By Princess Gabriella’s best estimate, it was late afternoon by the time they’d finished wandering the gardens. As they neared the end of a gravel path, she turned toward Isabella, squinting into the sun, and mustered her social skills.
“So, what do you want to do? I think we have just enough time for one more thing.”
“You know, Princess—“
“I wish you would call me Gabby,” she interjected. Shoot. There she goes, interrupting people.
“Gabby,” Isabella began again, “I actually like the lessons.” She laughed, “So, I get to do what I want every day.”
Gabby’s jaw dropped, “What? You like it?”
Isabella smiled sheepishly, “What can I say? I find the history and languages fascinating. Plus,” she gently nudged Gabby with her elbow, “although I’m not nearly as good at painting and dancing as you are, I’m getting better.”
That sounded like a sincere compliment to Princess Gabriella—as rare as snow. Gabby could feel her cheeks grow warm as a smile spread across her lips. She also tried not to think about how this made Isabella more of what King Daddy wished she was—and Isabella liked it!
“Does that mean I get to choose?” asked Frog.
Gabby and Isabella looked down to where he was perched on the basket.
“I guess so,” said Gabby. She frowned, “You’re not going to make us eat bugs, are you?”
“Honey, I don’t think any of us here would enjoy that.”
She scrunched her lips, “But you’re a frog. That’s what they do.”
He looked up at her and she could swear he was raising an eyebrow at her—which made no sense because he had no eyebrows.
“I haven’t always been a frog, you know.”
Now it was Gabby’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
Frog let out a heavy sigh. “Seriously,” he muttered to himself, “people never seem to think it through.” He looked up at Gabby and Isabella, “I am a frog that talks. Please tell me that it had at least crossed your mind that this isn’t the natural state of things.”
“Er—“ said Gabby.
He shook his head. “This has to be really embarrassing for you,” he said with some mock patronization.
A sudden and unexpected surge of frustration jolted Gabriella. “You know, if I wanted to be honest,” she began, “I try not to think about anything too much.” Jabbing her forefinger into the air as she emphasized her words, she was strikingly reminiscent of her father.
“I’ve spent years getting shoved into a mold that I hate, but if I don’t think about it, I can still maintain some semblance of composure.”
She was surprised at her words. She’d never told anyone this before. “So, when a talking frog came along, I did what I normally do—which is to just do what I had to do and not think about it too much.”
Frog wasn’t fabulous at reading girls’ body language, but he was astute enough to pick up on her anger. He was reminded of Isabella’s unsolicited advice to him the night before and decided to tread more carefully.
YOU ARE READING
Frog Meets Girl
Teen FictionPrincess Gabriella Persephone Almondine Jane has been angry for as long as she can remember, but one day an icky green tag-along starts to rock her world. How will she respond when her world is slowly turned upside down?
