The Facts and Fictions of Minna Pratt by Patricia MacLachlan Page A

symphony.
    â€œYou play well together. You must take your final bow well together.”
    He beams.
    One day .

FIFTEEN
    â€œ I will miss them,” says Minna’s mother about the frogs. “Especially these two.”
    â€œThey like music,” says Minna’s father.
    â€œThey love my stories,” says her mother wistfully.
    Lucas smiles.
    â€œIt’s time they went into the pond, where they’ll be happy. They’re growing up.”
    Minna’s mother lifts her eyebrows at him.
    Lucas has this day freed most of the frogs. Minna counts nine remaining, counting Morose and Sly, her mother’s favorites. Minna, Lucas, and Willie have driven with Twig to park ponds around the city, Willie refusing to sit in front.
    â€œSlow down here, Twig,” he calls out from the backseat. “For heaven’s sake!”
    â€œMy mother says Twig drives in a brisk manner,” says Lucas.
    â€œHush up, the two of you, or drive yourself,” answers Twig, having it out with a taxi driver who suddenly looks over, brakes, and grins at her.
    Three park ponds in all they’ve visited, Lucas gently pushing the frogs to the edges. He does not seem sad, not even angry at his parents.
    â€œThey’re going to give us a reception backstage after the competition,” he says. “Win or lose, they say. That’s a bit of a fuss, don’t you think? For them.”
    Minna nods.
    â€œLucas?” she says, staring at the water. She can see their reflections there. “You wanted them to find the frogs. Didn’t you?”
    There was a pause.
    â€œMaybe,” says Lucas finally. “I knew they would someday.” He pushes a frog to the edge of the grass. “Go on. Into the pond, you alien creature.”
    The frog jumps in, making a small splash. Their reflections turn wavery.
    â€œOnly one alien creature left in your house now,” says Minna, her arms around her knees.
    â€œWho?” asks Lucas.
    â€œYou,” says Minna.
    Lucas smiles and takes the last two frogs out of their glass aquarium. Morose and Sly.
    â€œNot so,” says Lucas. “My father and mother yelled at each other this morning.” Lucas looks pleased. “My father threw a book in the living room. My mother said the frogs had heard me play more than they had.” Lucas puts Morose and Sly on the grass by the water.
    â€œThey said I could keep these two,” he says after a moment.
    Minna looks up, surprised.
    â€œBut it is time to let them go,” says Lucas, turning to look at Minna. “ My choice,” he adds.
    Lucas smiles and in the silence, one after the other, the last of his frogs slip into the water and away.
    The day . Minna has wished for sunlight, but the day is not sunny. It is not even nice. Minna wakes to sheets of rain against her window. Wind whips the small trees outside. She can barely see across the street. Minna slips out of bed, padding barefoot down the hall to her mother’s writing room. The room, clean after the frogs’ departure, is beginning to look cluttered again. Minna sees a laundry basket with an array of socks inside. She bends down to look more closely. She smiles. All the socks are white. No stripes. There is a strange comfort in that, and in the beginnings of another mess.
    â€œMinna?” Her mother comes into the room. “Dad’s driving you early. Nervous?”
    Minna shakes her head.
    They look at the shelves where the frogs have been. Then Minna looks at her mother’s sign: FACT AND FICTION ARE DIFFERENT TRUTHS. There is something here I almost know, thinks Minna. I am beginning to remember.
    â€œMinna,” says her mother softly, holding out a folded paper. “Read what came in the mail today.”
    Minna unfolds the letter and reads:
    Dear Mrs. Pratt,
    I love your stories. I am wondering, are they all