Once Upon a Toad

Once Upon a Toad

A girl gets into a mouthful of trouble in this “toadally” fractured fairy tale, from the author of the Mother-Daughter Book Club series. Once upon a time, Cat Starr lived with her astronaut mom in Houston. But when her mother gets sent on a long-term mission, Cat has to move to a faraway land—her dad’s house, halfway across the country—and share a room with her real-life evil stepsister, Olivia. Just when Cat can’t take it anymore, Great Aunt Abyssinia comes to the rescue. And things go from bad to cursed. The next morning, Cat opens her mouth and a toad hops out! What’s more, when Olivia speaks, diamonds and flowers appear. How unfair is that ? Before you can say "happily ever after," the girls are on the run from jewel thieves and a government agency. Can Cat save the day—and get rid of all those toads? This is an enchanting fractured fairy tale from acclaimed Mother-Daughter Book Club author Heather Vogel Frederick. "A light-hearted read, sure to entertain no matter what your taste--flowery or toad-ally gross."--Yankton Daily Press and Dakotan "Fans of Frederick's "The Mother-Daughter Book Club" should thoroughly enjoy this modern version of an old fairy tale." --"Library Media Connection" "Recommended for fans of pure wackiness." ---Booklist "For fans of fantasy and fairy tales, this is a gem."-"School Library Journal" "In this enjoyable twist on a Charles Perrault fairy tale . . . Frederick keeps readers entertained with an action-packed, zany plot and an even wackier cast." --"The Horn Book Magazine" Heather Vogel Frederick is the award-winning author of the Mother-Daughter Book Club series, the Pumpkin Falls Mystery series, the Patience Goodspeed books, the Spy Mice series, and Once Upon a Toad . An avid fan of small towns like Pumpkin Falls, Heather and her husband live in New England, close to where Heather grew up. You can learn more about the author and her books at HeatherVogelFrederick.com. CHAPTER 1 “Are we there yet?” My little brother pulled his index finger out of his mouth, sounding anxious. Geoffrey’s not quite four and doesn’t like car trips. Without taking his eyes off the road, my dad reached over the back of his seat and stuffed the finger back in. It works kind of like a safety plug. Geoffrey’s nickname in our family is Barf Bucket. “Not much longer, buddy. Hang in there.” I was well out of range, sitting in the very back of the minivan next to Olivia. If you can call being braced against opposite car windows sitting “next to” each other. There was practically a force field between us. My stepsister and I are not exactly best friends. I’d just arrived from Houston, where I live with my mom for most of the year, and was on the way from the airport to my dad’s house in Oregon. Usually, I only spend vacations with my father: Thanksgiving or Christmas, take your pick; plus half of spring break and a month every summer. This time, though, was different. This time I was moving in for three months, smack-dab in the middle of the school year. Well, almost the middle. April 1, to be exact. What choice did I have? It’s not like I could stay at home with my mom. She was in outer space. Literally. My mother is an astronaut. “It’s either go to Portland or stay with your great-aunt Abyssinia,” she told me when she broke the news that she’d been selected to go to the International Space Station. Obviously, there was no way she could take me with her. Not that I didn’t beg her to anyway. Anything would be better than sharing a room with Miss Prissy Pants Olivia Haggerty. Well, almost anything. The prospect of staying with my great-aunt Abyssinia was marginally worse, I had to admit. Great-Aunt Aby is my mother’s only relative. She lives in an RV with her cat, Archibald, and spends her time traveling around to all the national parks. Our refrigerator back in Houston is plastered with her postcards: “Greetings from Yosemite!”; “Having a grand time at the Grand Canyon!”; and my personal favorite, “Chillaxin’ at Glacier!” All of them are signed “ABYCNU”—the stupid little jingle she and my mother use when they say good-bye to each other. “Abyssinia!” my mother always hollers as Great-Aunt Abyssinia drives away. “Not if I be seeing you first!” my great-aunt hollers back, and then they both laugh their heads off. They think this is just hilarious, for some reason. Once, a couple of years ago when I was still in elementary school, my mother and I flew out to meet my great-aunt at Mount Rushmore for a week. It was kind of cool staying in the RV, but Great-Aunt Aby is weird. She’s scatterbrained and disorganized, and she has some strange hobbies (her snow globe collection is about ready to take over the RV) and even stranger ideas about food. I was in my “I don’t eat anything but fish sticks and peanut butter” phase back then, and her refrigerator had neither, just pickled eggs, kimchi, and about a hundred bottles of this disgusting green gloop that she drinks for breakfast. Her