Hello my name is Salaar I couldn’t stop looking at the frog and it couldn’t stop looking back. We were locked in a staring contest. Maybe some frogs blinked, but with its eyes smushed against the glass, this one didn’t. Stagwood Forest was just beyond the schoolyard and it was riddled with frogs, but they always avoided people. I knew right away, in a way that I could think better than I could say, that this frog was different.

I tried to listen back in to Miss Weaver, just in time to hear the end of her story about Martin Shandals, the now-famous comedian. Martin had transferred schools half way through the year, so I always felt to me like that one shouldn’t count. We were supposed to be learning long division, but something had reminded her of Martin. I knew exactly what bad joke she would end the story with, but much less about long division. 

“Whenever he acted up in class I’d say, ‘we’ve got a real comedian on our hands don’t we?’ And I was right!” she said with a guffaw. 

I was certain that Miss Weaver would see the frog within moments, but I was wrong. Nobody did. More importantly, when I looked again to see if it was still there, I noticed something new. Something shiny. And when I realized what it was, I forgot all about class, and Miss Weaver, and Martin Shandals. There was no denying it: the frog had put on a tiny pair of glasses.