Once Upon a Toad by Heather Vogel Frederick

moment.”
    You have no idea, I thought. Selective mute! I could show Dr. Douglass in two seconds flat just how mute I was, but I didn’t think toads would be very welcome in her office.
    â€œIf the condition persists, I’ll give you a referral to a therapist,” Dr. Douglass continued, “but my guess is she’ll be right as rain in a few days.”
    â€œAnd the talent show?” asked my father.
    I held my breath. I really didn’t want to let the Hawkwinds down.
    â€œI don’t see any reason she can’t participate. Olivia, either, although I would stress the importance of not broadcasting her current situation.”
    â€œSo we’ll be sending two mutes onstage tonight?” said Iz. “I’m not so sure about that.”
    â€œHow about I write a note excusing them both from speaking?” Dr. Douglass offered. “Given the unusual circumstances, I don’t mind stretching the truth a bit.” I heard her scribbling. “There you go — Olivia and Cat are now officially afflicted with a rare form of laryngitis.”
    I heard the three of them getting up from their chairs and raced back across the room. I hopped up onto the examination table and pasted an innocent look on my face just as Dr. Douglass entered the room.
    She gave me a big smile. “So, young lady, I understand you’re scheduled to play a little Bach tonight?”
    I nodded.
    â€œI wish I could be there to hear it. What’s the piece you’re playing?”
    I took my notebook and pen from my rain jacket pocket. The Fugue in G Minor, I wrote.
    Dr. Douglass’s eyebrows shot up. “Ambitious for a middle school quartet.”
    Iz put her arm around my shoulders. “My stepdaughter plays with the Houston Youth Symphony,” she said proudly, giving me a squeeze.
    I almost told them everything right then and there. Almost.
    The ride home was quiet. Dad and Iz both seemed lost in thought,and I was determined not to give in to the temptation to spill the beans. Toads. Whatever. It didn’t matter how nice my stepmother was—my stepsister wasn’t, and that was the problem.
    We stopped to pick up a pizza for dinner. Nobody was in the mood to cook. Back at the house we found Geoffrey all by himself in the living room, happily building a LEGO castle. At first I thought he was humming something by Mozart—the Twelve Variations—then realized it was the tune to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
    â€œWhere’s your sister?” Iz asked, glancing around. Olivia was supposed to be babysitting. She’d obviously been there, because the rug was strewn with flowers. Plus, a line of diamonds glittered at us from atop my little brother’s fortress walls.
    Geoffrey pulled his finger out of his mouth and pointed upstairs. Iz marched over to the foot of the stairwell. Dad and I were right behind her. A laugh rang out, and then we heard Olivia squeal, “No way, Piper! You really said that to him?”
    My stepsister was on the phone.
    Iz drew herself up into the full mad-mom pose, hands on hips and mouth in a thin, flat line. My mother uses the exact same one when she’s ticked off at me. They must teach it at mom school.
    â€œOlivia Jean Haggerty!” she hollered.
    â€œUm, I’ll get dinner on the table,” said my father, backing away with the pizza boxes and disappearing into the kitchen. It was no fun being around when Iz got mad.
    â€œYes, Mom?” Olivia called back, her voice dripping sweetness and light and who knew what else.
    â€œCome down here this minute, young lady!”
    My stepsister appeared at the top of the stairs.
    Busted, I thought, suppressing a grin. It might be stupid and childish, but I still get a kick out of it when she gets in trouble.
    Iz held out her hand. Olivia slumped down the stairs and handed over her cell phone.
    â€œWhere did you get this?”
    â€œYour dresser drawer,”