The Frog With Glasses: A Strange Encounter at Everwood Academy

I was sitting in class the first time I saw it.

Mr. Halloway, my teacher at Everwood Academy, had been around for a few months and was already something of a legend. Not for being inspiring or brilliant—though I suppose he thought he was—but for his peculiar appearance. His hair was a wild, gray nest that seemed permanently stuck in a storm, and his wardrobe had exactly two modes: mismatched plaid suits or mismatched striped ones. Rumors about him had circulated before the school year began, and within a week of sitting in his lessons, I realized every single rumor had been true.

One thing was certain: he never strayed from his strange fashion choices. Another truth was even harder to ignore—he was extraordinarily, painfully dull. His lessons dragged on like slow-moving trains, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop my eyes from growing heavy during class. But the worst part wasn’t his fashion or his monotone lectures. It was the endless, repetitive stories he told.

Mr. Halloway was obsessed with bragging about his so-called “famous former students.” Every single day, he slipped into one of those stories as though teaching us was secondary. At first, they weren’t terrible—maybe even a little inspiring. The football star who once struggled in math, the actress who sat right where we sat, the politician who never missed homework. But soon, the stories repeated. Like his suits, they lost their novelty and became background noise.

I learned all of them by heart. I could predict his punchlines, his self-satisfied chuckles, and even when he would pause for “dramatic effect.” So instead of listening, I spent my time doodling in the margins of my notebook.

Most days, I sketched imaginary worlds filled with impossible creatures. I drew dragons with wings on their tails, wolves with crystal horns, or owls that wore armor. Each one had a story of its own, worlds waiting to be told. But on this particular day, I didn’t get very far into my drawing before something happened—something that changed not only Everwood Academy but also me forever.

It was almost by accident that I noticed it. If it had chosen any other window in the classroom, I would have missed it. If I hadn’t been debating whether my dragon should have four legs or two, I wouldn’t have glanced up just then. My pencil slipped from my hand the instant I saw it.

A frog.

Its tiny green face was pressed against the glass, staring directly at me.

For a moment, I thought it would hop away. Frogs lived all through Everwood Forest just beyond the playground, but they rarely came near people. Yet this one didn’t move. Its wide, round eyes locked on mine, unblinking. We were caught in a silent staring contest, as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of us. I knew instantly, in a way that went beyond words, that this frog wasn’t like the others.

I tried to refocus on Mr. Halloway just as he was finishing yet another story, this time about a boy named Brandon Pike who had become a comedian. Brandon had switched schools halfway through the year, which always made me feel like that “success story” didn’t really count. Still, Mr. Halloway delivered the same tired line as always.

“Whenever he acted out, I’d say, ‘Looks like we’ve got a real comedian here!’ And I was right!”

The class chuckled politely, but my thoughts weren’t on Brandon or on math. They were on the frog.

Because when I looked back, it wasn’t just staring anymore.

It was wearing glasses.

Perfectly round, tiny spectacles perched on its nose.

I blinked hard, certain I was imagining things. Frogs didn’t wear glasses. That was ridiculous. Yet there it was, still peering at me through the glass. My brain scrambled for explanations, but none made sense.

Why was it looking at me? Why me, of all people?

I wasn’t the kid who got noticed. Teachers always scribbled the same comment on my report cards: Needs to participate more. I was the kind of student who blended into the background, the one whose name people forgot. Even my most embarrassing moment—a bathroom zipper disaster years ago—had been chalked up to “some kid” rather than me. That was who I was: invisible.

So why was this frog, with its ridiculous little glasses, staring at me as if I mattered?

Before I could think too much, Mr. Halloway’s sharp voice broke my focus.

“You there. Since you’re clearly not listening, why don’t you solve this problem for us?”

My stomach flipped. He had called me to the blackboard. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve hated standing in front of everyone. But today, there was the added problem of a frog in glasses pressing against the window.

I walked slowly to the board, deliberately choosing a spot where I could sneak glances at the frog. I picked up the chalk, trying my best to concentrate. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement.

The frog hopped to the window near Mr. Halloway’s desk. Then it did something impossible.

It began pushing at the window.

My hand froze halfway through the math problem. Surely it couldn’t actually open it. Yet inch by inch, the glass creaked upward. I made a mistake, erased it nervously, and looked back. The window was open just enough for the frog to slip through.

My heart hammered. This couldn’t be real. But before I could convince myself otherwise, the frog was inside.

And then—unbelievably—it hopped right onto Mr. Halloway’s shoulder.

Nobody else seemed to notice. From where I stood, I could see it perfectly, sitting there as though it belonged. His massive plaid shoulder pads cushioned it like a throne. I was the only one aware of its presence. Either I had lost my mind, or something extraordinary was unfolding right in front of me.

The frog adjusted its glasses and stared directly into my eyes again.

I finished the math problem in a daze, hardly knowing what I’d written. I turned toward Mr. Halloway, ready to return to my seat, when the frog gave a slow, deliberate nod.

And then, as though dissolving into mist, it vanished—slipping straight into his tangled gray hair.

I stood frozen, chalk dust still clinging to my fingertips, knowing that nothing at Everwood Academy would ever be the same again.