agreeing to meet in the barn later that day. Then they raced home to see what tools they could find to clear a path.
Owen stashed some tools in the corner of the barn and then headed down to the pond to check on Tooley. He sat on the rotting dock and stared glumly out across the water. The air was thick with heat. A shiny black turtle was sunning on a log at the edge of the pond. A bullfrog floated among a cluster of leaves nearby. Owen could just make out its bulging yellow eyes and the top of its green head.
Maybe he should try to catch that frog so Tooley would have a friend.
Owen sighed.
His niggle came back.
The niggle had started as a tiny seed of a thought.Then it had begun to grow, bigger and bigger, until it became a full-grown thought.
Maybe he should let Tooley go.
Owen looked down into the cage. Tooley floated in the dirty water, nestled up against the side, one webbed foot resting on the chicken wire.
He looked terrible.
Owen felt terrible.
He had worked so hard to catch that frog. He had stalked him for weeks, scanning the edges of the pond, searching the leaves and logs. It had been so much fun, trying to figure out if the frog he spotted was
his
frog. The one with the heart-shaped red spot between his eyes.
And then, when he had finally caught him, he had figured Tooley Graham would be his forever.
But now Owen was starting to think maybe he had made a mistake.
He reached into the water and touched Tooley’s foot. The frog swam lazily to the other side of the cage . . .
. . . away from Owen.
“Tooley Graham,” Owen whispered.
The frog nestled down into the slimy mud on the bottom of the pond and closed his eyes.
Owen let out a sigh so big and so loud that the turtle scampered off the log and into the pond, sending little ripples across the surface of the water.
Owen whispered “Tooley Graham” one more time before trudging slowly back up the path to meet Travis and Stumpy in the barn.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Owen and Travis and Stumpy sawed and clipped and dug and hacked.
They sawed down scruffy little pine trees.
They clipped overhanging branches.
They dug up clumps of thorny bushes.
They hacked at tangled vines.
Pete and Leroy joined them from time to time, chewing on twigs, rooting their noses in the freshly dug dirt, then scampering back through the woods toward home again.
Inch by inch, the three boys were clearing a path from the submarine to the pond. By the time the afternoon sun had begun to sink, the backs of their necks were burned and they were only halfway there.
Travis tossed a saw onto a clump of vines. “That’s it,” he said. “I’m sick of doing this.”
“Me, too,” Stumpy said, leaning on the garden hoe he had been using to hack up the roots of a bush.
“We can’t stop now,” Owen said. “We’re almost halfway there.”
“It’s too hot,” Travis said. “We can work on it some more in the morning, when it’s cooler.” He picked up the saw and tossed it into the wheelbarrow with a clang. “Besides,” he added, “we don’t even know how we’re going to get that sub down to the pond, anyways.”
Stumpy nodded in agreement.
“And,”
Travis went on, “even if we do get it to the pond, we don’t even know how to drive it.” He tossed another tool into the wheelbarrow. “I’m going home.”
“Me, too,” Stumpy said.
Quitters, Owen thought.
But he wasn’t about to say it out loud. If he did, they were liable to quit for good.
All he could do was let out a big, heavy sigh and help them load the tools into the wheelbarrow and head back to the barn.
But just as they had finished stashing the toolsunder a tarp in the corner of the barn, Owen’s mood went from bad to worse.
Viola stepped through the barn door and said, “So, what are y’all gonna do about that submarine?”
Owen pushed past her and stormed out, followed by Travis and Stumpy.
Viola hurried after them. “I know what y’all are doing,” she said.
Owen whirled
Owen stashed some tools in the corner of the barn and then headed down to the pond to check on Tooley. He sat on the rotting dock and stared glumly out across the water. The air was thick with heat. A shiny black turtle was sunning on a log at the edge of the pond. A bullfrog floated among a cluster of leaves nearby. Owen could just make out its bulging yellow eyes and the top of its green head.
Maybe he should try to catch that frog so Tooley would have a friend.
Owen sighed.
His niggle came back.
The niggle had started as a tiny seed of a thought.Then it had begun to grow, bigger and bigger, until it became a full-grown thought.
Maybe he should let Tooley go.
Owen looked down into the cage. Tooley floated in the dirty water, nestled up against the side, one webbed foot resting on the chicken wire.
He looked terrible.
Owen felt terrible.
He had worked so hard to catch that frog. He had stalked him for weeks, scanning the edges of the pond, searching the leaves and logs. It had been so much fun, trying to figure out if the frog he spotted was
his
frog. The one with the heart-shaped red spot between his eyes.
And then, when he had finally caught him, he had figured Tooley Graham would be his forever.
But now Owen was starting to think maybe he had made a mistake.
He reached into the water and touched Tooley’s foot. The frog swam lazily to the other side of the cage . . .
. . . away from Owen.
“Tooley Graham,” Owen whispered.
The frog nestled down into the slimy mud on the bottom of the pond and closed his eyes.
Owen let out a sigh so big and so loud that the turtle scampered off the log and into the pond, sending little ripples across the surface of the water.
Owen whispered “Tooley Graham” one more time before trudging slowly back up the path to meet Travis and Stumpy in the barn.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Owen and Travis and Stumpy sawed and clipped and dug and hacked.
They sawed down scruffy little pine trees.
They clipped overhanging branches.
They dug up clumps of thorny bushes.
They hacked at tangled vines.
Pete and Leroy joined them from time to time, chewing on twigs, rooting their noses in the freshly dug dirt, then scampering back through the woods toward home again.
Inch by inch, the three boys were clearing a path from the submarine to the pond. By the time the afternoon sun had begun to sink, the backs of their necks were burned and they were only halfway there.
Travis tossed a saw onto a clump of vines. “That’s it,” he said. “I’m sick of doing this.”
“Me, too,” Stumpy said, leaning on the garden hoe he had been using to hack up the roots of a bush.
“We can’t stop now,” Owen said. “We’re almost halfway there.”
“It’s too hot,” Travis said. “We can work on it some more in the morning, when it’s cooler.” He picked up the saw and tossed it into the wheelbarrow with a clang. “Besides,” he added, “we don’t even know how we’re going to get that sub down to the pond, anyways.”
Stumpy nodded in agreement.
“And,”
Travis went on, “even if we do get it to the pond, we don’t even know how to drive it.” He tossed another tool into the wheelbarrow. “I’m going home.”
“Me, too,” Stumpy said.
Quitters, Owen thought.
But he wasn’t about to say it out loud. If he did, they were liable to quit for good.
All he could do was let out a big, heavy sigh and help them load the tools into the wheelbarrow and head back to the barn.
But just as they had finished stashing the toolsunder a tarp in the corner of the barn, Owen’s mood went from bad to worse.
Viola stepped through the barn door and said, “So, what are y’all gonna do about that submarine?”
Owen pushed past her and stormed out, followed by Travis and Stumpy.
Viola hurried after them. “I know what y’all are doing,” she said.
Owen whirled
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