One day last spring, when the beautiful May morning was begging all us kids to come out and play, and our teacher Mrs. Harris kept hinting she was going to turn us loose for recess ten minutes early since most of us had done real well on the math test, Logan Parrish threw a fit because he’d gotten a ninety-eight instead of a one hundred. He stood in front of Mrs. Harris’s desk waving his hands around like a crazy person, while everyone in the classroom moaned and groaned and yelled out, “C’mon, Logan!” and “Save it for after school, Logan!”
By the time Logan was done, we could look out the window and see all the other fifth grade classes already on the playground. We’d missed seven minutes of a beautiful spring day recess on account of Logan Parrish, but he ignored the boos that came his way as he walked back to his seat, the ninety-eight unchanged on the top of his test paper, still fussing and fuming under his breath.
That was just the sort of misfit Logan Parrish was. He didn’t even try to get on anyone’s good side, the way poor old pimply Molly Dietz did, handing out Twinkies at lunchtime and writing book reports for people. You couldn’t even feel sorry for him. He couldn’t care less whether you did or not.
“What are you laughing about?” I asked, setting down my tray, trying to hide my disappointment that Murphy was eating lunch with the most despised person in the sixth grade. “Did I miss a good joke?”
Murphy tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Oh, we were just discussing Mrs. Cattrell. She explained how to multiply square roots in class today. It was pretty painful.”
“She has to use a calculator, if you can believe it,” Logan said, shaking his head, which as usual was covered up by a grungy blue Fraley’s Feeds baseball cap. “It’s so pathetic.”
I examined my taco. Math was not my strong point. “So how’s your first day going, anyway?” I asked Murphy. “I mean, besides the square roots and all?”
“Okay,” Murphy said, taking a bite of pinto beans. “I’ve seen worse schools than this one, I guess.”
“You should join the band,” Logan told her. “There are a few people who aren’t morons in band, unlike the rest of the clubs in this school.”
He had a stringy little piece of lettuce hanging from his glasses, but before I could think of a polite way to mention it, Murphy reached over and flicked it off. “There seem to be some low-flying vegetables in the air today,” she said, smiling at him, her green eyes shining. Logan went red, and he looked at Murphy all googly-eyed, like she was a present Santa Claus had just dropped on the table in front of him.
Murphy leaned over and tapped her fork on my tray. “Hey, Maddie, can we have boys over at the dorm? I mean, can Logan come over?”
“Ricky Ray comes to visit me in the afternoon sometimes,” I said. “So I guess so.”
Logan wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Is Ricky Ray your boyfriend?”
“Ricky Ray is six,” I told him. “He’s a little young for romance.”
Looking at his watch, Logan said, “My mom’s picking me up for a dentist’s appointment in five minutes. Should I tell her to drop me off at the Home this afternoon, around four?”
“Sure,” Murphy told him. “It’s the first dorm as soon as you come up the driveway. I’ll be waiting out front.”
“Waiting to do what?” I asked as we watched Logan walk out of the cafeteria, his two-ton backpack hanging off his right shoulder, his trumpet case in his left hand. “What on earth could you think up to do with Logan Parrish?”
“Well, there’s math homework, for one thing,” Murphy said, popping her Jell-O with a spoon. “And looking for something to do, for another. I’m the sort of person who always needs something interesting to do, wherever I am. I was raised that way.”
“But why Logan Parrish?” I asked. “What makes you think he’ll be interesting?”
Murphy began packing up her stuff. “What you don’t understand about Logan is that he’s a frog prince.”
“A what?”
“A frog prince. A person who once was a frog but who got the right kiss and turned into a prince. Can’t you tell he used to be an amphibian? He’s still not used to being human, that’s perfectly clear to me,” Murphy said, shoving a notebook into her backpack. “It’s like he’s not of this world, not of that world.”
I’ll tell you, my head was starting to spin. For one thing, who in the world would kiss Logan Parrish?
I stood and picked up my tray to take it over to the trash. “I think you’re confusing Logan Parrish with some fairy tale,” I told Murphy. “Trust me, they’re two entirely different things.”
“Don’t you believe that magical things can happen?” Murphy looked at me like she was dead serious and expected a serious answer in return.
I was stumped. “I guess I never thought about it,” I said. “But I haven’t seen much evidence to prove it.”
“Oh, there’s more to everything than the eye can see,” Murphy informed me. “I thought everybody knew that.”