Stink and the Freaky Frog Freakout (Book #8) (5 page)

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. This 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!