Chapter  Four

Toads on the road

“Bradford, I phoned Elizabeth twice yesterday and once today, and she has not answered.”

“I was leaving to drop off the invitation. Would you like me to have a look around?”

“Yes, please. If there are any signs of trouble, we must make sure Sara is picked up immediately. She must be protected at all costs.”

“I will take care of it, Sir.”

Sara was horrified. The other students had seen her enter the bus with Bride of Frankenstein's hair. Thankfully, no one noticed. Perhaps they were too busy watching the toad following the bus. Maybe they were too involved in their selves to see the newbie in the back of the bus brushing her hair and glaring out the back window.

Finally, at the fourth stop on the way to school, the toad passed up the bus, waved to her, and sped on its way, but only after reading the sign on the side of the bus- WASHINGTON IRVING MIDDLE SCHOOL.

The bus chugged into the school parking lot. She inspected the area for a toad in an ugly green suit. She knew he was here, but she couldn’t find him. Everyone had already left the bus, and the driver was closing the doors when he saw Sara.

“Hey kid, it’s time to leave. Pick up your stuff and get out. I’m on a schedule here.” He pointed to his watch. Sara trudged down the aisle of the bus, looking out of all the windows while the bus driver glared at her and tapped his feet on the floor. As she was scrambling down the steps, she saw Tiffani sitting on the bench. She ran over and sat with her.

The toad forgotten, she started to tell Tiffani about her adventures from the day before.

Tiffani believed her. “Sara, I think we need to talk. There is something you need to know.”

“Okay,” she said as the bell rang. “We’ll talk in English, okay? That’s the late bell. I’m late again. My mom will be so mad.” Sara ran off to class. Tiffani walked to the other side of the campus, glancing about for any wayward toads.

From the shadows, a pair of large toad eyes had seen all that had happened but was not close enough to hear what the girls were talking about. The toad was jotting down notes in a small green notebook which he slipped into his breast pocket. It was now time for him to make his move. He lurched forward out of the shadows to grab his prey as she passed. At that moment a large man in a suit walked up to the girl and escorted her to class. The toad had missed his chance to meet his objective, again.

As Mr. Dalton dropped Sara off at her first-period math class, “Sara, this is your third tardy. You need to work harder at getting into school on time. If you promise to do better, we won’t add this tardy on the books, okay?”

“Sure, I promise Mr. Dalton.” She decided he would never believe the story of the computer calamities or the toad. Mr. Trottier was talking about square roots, but Sara was having a difficult time concentrating today.

School has always been an effort for her because her family moved so often. She is always catching up. But today, the events of the last several hours and a miserable night’s sleep were making concentration on the subject impossible. Her mind was wandering from computer calamities to migraines to toads as she watched the minute hand on the clock move closer and closer to the end of class. Mr. Trottier walked up to her and stood over her. She felt his eyes on the back of her head.

“Well, Sara. I asked you a question. What is the square root of 81?”

Sara had no idea. She had no idea what a square root was, much less what the square root of 81 was. She glanced at the clock; the minute hand had reached the 12. She exclaimed, “It’s nine.”

“Excellent.” Mr. Trottier looked surprised. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.” The bell rang, and she sprinted to her next class, US History.

History class was a repeat of math class. Her thoughts centered on the events of the past few hours and none of her classes. The only thing she learned all day was that the British were coming to the party, the party she was supposed to learn about online last night. She thought, “Now, why would we care if the British came to the tea party?”

Sara was excited about English class; she would get a chance to talk to Tiffani. She raced to class.

“Well Sara, you must be anxious for a lesson in the history surrounding William Shakespeare’s play, Julius Caesar.”

“Uh, sure,” replied Sara, watching down the corridor for Tiffani. The bell rang, Tiffani never came, and she slumped down in her seat.

Now she had, even more, to worry about, toads, instant messages, calamities, migraines and missing BFF’s. She did hear some of the lessons, but none of it made sense. She heard Ms. Graham say “The Eyes of March.” She was also talking about Marc Antony. Sara read all of the tabloid front pages when she and her mom were shopping for groceries. Everyone knows Marc Antony was once married to Jennifer Lopez. This has nothing to do with the Julius Caesar.

“Sara Roberts,” Ms. Graham put her hand on Sara’s shoulder, “We haven’t heard from you all day. Can you tell me anything you have learned in class today?”

She thought for an instant. Could this be a trick question? Every eye in the class was looking at her. “Uh- yes- Ma’am. March has eyes.”

The entire class broke out in laughter. Sara was the high point of this boring class. She shrank down into her seat.

The bell rang. “Before you leave, class, you must study for the test on the play Julius Caesar for tomorrow. We are reading Huckleberry Finn next, and I want three chapters read by Monday. If you do not intend to read all weekend, I would suggest you get started on that. Sara, did you get a chance to start reading the book last night?”

“No, Ms. Graham.” Sara thought maybe she should explain to Ms. Graham all the events of the evening before but decided, unlike Tiffani, Ms. Graham would not believe her.

“Class Dismissed.”

PE Class was uneventful.

At lunch, Sara waited for her at Tiffani’s table. Tiffani never came. Sara ate her Oreo cookies alone, worrying about her BFF.

Finding a secluded part of the school next to the library, she opened her phone and called Tiffani. Again, there was no answer. The phone didn’t even ring.

Sara plodded through the rest of her day. She seriously considered leaving class early and walking home. She knew that would not only be breaking a strict home rule but, it would also be breaking a strict school rule. It would go on her permanent record. Not that she knew what a permanent record was, but it was probably the reason the commercials on TV talked about people with bad credit. All of them probably left school early, and it got on their permanent record.

The end of the day finally came, and she rode home on the bus, hoping she would find her mother in the kitchen making onion, bologna, and macadamia nut cookies. The bus pulled up to her house. She stepped off and marched up to the house, ready to force the calamities from her home. As she approached the front door, her pulse quickened, and her steps slowed. Looking down the street for any signs of toads and finding none, she marched up to the front door, slammed it open with a major attitude, and shouted, “I’m gonna kick some major monster booty- you just better get out of my way.”

There were no monster booty’s to kick. The house was in perfect condition and as she left it except one thing. Her mother’s door was standing open. She ran into the room, but it was empty. The bed was made. It was neat and tidy, and there was a note lying on her mother’s bed. “Sara, I half left to help your Ant Abigail. She had an acident and had nowere else to turn. Love, Mom.”

Oddly, the handwriting or the spelling on the note did not look like her mothers and Sara had never heard of an Aunt Abigail. As far as she knew, she didn’t have any aunts, uncles, or grandparents. She had just stepped back into the living room when she noticed the note under the door, written in very impressive calligraphy.

Miss Sara Roberts

The Distinguished Mr. Thomas T. Thompson requests the presence of your company today at precisely 4:43 PM. Be Prompt. I have taken the liberty of sending transportation. This is of utmost importance.

Sincerely,

Thomas T. Thompson, ESQ.

A white stretch limo pulled up in front of her house. She was relieved to see that the chauffeur was not a toad.