Gazing deeply into Daisy’s bright blue eyes, Jonny felt his heart swell with adoration. Their second date was going so well, he thought for sure this would be the day they would have their first kiss--if he ever worked up the guts to do it. But for the time being, he was content to hold her hand and share his milkshake with her at Dave’s Diner.

He was too enthralled with Daisy to notice when a disheveled 13-year-old burst through the front door, sending the bell flying off its chain. All the other customers turned and gaped at the commotion, but Jonny only had eyes for Daisy: he noticed a tiny speck of whipped cream on her upper lip, and he leaned forward to gently wipe it off. Daisy smiled, and Jonny decided that now was the time--the perfect time for a kiss. He leaned forward, heart pumping, lips puckered. Daisy leaned forward too.

Suddenly, a small yellow orb materialized between them, and instead of gazing lovingly into Daisy's deep blue eyes, Jonny was now gazing lovingly into the beady black eyes of a tiny frog. He jumped back, knocking the milkshake, spilling it everywhere, and yelled, “What the heck is that THING?!” Daisy, now covered in whipped cream, screamed and swatted ineffectively at the frog.

The frog hovered away from the milkshake-covered young lovers and floated towards the red Formica counter at the back of the diner, cruising around dinner plates, coffee mugs and beverage glasses.

Most of the customers were yelling and pointing by this time, except for one customer at the counter who was totally oblivious to the commotion. “Excuse me! Excuse me?! Waiter! This isn’t the soup I ordered! This is minestrone, and I ordered the chicken soup!" He complained loudly to his server, a pimply young man watching the pandemonium unfold wide-eyed while pouring coffee into a full mug, spilling it all over the counter and down onto the floor. The obnoxious customer continued, "AND, there's a FLY in my soup!" He gestured at his soup bowl with the floating remains of a small insect.

Suddenly, a tiny frog splashed into the middle of the soup bowl and –THWACK—snapped the fly with his sticky tongue and --GULP—swallowed the fly in one bite. The frog glanced up at the man, who was now covered in minestrone soup.

“And NOW there’s a lizard in my soup…” the minestrone man whined even louder.

The young waiter, still mesmerized and pouring coffee all over the counter, said with a voice crack, “Actually, I think that’s a small frog.”

"No. It's a gecko," a young woman at the register chimed in.

“But I ordered the CHICKEN soup! Chick-en! That’s it. I’m giving this place ZERO stars," the soup-man huffed, taking out his phone, opening a review app. "Worst…chicken...soup…ever," he typed, “had a fly in it as well as a gecko....”

The frog watched him typing, curiously, and then took off again, over plates and silverware, dodging the occasional rolled-up newspaper tossed in its direction. The pimply young server behind the counter grabbed a fly swatter and took a swipe, but missed. The frog froze in mid-air and then suddenly dropped like a rock, landing on the edge of a plate with a half-eaten chicken leg. The chicken leg soared through the air and landed in the soup-man’s bowl, covering him with soup yet again.

“Waiter!!” he started.

“I know, I know! You ordered the chicken soup---well, look," the server gestured impatiently at the chicken leg in the soup bowl. "Chicken. Soup. Happy now?!”

During this exchange, one of the waitresses wailed like a banshee in the corner. As the little yellow frog lightly landed on her serving tray, her scream slid a few octaves higher, and she dropped the tray, spraying food and broken plates everywhere. The frog hovered in mid-air, as the waitress backed against the wall. He cocked his head to one side, observing her for a moment. Then he hovered slowly towards her and patted her shoulder. She stopped screaming, momentarily shocked, eyes bulging as she watched the frog pat her reassuringly. Then it shot out a long sticky tongue and licked its left eyeball. The waitress resumed screaming again, this time with extra gusto.

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From the back room, a giant man with a greasy apron barely covering his rotund belly and a tiny cooks' hat perched on his bear-like head, burst through the door, waving a spatula in one hand, and a baseball bat in the other. Dave looked murderously around his diner at the chaos, searching for the source of the mayhem.

"What's the problem, here?!" he bellowed. The din in the diner instantly stopped. In the silence, everyone watched as a little frog appeared behind the huge man and perched delicately on top of his chef hat.

"Well, finally! Are you the manager?!" Soup-man whined. "I ordered the chicken soup, and this young man," he gestured at the pimply youth, "brought me minestrone…."

"Shut UP!" Everyone yelled in unison at soup-man, who looked offended.

"Um, Mr. Dave, sir?" the young waiter ventured, voice cracking, "You’ve got a frog on your head."

"No, it's a gecko," the register girl repeated.

Dave glanced at his reflection in the wall mirror behind the register, and saw the little yellow creature on his hat. He swiped at it with the spatula, but it deftly dodged the attack, and landed lightly on his hat again. He swiped again. And again, missing each time.

"No! Don't hurt it!" Elle yelled from the doorway.

Losing patience, Dave swung the bat and clobbered himself on the head. He yelled and dropped the bat onto his toe, and yelled even louder. The little frog, clearly amused, shot through the kitchen and out the back door.

Relieved to see the frog escape unscathed, Elle ran through the diner, past a befuddled Dave, and followed the frog out the back. When she made it into the alleyway, she watched it float around the corner. As she sprinted around the corner, she saw it clearly two blocks ahead of her. It crossed the street and floated up the steps to…OH NO! Elle gasped. Not the school LIBRARY!

Panting and sweaty, Elle made it up the stone steps to the school’s library, clutching the stitch in her side. She pushed the massive heavy wooden door, and entered the silent, somber sanctuary within.

As she glanced around, feeling ridiculous for chasing a small frog all across town, she was tempted to just nonchalantly walk away from this mess. Sure, some unfortunate librarian would find the frog someday and would probably have a heart attack and die, but was that really Elle’s problem? Nope. Librarianism is a high-risk profession. The librarian should’ve been prepared for that sort of thing when they took the job. It wasn’t Elle’s fault. Ok, it might be a teensy-bit her fault.

Elle tried to convince herself to just walk away, but her stubborn curiosity wouldn’t let her. Elle was hesitant to continue this somewhat backwards game of cat and mouse, however, because the school library creeped her out. It was an ancient mausoleum, hardly ever inhabited by humans anymore. She was pretty sure that if she died in the corner, she wouldn’t be found for weeks.

As she made a circuit of the interior perimeter, attempting to avoid all corners, she scanned the place for the frog. The huge columns of books reached stories high, filled with books from a bygone era.

Something about the place gave Elle the feeling that she was being watched, which was a totally reasonable feeling because she WAS being watched: There were small cameras in the ceiling, reporting every minor infraction to The Librarian.*

(*The Librarian is perhaps the scariest and most vicious human known on Earth (that is, if she is human). The Librarian lurks in her natural habitat (the reference columns), battle ax at the ready. And don’t even get me started on what she does to you if you bring a book back late!)

It was through this land-mine that Elle tiptoed, feeling totally conspicuous, trying to decide if calling for the frog would be a totally stupid idea. She gave it a try, anyway. “Frog?” she whispered. Yup. Totally stupid. She smiled and waved at the one other person in the library, a small boy who craned his neck around a bookshelf to stare at her.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of yellow dart towards the farthest-most column of books, deep in the bowels of the behemoth building. Elle very carefully made her way in, and tried to decide how she would nab the frog, even if she was lucky enough to ever get within a hundred yards of him.

Elle quietly approached the final column of books at the back wall. She cautiously peered down the row into the musty shadows and, at the end she could just barely make out the escapee in the gloom. It was perched on top of a huge, dusty old book, now a brilliant day glow orange.

Elle tiptoed toward the bright frog, readying herself for it to bolt. But it just sat demurely, staring pleasantly at Elle, as though waiting patiently for her to catch up.

As she approached the frog, a clear voice echoed, “Salve, amica!”

Elle guiltily glanced behind her, deadly afraid that she had been spotted running through the library. Running through the library was nearly as bad as talking in the library. It was usually a beheading for the first offense. She felt exposed, like at any moment, The Librarian would descend upon her, ready to exact her revenge. But there was no one behind her; the aisle was clear of both humans and ax-wielding librarians.

She glanced back at the frog. Again, a small voice echoed, “Salve, amica!” And this time, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the voice was coming from the frog.

“Salve, amica!”

The words materialized in her head without passing through her ears, and--disconcertingly--it sounded like her own voice, spoken by someone else. Elle gaped at the frog, who seemed to be greatly enjoying itself. Its dark eyes glittered like little black diamonds. It licked both eyes quickly, its body language reminding Elle of an overexcited puppy.

She noticed it was sitting on a book titled, “Latin Phrases.” The frog glanced meaningfully at the book. Elle reached out and took the book. She flipped through the contents, and then got an idea. She quickly surveyed the index, then flipped to a page and read silently for a few minutes. At the bottom of page forty-two, she found what she was looking for.

Latin phrase: “Salve, amica”

English translation: “Hello, friend.”