“You’ve been in my class for nearly six weeks. Do you think I haven’t noticed you’re in la-la land?”
“We’re on it, Mr. Slocum,” Selena Kearn jumped in, all freckles, dimples, and bouncy red curls. “I’m doing the setup, Astrid’s taking notes, and Clara’s doing the cutting.”
“What?” Clara said.
They’d decided no such thing when the three of them had been assigned to this project. Of course Selena Kearn and Astrid Mills, who only hung out with other popular, good-looking, well-dressed kids, had made no secret of their displeasure at being partnered with Clara. They’d asked for somebody else, but Mr. Slocum never honored such requests.
Selena’s sharp elbow jabbed Clara’s ribs, right through the flannel shirt and denim overalls. “See, Clara’s putting on the gloves right now. I’m allergic to latex, you know.”
Mr. Slocum gazed at Clara as she put on a glove that was so tight it felt melted on. This took longer than it should have under his watchful eyes, and before she could get the other one on, he turned around and circled the room.
“Latex allergy, my ass,” Astrid said, as Selena stuck out her lower lip.
Usually Clara didn’t have a problem with schoolwork. It was like washing the dishes, something you did until it got done. But this was different, disturbing. The frog was about to be sliced open and exposed. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to go, Clara thought. The outside is supposed to stay outside so the inside can stay inside.
“I’ll do the setup,” Clara said. Selena hadn’t done it yet. “I’ll take notes.” Astrid hadn’t written anything yet, either. “But I don’t want to cut.”
“Grow up,” Astrid said with an exaggerated sigh. She always acted as though all eyes were on her—and they usually were. “It’s not even a real frog.”
The computer spoke: “The purpose of this activity is to help you learn the anatomy of the frog by locating the major organs within the body cavity, which will give you a better understanding of all vertebrate animals, including humans.”
“I hope you’re paying attention, Clara,” Astrid told her.
“Familiarize yourself with the materials,” the computer said with some excitement—a recent audio upgrade to get kids engaged. Clara thought it had more emotion than some people did. “Look at the pan, the scalpel, forceps, scissors, pins, and the preserved frog. Notice the lower lid, the nonmovable upper lid, and the eyes, moistened by the nictitating membrane.”
The eyes were a color Clara had never seen before. If it were in a big box of crayons, it could be called Cloudy Dead Blue.
“Notice the hearing organ of the frog, the tympanum,” the computer said, increasingly upbeat. “It’s the dark round circle behind the eyes, close to the jaw.”
It was more than a dark round circle—it looked like a crater. Clara remembered how last year in geology, she’d learned about billion-year-old rocks, and how when meteors fell to earth, those rocks got thrown up to the surface, turned upside down, and thrust into the light when they should have stayed buried forever.
“I see you’ve got the gloves on,” Mr. Slocum said, popping up again. “I don’t see any work getting done.”
“Clara’s just thinking about the organs she’s going to locate,” Selena said.
Mr. Slocum left.
“You’d better get with it,” Selena snapped. Her eyes were ferocious, but those freckles made her look like a little kid. “We all get graded the same, and if you mess this up . . .” She liked to leave things like that, unfinished and menacing.
“Place the frog in the pan on its back, belly up,” the computer said gleefully. “Pin the frog through its hands and feet.”
“Do it,” Selena said. “He’s watching us.”
Actually Mr. Slocum had his back to them, but Clara picked up a virtual pin. She touched the frog’s back leg with the sharp point. The skin felt lumpy, squishy, and resistant. It popped, and the needle slid right through the flesh to the pan.
“Finally,” Astrid breathed out. She had perfect, pouty lips. Selena said she wanted to get her own lips puffed, to look like Astrid’s. Clara had seen a video about that.
“What’re you gonna be for Halloween?” Selena asked Astrid.
“A spider.”
“I’m gonna be the girl singer in the Cadaver Dogs.”
Clara didn’t know the music of the Cadaver Dogs, or the cutest actors in Hollywood, or the latest episode of the shows everybody else was watching. These things weren’t on her radar. She didn’t care about Halloween, either, or about her birthday in April, or the seven-year anniversary of her dad’s death in just a few weeks—November something. She could never remember the exact date. At some point in the early part of November, Evil Lynn always lit a candle.
“This one could be a ghost,” Astrid said, referring to Clara. “It’s like she’s haunting the place.”