identify each frog by its call. Then you count which ones you hear.”

  “Sounds interesting,” said Dad.

  “Can we come, too?” asked Webster.

  “The more the merrier. We need all the help we can get. But one of you will have to learn some frog calls. I can show you a website that has all the frog sounds. Also, you have to pass a quiz before I can sign you up.”

  “Quiz? I love tests,” said Stink.

  “It’s true. He really does,” Dad said, nodding.

  “What do frogs do with math a test?” Stink asked.

  “I don’t know. What?” said Jasper.

  “They Rip-it! Rip-it!” said Stink. Stink cracked himself up.

  Pree-eep! Craw-awk! Sque-enk!

  Stink listened to frog calls on the computer. He listened to frog sounds that he taped with his own tape recorder (by sticking it out the window at night!). Stink listened to frog calls on the way to school Monday morning and in the car on the way to swim lessons.

  Pre-eep! Craw-awk! Sque-enk! At swim practice, he tried some out on his friends.

  “You sound like a duck,” said Webster.

  “You sound like a squeak toy,” said Sophie.

  “You sound like a sick banjo,” said Riley.

  “Thanks!” said Stink. “See, spring peepers sound like squeak toys. And wood frogs sound like ducks quacking.”

  “You’re quacked,” said Webster. Sophie and Riley cracked up.

  “You guys sound like Southern leopard frogs. A leopard frog sounds like a person laughing. No lie.”

  “Yeah, but nothing sounds like a sick banjo,” said Riley.

  “Nothing except for the Northern green frog. It sounds like a loose banjo string. You know, like a rubber-band twang.”

  “You sure are freaky for frogs,” said Riley.

  “Thanks!” said Stink.

  “You should marry a frog, you like them so much.”

  “Hardee-har-har,” said Stink.

  * * *

  Stink could not wait till swimming was over. He had a freaking great idea for how to learn frog sounds. He would need a comb, a balloon, two rocks, a can of spray paint, a rubber band, a rubber duck, some jingle bells, and that’s all.

  Stink blew up the balloon and rubbed it with his hand. He clicked rocks together. He twanged a rubber band.

  Judy poked her head into Stink’s room. Mouse squeezed past her. “Stink, I’m trying to study my times tables and I can’t hear myself —” She stopped when she saw the pile of junk on Stink’s floor.

  “What? I’m using this stuff to make frog sounds. Here. I’ll show you.” Stink rubbed his finger along the teeth of a comb. “This sounds like a chorus frog.” Stink shook the can of spray paint. “And this sounds like a Northern cricket frog.”

  Mouse darted under the bed.

  “And this — AARGH! — sounds like Mom when she sees the mess in your room,” said Judy.

  “Hardee-har-har,” chuckled Stink. “You’re croaking me up!”

  “Can you please shut your door so I don’t have to hear Froggle Rock all day?”

  * * *

  Stink squeaked his rubber duck down the stairs. He snored up a storm while he made a snack. He shook the can of paint, clicked the stones, and jingled the bells. “Wood frog, pickerel frog, cricket frog,” he recited.

  “Stink, keep it down, please,” said Dad, poking his head around the corner. “I’m on the phone.”

  “No spray-painting in the house,” said Mom. “Take that outside.”

  “I’m not painting,” said Stink. “Doesn’t anybody around here know a Northern cricket frog when they hear one?”

  Mom crinkled her forehead.

  “It’s homework,” said Stink. “I have to take a test.”

  “A frog test,” said Judy, coming into the kitchen.

  “I have to learn frog calls,” said Stink. “For the First Annual Frog Neck Lake Frog Count on Friday.”

  “Riigggght,” said Mom.

  “It’s a real thing. The test is on the computer,” Stink told her. “You click on a frog and it makes a sound. Then you guess which frog is making that sound.”

  “Multiple choice?” said Judy. “Easy peasy,” she teased.

  “I have a multiple choice for you,” said Mom. “You can go back upstairs and a) finish your homework, b) finish your homework, c) finish your homework, or d) all of the above.”

  “But —” Stink protested.

  “It’s your choice,” Mom said.

  Stink trudged back up the stairs, with Judy close behind.

  “And don’t forget your NON-frog homework, too,” Mom called.

  * * *

  In Stink’s room, Mouse curled up on his backpack. “How am I gonna learn all these frog calls by Tuesday?” Stink asked Judy. He held out his notebook for her to see. “You can’t go on the frog count unless you pass the quiz. Jasper said.”

  “I’ll help you,” said Judy. “But let’s make it a game. Instead of Rock, Paper, Scissors, we’ll call it . . . Rock, Balloon, Squeak Toy.”

  “How do we play?”

  “Close your eyes. I’ll make a sound. You guess which frog it is. But we have to keep it down because Mom won’t like us doing frog homework first.”

  “Okay, c’mon,” said Stink. He squeezed his eyes shut. Judy rubbed the balloon. She twanged the rubber band. She clicked the stones.

  “Mrrow!” Mouse pawed at the stones.

  “Chorus frog. Wood frog. Cricket frog,” Stink guessed.

  Judy checked Stink’s notebook. “Sorry. Leopard frog. Green frog. Cricket frog.”

  Stink hung his head.

  “Hey, you got one right. Cricket frog. C’mon, Stink. Just get super-duper quiet. And really listen. Okay. Ready?”

  “Ready, Freddy,” said Stink.

  Judy rubbed, clicked, squeaked, and twanged.

  “Balloon, stones, squeak toy, rubber band,” Stink said. “That’s leopard frog, cricket frog, spring peeper, green frog.”

  “Bingo!” said Judy. She laughed, chuckled, whistled, peeped, snored, squeaked, jingled, and croaked until Stink knew pickerel frog from peeper, chorus frog from cricket.

  “Yikes,” said Judy, putting a shh-finger to her lips. “I bet they can hear us all the way at the end of Croaker Road.”

  “Do you think they call our street Croaker Road because of all the frogs?”

  “Because of animal frogs, Stink, not human boy frogs.”

  “Ribbet!” Stink croaked.

  “Okay, close your eyes. I bet I can stump you. Ready?” Judy made a zzzzz sound.

  “Bullfrog. No. Wood frog. No. Bullfrog.” He opened his eyes.

  “Zipper frog,” said Judy. “That was just me zipping the zipper on your backpack.”

  “No fair,” said Stink. “There’s no such thing as a zipper frog.”

  “Mrrr-ow!” Mouse pounced on the jingle bells.

  “Jingle frog!” Stink and Judy said at the same time. They cracked themselves up.

  “We gotta finish our NOT-frog homework, Stink. Besides, you’re like the Frog King now. No, you’re like President of the Frogs. Now you just have to practice on real frogs.”

  “Sque-enk!” said Stink.

  On Tuesday, Stink Moody, Frog Genius, passed his test with flying colors. Frog test, that is.

  Now if only he could pass a put-your-head-under-the-water swimming test, too. On Wednesday, Stink got wet up-to-but-not-including his nose. He dipped his left and right ear in the water. He leaned way back and got his hair wet.

  “Go, Stink,” said Cammy, his swim teacher. “Now let’s see if you can blow bubbles.” Stink blew bubbles with his mouth. He almost-just-about-not-quite blew bubbles with his nose.

  Almost!

  Someday, Stink would even get his eyeballs wet. He wished he had gills, like a tadpole. He wished he could breathe through his skin like a frog. Ribbet!

  * * *

  Stink could
not wait for Frog Friday. At last, it was Friday night. Frog night. Time for the First Annual Frog Neck Lake Frog Count.

  At three minutes before sunset, Stink loaded up his backpack. Flashlight. Backup flashlight. Pen. Thermometer. Timer. Tape recorder. At seven minutes after sunset, Stink called Frog Assistant Number One and Frog Assistant Number Two (aka Webster and Sophie of the Elves.)

  “Meet me at the Frog Neck Lake parking lot. T-minus twenty-seven minutes and counting.”

  When Dad dropped him off, Stink ran over to Sophie and Webster. The parking lot was humming with frog counters. There was a white-haired guy wearing a headlamp, a couple with matching T-shirts that said VIRGINIA IS FOR FROGS, and a teenager with froggy rain boots.

  “People sure are freaky for frogs, huh?” said Webster.

  Jasper waved Stink over. “Stink! Thanks for coming, dude. You guys are right on time. Hey, before I forget, I have something for you.” He handed Stink a plastic bag with two comic books. “I had a couple extras. Thought you might like them.”

  “Amazing Spider-Man Comic Book Number 414: From Darkness Strikes — Delilah! Whoa! She’s the one who brought Dr. Octopus back to life.”

  “In the other one,” said Jasper, “Spidey shrinks down to spider-size.”

  “Wow! Thanks!” Stink put them away in his backpack for safekeeping.

  “And . . . here’s your official Frog Log,” said Jasper.

  “Frog Log. Cool beans!” said Stink.

  Jasper showed Stink where to write down the time and the temperature. “And don’t forget sky, rain, and wind conditions.”

  Stink nodded.

  “Listen up, everybody,” said Jasper. “It’s time to head out and spread out. Don’t forget. Use your thermometers to record air temps. Set your timers to five minutes. Then record what species you hear on the ACI. That’s the Amphibian Calling Index. Got it?”

  Everybody nodded.

  “Are you ready to ribbet?” asked Jasper.

  * * *

  A light rain fell. The night air smelled like worms. Cro-oak! Cra-awk! The pond was a symphony of frogs.

  Stink filled in his Frog Log. Time: 7:56 p.m. Temp: 55 degrees. Sky code: 5, for light rain, drizzle. Stink licked his finger and held it in the air to check the wind. Wind code: 2. Gentle breeze.

  “Shoo-ee. There must be a million frogs out here,” said Sophie.

  “Yeah, maybe they’re singing bedtime songs,” said Stink. “Like a frog sleepover.”

  “They don’t sound sleepy to me,” said Webster. He put his fingers in his ears.

  “Guys! The number one rule of frog counting is QUIET. Frogs will stop singing if we make too much noise. When I start the timer, we have to be quiet for five minutes.”

  “Five whole minutes?” asked Webster.

  “Sophie, you hold the umbrella over me,” said Stink.

  “Why does she get to hold the umbrella?” asked Webster.

  “Because . . . she’s Frog Assistant Number Two. But Frog Assistant Number One gets to . . . hold the flashlight. So I can see what I’m writing.”

  Stink set the timer. He tilted his head, closed his eyes, and listened. Peeper frogs peeped and chorus frogs preeped. Leopard frogs laughed and green frogs thrummed like they were playing the banjo. C-tung! C-tung!

  Stink made a tick in his notebook for each kind of frog he heard.

  “What do you hear?” Webster asked.

  “I hear you,” said Stink.

  “I’m bored,” said Webster.

  “Wait. I hear a dog barking,” said Stink. “Noise level: two.”

  “I hear a car on the road,” said Sophie.

  “Noise level: three. For car noise,” said Stink.

  “I hear a cat,” said Webster.

  “It’s probably a bullfrog,” said Stink. “When a bullfrog is scared, it sounds like a cat.”

  “Now it sounds more like a cow. Is it true you can hear them, like, a mile away? And is it true that one bullfrog can eat a whole snake? And is it true —”

  “Noise level: Six, for the talking assistant.”

  “Oops.” Webster held his hand over his mouth. He aimed the flashlight up at the sky.

  “Webster. The light. I can’t see.” Stink made a mark for a spring peeper.

  “But I thought I saw a shooting star,” said Webster. “My arm is tired.”

  “At least you’re not holding the umbrella,” said Sophie, switching hands. “My arm’s about to fall off!”

  “Shh!” said Webster. “I heard something.” He trained the light on the woods behind them. Just then, all three friends heard a sound coming from the trees.

  Snap!

  “Bobcat!” Webster dared to whisper.

  “Or a vampire flying frog!” Sophie whispered.

  Snap! Snap! Twigs snapped. Leaves crunched underfoot.

  “Maybe it’s a moose,” said Webster.

  “There’re no meese, I mean mice, I mean moose in Virginia,” said Stink.

  “Maybe it’s a moose frog,” said Webster.

  “No such thing,” said Stink.

  Snap! Crunch! The not-moose was getting closer. Stink pricked up his ears. Closer, closer . . .

  “Aagh!” All three kids screamed. Webster dropped the flashlight. Sophie’s umbrella went flying.

  “Hi, guys!” said Jasper.

  “Jasper!” said Stink. “You scared our pants off!”

  “We thought you were a moose,” said Sophie.

  “Or a moose frog,” said Webster.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Just came over to see how it’s going.”

  “Great!” said Stink. “So far I heard six peeper frogs. One big fat bullfrog. And a bunch of others, too. See?”

  “Good job,” said Jasper, shining a light on Stink’s notebook. “Let me know if you hear any barking tree frogs. They’re pretty much endangered now, but you never know. Thanks, guys.”

  As soon as Jasper left, Webster pulled up his hood and shifted from foot to foot. “I’m wet,” said Webster.

  “I’m cold,” said Sophie.

  “I’m hungry,” said Stink.

  The frogs got quiet. Not a peep.

  “Let’s count marshmallows,” said Stink. “In our hot chocolate.”

  The Slime rushed along the underground tunnel and oozed up through the manhole into the streets. Cars and cabs got smeared with slime. Buses and trains dripped with slime. Fire trucks and stop signs turned from red to green.

  The whole city was one big mess. Streets crawled with sewer rats. Swimming pools oozed with green gunk. This was a job for Stink Frog. He uncurled his mile-long tongue. But not even he could lick up all the —

  “Aagh!” Stink swiped at his left arm, waking up from his dream, where he was swimming in . . . cat slobber! “Mouse, stop licking. That tickles!”

  RIBBET!

  Stink opened one eye. It was not a cat licking his arm. It was not a dog. It was not a guinea pig. It was a . . .

  “Frog!” yelled Stink. He bolted awake. “Hey! How did you get —”

  The frog leaped. Stink glanced at the open backpack on his bed. The Spider-Man comic books spilled out of it.

  Last night, Stink had been so tired, he did not have to count frogs-not-sheep to get to sleep. He fell asleep reading Amazing Spider-Man #414.

  Stink scooped up the frog. “Hey! Did you get into my backpack last night at the lake or something?”

  The frog blinked. Stink stared at the frog.

  Wait just a frog-hopping minute! Something was not right. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

  Stink rubbed his eyes. He shook his head. He pinched himself. Ouch! He was awake all right. This was no-way-no-how NOT a dream.

  The frog did not have three legs. The frog did not have five legs. The frog did not have an extra eye or a freaky tail.

  The frog was blue.

  Blue like the sky-blue crayon. Blue like the sky-blue sky. Blue as in NOT green. No lie!

  This frog was not normal. T
his frog was mutant. This frog was ninja. This frog was . . . radioactive! Was it? Could it be? No way. But it must be. How else do you explain a blue frog?

  And . . . the frog had licked Stink. Just like the spider that bit Peter Parker!

  Freaky frog freakout! A real-live radioactive mutant frog had licked him — right on the freckle on his left arm. Stink would never ever wash that spot again.

  This was the best day ever! And it was only 8:31 a.m.

  * * *

  At 8:45 a.m., Stink set up an old fishbowl for the mutant frog — King Otto the Third. He hid it under his Spider-Man pajama shirt. He hid that under his desk.

  A blue frog! And this rarest of frogs, this radioactive mutant ninja frog, had licked him. Stink E. Moody.

  This was a thing so secret, Stink did not tell anybody. He kept the freaky frog all to himself — for a little while. He would wait. Wait for something unusual to happen.

  Something Peter Parker–ish.

  At 9:03 a.m., Stink went downstairs for breakfast. At 9:05, Stink ate a bowl of cereal. At 9:06, Stink said, “Is it just me? Or do these raisins look like dead flies?”

  “You hate raisins,” said Judy.

  Glup! “Not anymore,” said Stink.

  “Here, you can have my dead flies, too,” said Judy. She plopped three wrinkly dead-fly raisins into his bowl.

  “Stink. Milk. On your nose,” said Mom, pointing to her own nose.

  Slurp! At 9:13, Stink touched the tip of his nose with his tongue. Holy cow! I didn’t know I could do that, thought Stink.

  “Weird!” Judy wiggled her own tongue up toward her nose.

  “Not even close,” said Stink.

  “Since when can you touch your nose with your tongue?”

  “Since eight thirty-one this morning,” he told Judy. Since I got licked by a mutant frog! He didn’t dare say it out loud. But wait . . . was it true? For real? Stink stuck out his tongue and tried again. It worked! Amazing!

  “Kids,” said Mom. “Let’s keep our tongues in our mouths at the table.”

  At 9:26, Stink put his bowl in the sink. He leapfrogged around the kitchen.