cursed Petty. The last spray had done nothing. It should have been either ToadSWITCH or the antidote, but so far the two frogs and the great crested newt were still sitting there, having a little chat and most definitely not S.W.I.T.C.H.ing back to two boys and a girl. She shook the bottle and peered at it in annoyance, squinting through the smears on her glasses. What was it? Then she unscrewed the top and peered inside. From the outside, all the bottles looked the same—but inside she noticed it wasn’t quite the same color as usual...it looked a little...blue. “Oh, Petty! You turbo-boosted, fuel-injected, twin-engined FOOL!” she snapped. “This isn’t S.W.I.T.C.H. formula! It’s your spectacles cleaning spray!” Petty took off her spectacles and sprayed them, gave them a thorough wiping with her hanky, and then put them back on. “That’s much better,” she remarked to the much more clearly viewed frogs and newt. “Aaah. But now we have a problem . . .” How was she going to get them S.W.I.T.C.H.ed back in time for the show?
