Frog Freakout (3 page)

“Not at all,” said Petty, grinning again. “I'm on holiday too. I don't plan to hijack the cells of anyone or instigate anything this week. Although you might like to know that the REPTOSWITCH formula is very nearly complete.”

“How can you complete it?” asked Josh. “You never found the final crystal cube with the last bit of the secret formula!”

He and Danny exchanged uneasy glances. They had been helping Petty find the REPTOSWITCH formula all summer. It was hidden in six parts, each part in code in a crystal cube. They'd found them all—but the very last one was not in Petty's lab. Right at this moment, it was in a thick old sock at the bottom of Danny's camp gym bag. They'd decided Petty was too dangerous to have it when she nearly killed an old enemy a couple of weeks ago after S.W.I.T.C.H.ing him into a cockroach.

“Well, I'm hoping I can somehow work out the missing bit,” went on Petty. “And in the meantime, as a side experiment, I've also concocted AMPHISWITCH!”

“AMPHISWITCH?” Josh couldn't help the tiniest flutter of excitement. He had always adored amphibians.

“Yes! Reptiles and amphibians are quite similar, you see . . . and although the missing part of the REPTOSWITCH formula is flummoxing me when it comes to perfecting reptile S.W.I.T.C.H.ing, the parts I have got were nine-tenths of what I needed for amphibians. I put my brilliant mind to work on
some calculations, which are far too complicated for you to understand . . . and discovered the final bit for AMPHISWITCH last week! Now I can S.W.I.T.C.H. you into a frog or a toad or a newt!” Petty's eyes gleamed through the condensation on her glasses.

Danny and Josh gave her a stony look. “But not NOW, obviously,” simpered Petty. “We're all on holiday. No S.W.I.T.C.H.ing, no experiments . . . just lots of jolly FUN! So—what do you say? Shall we go and get lunch? It's pot pie and peas . . . my favorite!”

“OK,” said Josh, and Danny nodded. They followed Petty out into the rain, which really did seem to be going up as well as sideways, and made for the canteen cabin.

Petty smiled happily at them as they stepped outside into a big wet gust of wind, but Josh and Danny didn't smile back. They didn't look at her at all. So they didn't see the four plastic spray bottles hidden in her coat as the gust blew it open.

Charlie was doing a handstand on a dining table when they walked into the canteen cabin. A dozen or so kids were counting and clapping. It seemed she'd been handstanding for quite some time, because they were up to sixty-six.

“Keep counting,” squeaked Charlie, her face beet red and her many beaded black braids dangling between her elbows. She was wearing the Outdoor Action Camp uniform of blue shorts and a lurid orange T-shirt (the instructors and camp counselors liked to see them easily at a distance), but even upside down Danny could see that she'd “improved” her T-shirt with a Sharpie marker. The big smiley on it now had fangs, dripping blood.

“Good lord,” said Petty. “Does she do this sort of thing often?”

“All the time,” Danny grinned. “That's Charlie Wexford.” He thought Charlie was brilliant. In the three days since they'd arrived, Charlie had been the most punished kid onsite. She'd climbed up on the girls' dormitory cabin roof and yodeled (no dessert), canoed off on her own down the river and got herself happily lost for an hour (no dessert twice and a big Drill Sergeant shouting session), cut a girl's hair with “borrowed” kitchen scissors (all her sweets confiscated and Drill Sergeant shouting for nearly half an hour)—and
made up alternative words for the Outdoor Action Camp campfire song.

The proper campfire song went like this:

We love to swim; we love to climb.

We love to cook outdoors and sing.

We love to build a campfire

And be jolly about everything!

Charlie's version went this way:

We love to play computer games.

We love to watch TV and snack.

We hate this rotten weather,

And we all want to go back.

After the handheld computer games were confiscated, everyone learned Charlie's version with gusto. Drill Sergeant had ROARED at them for nearly an hour around that campfire . . . And Charlie was sent to bed without supper.

But nothing seemed to put her off.

Seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven . . .

“Dear child, your head is going to pop,” observed Petty Potts, peering at Charlie curiously. Charlie's face was purple now.

“I feel fine,” gurgled Charlie.

“Well that's perfectly all right then,” said Petty, taking a seat at the table and beaming closely at Charlie's upended face. “As long as you don't mind your blood pooling in your skull, leading to congestion, vessel rupture, seizures, and possibly death. So, everyone . . . when do we get lunch?”

Charlie looked a little worried, and her legs wobbled. Then she crashed down right into the cutlery and salt and pepper tray EXACTLY as the door flew open and Drill Sergeant strode in.

“WEXFOOOOOOORD!” bellowed Drill Sergeant, and everyone scattered away from the table in horror. Now they would ALL miss dessert.

“Hello, Steve,” said Petty, getting to her feet and offering the camp leader a sickly smile. “Don't mind little Charlie here. I asked her to assist me with an experiment on the pressure of blood on the inverted brain.”

“Wuff-uff-uff!” spluttered Drill Sergeant. His mouth had been open, and he'd been taking in a big lungful of air, ready to shout so loudly that everyone would be pasted against the far wall. The new camp counselor lady had taken the wind out of him . . . literally.

“You remember I told you I'm a scientist,” explained Petty, taking off her hat. “So when children ask questions, I do like to explain things thoroughly to them. That's why this sweet young lady was performing a handstand. But I can see that we've been a little overenthusiastic. Don't worry about it at all, Steve. We'll soon have the knives and forks shipshape. Shut your mouth now, there's a dear.” And she actually leaned over and pushed Drill Sergeant's chin up until his mouth snapped shut with a clunk of teeth. He looked absolutely astonished.

“What's your name?” asked Charlie when they were all sitting down to cottage pie and peas a few minutes later.

“Miss Potts,” said Petty. “I've taken over from Miss Chatham, who, as you probably know, came out in a nasty rash of boils yesterday.”

“Well, Miss Potts,” grinned Charlie,waving a fork of mashed potato toward her and narrowing her dark brown eyes. “You are COOL!”

Josh and Danny, sitting on either side of the cool Miss Potts, shook their heads and groaned.

“Thank you, dear,” Petty replied. “Call me Petty.”

“We're watching you!” warned Danny in a low voice, leaning toward her. “Don't you try S.W.I.T.C.H.ing Charlie!”

“Danny, when will you learn to trust me?” sighed Petty with a look of great sorrow, thinking of the hidden S.W.I.T.C.H. spray bottles inside her coat. “You're all quite safe with me . . .”

Charlie's most daring feat took place that night. At around 2:30 a.m., there came a series of small sharp knocks on their door. It sounded like a squirrel with urgent news.