Daphne snapped her umbrella closed and held her breath as she entered the pub. How she hated the smell of the place and how dark everything was- it made her skin tighten.

However, coming home often meant that she would find herself there amongst her older brothers as they slapped her on the back and talked about old times when she had been younger and carefree. The fun they always had.

By generally ruling, someone as young as fifteen-year-old Daphne would not be allowed in the pub, but the Moon boys were frequent enough to make up their own rules in the place and disregard others.

As Daphne strolled in, she put down her wet umbrella by the door and kept walking, looking in to see who was there. All she saw were familiar faces, people who knew that you didn't mess with Daphne Moon for two reasons, the first one being that she could destroy anyone of them in billiards, and the second being that her brothers acted as her own personal body guards. No matter that she was young, attractive, and on TV, most men didn't even talk to her.

She sat down at a bar stool next to Simon Moon and sighed, letting her lavender-colored rain boots dangle. "Hey there, stilts," Simon said, and Daphne fought rolling her eyes. "Get bored at home again, I presume?" She looked over at her ruggedly handsome brother and sighed. "There's not much to do. If I stay around long enough Mum'll make me do chores."

"I hear that. Another beer down here," he yelled to the bartender.

Simon was most definitely not her favorite brother, in fact he was old enough to hold down a job yet couldn't, and most of his days were spent doing just what was going on now. "Hey, Reginald, would you look who's here?" He shouted. Reginald had just came out of the bathroom and sat down on the other side of Daphne. "Alright, baby sister, what're you here for this time? I tell you, you can't come down here so often. One of these days they're gonna toss you out." Reginald was probably her most well-meaning brother, or perhaps just the one with the largest conscience.

"Naw, they wouldn't do that," said Simon. "Not to our Daphne, the famous television star. Not if they don't want their bums kicked."

Daphne smiled at him and he shoved her on the shoulder playfully.

"I know I shouldn't be down here so much, Reginald," she began. "But I don't know where else to go. I've got enough to do without Mum asking me to help with dinner or having me wash socks."

His only reply was a nod of the head, and Daphne began to let her eyes wander.

The pub consisted of one average-sized room. The bar was in the front and the door was in the back, and between that were pool tables, four exactly. Quite often Daphne would arrive to find them crooked and disorderly, and on those days there was a report of a late-night bar fight over a game of pool. Hearing things like this made her shudder and remember why her family forbid her to visit the place after five 'o clock in the evening.

Behind the bar was, naturally, full of shelves of glass liquor bottles, containing liquid of all different shades and colors. She had counted them once, but she had long since forgotten the total.

When she looked at the small area next of the shelves, her eyes fell on something she had never seen before.

It was a rectangular glass tank with water and rocks at the bottom, and in it were...frogs.

"What are those for?" she asked, motioning to the tank.

"Oh, that. We're having a frog race tomorrow. Winner gets a very handsome sum of money," said Simon.

"So I would assume that you are going to enter?"

"You can count on it."

Daphne began to think about what she might do with that money. She tried not to be greedy, but she hardly ever got any money for herself, and how lovely it would be to have money just for her! She had no idea how a frog race would work, but surely it couldn't be all that hard. "Excuse me sir," she called to the bartender. "May I enter the frog race?"

The man frowned and looked as if he were about to say no, until Simon slammed his hand on the counter. "I say she will!" he said, smiling. The bartender's sour expression deepened and he walked away.

"Only one catch, sis," said Reginald. "You've got to get your own frog. Simon and I got ours back home, behind the house. You get yourself one of those and you're all set."

"I suppose I should go catch one, then!" said Daphne with a smile.

"Alright then. Take it up in a shoebox and bring it back here," Reginald said.

Daphne got off her stool, grabbed her red umbrella, opened it up, and began to walk home.

Once she had arrived, Daphne took off her boots, umbrella, and green raincoat and placed them by the door. She raced up to her room and took a shoebox from her closet, then poked holes in the top of it with a pen. She went back downstairs and suited up again, then went outside behind the house and began her search.

Half of her backyard was filled with vast puddles, and trying to avoid them proved pointless. She strolled around the yard, one hand free, one hand holding the umbrella until she finally saw it- the perfect frog.

It was halfway submerged in a large puddle, its dark eyes staring at Daphne in such a way that almost made her sorry she had to do this. It was tall and fat, and she knew that it would probably be fast in a race, its long legs taken into consideration. She sat down her umbrella and let the rain fall on her auburn hair as she kneeled down and inched her hands closer and closer to the creature, until finally the murky water from the puddle went up in a splash and the frog was firmly in her hands.

She took the shoebox, opened it, and dropped the frog inside. Once the lid was closed, she got up and began to walk back to the pub. As she traveled, she peaked in on the slimy, wet being every once in awhile, thinking it should have a name but having no idea what to call it. Finally, on the third time she opened the box, she had it. "Why, you look like a...Finch," she whispered. "That'll be your name, then. Finch."

When she got to the pub, she handed the shoebox to the bartender and he put a yellow rubber band around Finch's leg to tell him apart from the others, then placed him in the tank. She was informed that the race was at two 'o clock tomorrow. Daphne stayed for a few minutes and drank a soda, then braved going back home again, hoping to death that there would be no work to be done upon getting there.

The next day, Daphne arrived at the appointed time, her nerves tightening as she entered the building. Already there were more people there than usual, and she assumed most were there for the race. She saw men and women alike, but none so young as she was, and she was expecting that.

She went and joined Reginald and Simon at a bar stool and waited patiently for the festivities to begin, knowing that most of the people who hung around at a place like that were notorious for being tardy.

As she sat there, she watched the crowd with interest, looking for familiar faces and naming them in her head. Suddenly, her eyes fell upon a stranger, and for a moment they made eye contact. He was an normal-looking, middle aged man, and by the look of him Daphne could tell he didn't have much money. For a moment, he looked at her as if trying to decipher her face, and then his eyes lit up and he smiled. The man then began to approach her and stopped a few feet from her stool.

"Are-are you...Daphne Moon?"

She smiled. "Yes I am."

The man grinned yet again. "Me little daughter...she just loves your show. Yes ma'am, watches Mind Your Knickers all the time. She'll be so happy when I tell her I've met you. I didn't know you lived in Manchester."

Daphne felt flattered and wished there was something she could do for this little girl. All of her life she had been poor, and she wanted to help a girl in the same situation. She glanced down at her wrist and discovered that she was wearing a beaded bracelet. She took it off and handed it to the man. "Here, you give her this and tell her it's from Emma," she said with a smile.

"Oh, thank you so much, ma'am, this'll make her so happy!" The man said.

She gleamed inside as the man walked away, then left the pub. She could only hope her gift would make it to the girl safely.

"Alright, alright!" She heard the bartender scream, and the whole place became silent. "First things first, I need some beefy young gents to help me move the pool tables." There were plenty of volunteers, and that was done very quickly. "Everyone calmly go and get your frogs from the tank." From this, Daphne found out that only ten people were actual contenders in the race, the rest were just there to watch.

Once she had Finch in her hands, she and the other participants were instructed to go out to the middle of the floor. "Here's how this'll work," the bartender began. "The first one to the chalk line down there wins, and all you can use to make that frog of yours move is by using your own bloody lungs!" At first, Daphne didn't understand what he meant, but soon figured out that all she could to was blow at the back of Finch to make him go forward.

"Set your marks," the bartender instructed. Daphne winced as she lowered herself onto her belly on the filthy, cold concrete floor. She held the frog in place until she heard her final instruction: "Go!"

Daphne began to blow as hard as she could, her chest rising and falling against the floor as she used the bottom of her rain galoshes to propel her forward. Finch hopped around pretty well, but she was focusing too hard to tell if they were winning or not. Air rushed out of her lungs so quickly that soon her cheeks began to feel flushed. She kept pushing herself, digging her feet and arms into the ground, and practically pulling the air from her body trying to get the bloody frog to move. After a minute, she felt lightheaded, and the cheers and yells of the people around her somehow seemed more muted. She knew she could not give up, that she had to win this for that girl. She kept blowing, keeping her movements precise, hard, and fast. Soon, her vision got blurry and Daphne's world began to spin. She could barely keep her head up, but she did, telling herself that by this time she had to be almost there. In one last moment, she filled her lungs with sweet air and blew as hard as she could, until Finch slipped out of view and everything became black.

The first time Daphne woke up, she laying down in the backseat of Simon's car, her head in Reginald's lap.

"I tell you, we never should have let her enter that cursed race or to even come into that place at all!" That was Reginald's voice, and he was yelling.

"Settle down, she's alright." Simon's voice came loud and clear from the front seat. He must be driving, Daphne thought.

"Simon, I think she's coming back." Yes, now she could see Reginald's face above her, his lips moving. "Daphne, are you alright? Can you see me?" he asked.

She could only nod.

"She's awake, Simon. Hang in there, sis, we're almost home."

Daphne laid back and relaxed until finally the car stopped. Strong Reginald scooped her up in his arms. "I'll be all right, you don't have to carry me," she told him.

"You're sure?" he asked.

She nodded, and he put her down.

As Daphne walked to the door, she tried not to wobble around, but that proved quite difficult. Maybe she was wrong to have her brother release her.

Finally, the door opened and there was their mum, looking at them with her arms crossed. As Daphne tried to take a few steps over to her, her knees practically gave in and she found herself stumbling toward the fireplace, and just before she did she caught herself on a kitchen chair. Dizzy, she put her head in her hands. She definitely was not all right.

"What's this, then?" She heard her mum ask. "Well, you didn't set her drunk, did you?"

"Of course, not, Mum!" Simon exclaimed. "Daphne just had a little accident is all. One of us will explain later."

Reginald came and lifted Daphne out of her chair, than carried her upstairs to her room and soon she was in bed, where she stayed until six that evening.