Katie Fitzgerald
Girls’ basketball practice ended just before the boys’ game, and I was the last one to leave the court. As I dribbled the ball I’d been using for drills over toward the rack, it got away from me and rolled down the sideline along the foot of the bleachers. Hoisting my gym bag on my shoulder, I ran after it, parading my sweaty post-practice ponytail and sweats in front of half the school as they gathered for tonight’s game. The ball nearly made it all the way to the corner by the emergency exit, but before it could lead me on any more of a chase, a fuzzy green webbed foot brought it to a halt.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes, taking in green legs, a speckled tummy, webbed mittens, and finally, a giant frog’s head belonging to Henry Hopper, the school mascot representing our team, the Forestville Frogs. No one knew who was in the costume, except that it was a guy, but I was grateful to whoever he was. “Thanks,” I said as he lifted the ball into his mittened hands and bounced it over to me.
“No problem,” was his muffled response. “You looked good out there.” He tilted his frog’s head toward the court. “Are you staying for the game?”
I blushed at the sudden, unexpected compliment. I wasn’t the strongest player on the team, and most comments about my performance were more along the lines of not-so-constructive criticism. “I can’t tonight. My dad’s waiting to drive me home.”
“Gotcha,” said the frog. “Well, have a good night.”
“Go team!” I gave an awkward fist pump, which caused my bag to slip from my shoulder. Embarrassed, I hightailed it out of there.
The next morning in homeroom, everyone was talking about the Frogs’ victory and their upcoming championship game. Across the aisle, Tad turned in his seat to look at me. Flashing the adorable grin that had been powering my crush since 7th grade, he said, “Lauren, you should have stayed. Double overtime! It was amazing!”
Darn. I got so distracted by Henry Hopper, that I missed Tad! If only I’d known Tad had been there or that he’d noticed my absence, maybe I could have asked my dad to let me stay. Thankfully, another opportunity to spend time with Tad was coming up: the spring dance at the end of this week. I wasn’t brave enough to ask Tad to go with me, but I told myself I could probably be brave enough to ask him to dance.
That afternoon, I was early to practice because my last class was health, and the room was right next to the gym. When I entered the gym from the locker room, I noticed a guy by the bleachers dressed in regular workout clothes but holding the frog’s head. At the sound of my footsteps, he quickly slipped the head on before turning to face me. When I got close enough to hear, he said, “We meet again. Want to shoot a few hoops?”
“In that thing?”
He shrugged. “Why not? It’s the same thing I do at halftime.”
I giggled, remembering his goofy halftime routine from a couple of weeks ago. “Okay.”
I grabbed a ball from the rack, and we met at halfcourt. I took the first shot and missed, and he took the second and made it, and then we each made a few in a row before he missed one. Every time he jumped, I laughed at how frog-like he seemed.
“I like your laugh,” he said after the fourth time I broke down into hysterics.
“I like your greenness,” I joked to cover up my shyness, then went in for a layup. Unfortunately, this time he tried to block me, our feet got tangled, and I landed on the floor with a bump.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, putting out a hand to help me up. I took it, and even when I was steady on my feet, I still held onto his fingers, noticing their warmth and wanting to cling to them.
When my teammates started wandering in, we let go, and I said, “Well, I’d better hop to it.”
“Hey, that’s my job,” Henry Hopper replied. Then, to my surprise, he put an arm around my shoulder, giving me a side hug. “Until next time, okay?” Then he jogged off the court and disappeared into the boys’ locker room.
On Friday night, I was standing in the same spot beneath that same basket when the DJ announced that it was time to name the Spring Dance Prince and Princess. I had forgotten that Tad was in the running. That was why I hadn’t been able to find him to dance with me. Now, though, everyone knew where he was, as he, two guys from the basketball team, and three of the popular girls stood in the spotlight waiting to hear which of their names would be called.
I wasn’t the least bit surprised when Tad, who was always so friendly, kind, and sweet, was presented with the gold plastic crown. I was, however, completely floored when, instead of dancing with the newly crowned princess, he walked straight over to me.
“I want you to dance with me, Lauren,” he said. “But hold on one sec.”
He turned his back to me. I watched as he pulled something from his pants pocket, fidgeted briefly with whatever it was, then turned to face me again. When he held up both hands, they were unmistakably green and webbed.
Gaping, I said, “You’re—”
He nodded. “I am. Is that okay?”
Grinning, I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck, tilted my chin, and answered his question with a gentle kiss.
“If I’d known you’d do that, I’d have ditched the suit sooner,” Tad teased, pulling me in closer. My heart leaped in my chest as I danced with my frog prince.
Katie grew up in a small town in New York’s Hudson Valley, but now lives in the Maryland suburbs with her husband and five kids.
Connect with Katie on Facebook, Instagram, Goodreads, or her website.
Spark Flash Fiction 