Mom, Daniel, and I huddled around Dad. His eyes fluttered open. He blinked. "Huh?" he murmured. "What happened?"

Dad shook his head and pushed himself up onto his elbows. "I think I'm okay, guys," he said shakily.

Dad tried to stand up. But he collapsed to the floor. "My ankle. I think it may be broken." He groaned in pain.

With me on one side and Mom on the other, we helped Dad to the couch. "Oof, that really hurts," he moaned. He rubbed the ankle tenderly.

"Daniel, go put some ice into a towel for your father," Mom instructed. "Kat, get him a cold drink."

"Now, honey," Mom whispered, wiping Dad's brow, "tell me what happened." When I came running back into the living room with a tall glass of ice water,

Mom and Dad had the weirdest expressions on their faces. "Kat," said Mom angrily, "did you push your father?"

"Why did you push the ladder?" Dad asked, rubbing his ankle. "Huh? Excuse me?" I spluttered. "I didn't push you! I wouldn't!"

"We'll discuss this later, young lady," Mom said sternly. "For now, I've got to take care of your father."

She leaned over and applied the ice pack to Dad's swelling ankle.

I felt a hot red flush of embarrassment creep over my face. How could Dad think I pushed him?

I lowered my eyes and realized I still held the sponge.

And I realized something else. Something strange and scary.

Instead of pulsing gently, the sponge throbbed in my hand. Throbbed wildly. Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.

Vibrating—as if someone had turned a blender to high speed. The sponge practically purred with excitement.

Whoa-ahhh. Whoa-ahhh.

I sat down on the hall floor, feeling shaky.

What's going on here? I wondered. Daniel thought I pushed him. And then Dad said the same thing.

They both think I pushed them. Why?

Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. The sponge throbbed warmly in my hand.

I shivered with fear. Suddenly, the sponge seemed kind of scary. I didn't want the thing anywhere near me—or my family.

I ran outside. I found a big metal garbage can near the garage. I lifted the lid. Dropped the sponge inside. Pushed the lid shut firmly.

Back inside the house, Mom called me into the living room. "I think Dad's ankle is only sprained," she said. "Now, tell me what happened."

Thursday, I sat at my desk, writing down the names of guests for my birthday party. The big day was only two days away.

I had to give the list to Mom today, so she could buy enough favors by Saturday. I heard Daniel babbling away to Carlo as the two boys clambered noisily up the

stairs.

"Check it out—it looks like an old sponge. But it's alive!" Daniel explained. "I bet it's a prehistoric creature, like a dinosaur or something."

I jumped up and ran out of my room.

"Hey!" I yelled at Daniel. "What are you doing with that?" I pointed at the sponge in his hands. "I threw that thing away."

"I found it in the garbage can," Daniel replied. "It's too cool to throw away. Right, Carlo?"

Carlo shrugged, his shaggy black hair touching his shoulders. "It looks like an old sponge. What's the big deal?"

"It's a very big deal," I shot back. "And that thing is definitely not a sponge."

I pulled a large book from my new bookcase. "I checked the encyclopedia," I explained. "Under sponges. You should have left it in the trash, Daniel. You really should have."

"What did the encyclopedia say?" Daniel asked eagerly, plopping down on my bed. He held the sponge between his hands.

"It said that sponges do not have eyes," I replied. "And they can live only in the water. If they're out of the water for more than thirty minutes, they die."

"See, Carlo? It's not a sponge," Daniel declared. "Our creature has eyes. It's been out of water since we found it."

"Well, I don't see any eyes. And it sure doesn't look alive to me," said Carlo doubtfully.

Daniel leaped off the bed and offered his friend the sponge. "Hold it. You'll see." Carlo carefully cradled the sponge in his hands. His big brown eyes grew wide.

"It's warm! And... and... it's moving. It's squirming! It is alive."

Carlo spun around to face me. "But if it's not a sponge, then... then, what is it?" "I haven't figured that out yet," I admitted.

"Maybe it's some kind of a super-sponge," Daniel offered. "So powerful that it can live on land."

"It could be part sponge and part another animal," added Carlo, gazing at it. "Can I take it home for a while? It'll really spook Sandy."

Sandy is Carlo's baby-sitter. "I'll bring it right back," Carlo promised.

"No way, Carlo," I said quickly. "I think I'll keep the sponge right here until I know exactly what it is. Here—stick it in this old gerbil cage."

"Aw, come on," Carlo begged, petting the sponge on the top of its wrinkled head. "See? It likes me."

"No way!" I replied. "Daniel, tell your friend to quit bugging me."

"Okay, okay," Carlo muttered. "Hey, what does this little guy eat, anyway?"

"I don't know," I replied. "But it seems to be fine without eating. Put it in the cage."

Carlo reached into the gerbil cage and set the creature down. As he did, his face filled with horror.

I saw his arm tremble.

Then he let out a terrified scream. "Aaagh! My hand! It ate my hand!"