by Lysa Daley
“It was open,” he replies. “See.”
I frown as my eyes flicking to the back door again. Now the door is open! Not only is it unlocked, but it's cracked open a couple inches.
"Wait...?" I rub my eyes. How can a door that was just locked up tight now be open?
"Anyway, got to get to work." He breezes out of the storage room with a wry smile plastered across his face. This guy is a real piece of work.
"Why is there curly black hair on your jacket?" Ruby asks, plucking a couple of strands off my arm as we walk to first-period biology. "Did that stray cat sleep on it?"
"Worse. It's a long story." I roll my eyes. Thank goodness wool doesn't wrinkle. "Anyway, my uncle didn't fall for the whole going to the public library thing."
"Who won't let their kid go to the library?" Ruby shakes her head in disbelief. “My parents are thrilled beyond belief if I step foot inside any library.”
"He said he'd come with us."
"Oh," she says, then adds. "Well, I'm glad, at least, you didn't get busted sneaking back in last night."
"Did you hear anything else about the meteor?" I ask.
"The news interviewed the fire chief who said it broke up before it hit the ground and only caused a few minor fires."
We exchange looks. "But we know that's not what happened?"
“There isn’t even any video footage of it. In this day in age, you’d think someone would have caught it on video,” she says just as the first period bell rings, and we're off to my easiest class of the day. "The whole thing is so weird."
When you move around a ton, the difficulty of any particular subject tends to be a total crapshoot. For example, I’ve had high school biology three separate times. Which means I'm pulling an easy A at Oakdale Prep. Little did I know that my over-exposure to bio would prove to be my lucky charm.
Ms. Tyler, my 11th grade bio teacher, is pretty decent as teachers go. She's still relatively young -- like not quite 30 -- and eager. She’s got purple streaks in her hair and loves retro dresses.
She also seems to enjoy pushing the envelope and surprising us. So no one should have been surprised at her announcement in class this morning.
"All right, you guys." She's one of those teachers who says things like "you guys" or "dudes" to show that she's still in touch with her inner teenager. "We are about to beginning our dissection unit."
A wave of groans sweeps the room.
"Ew, Ms. T, can't we just skip it this year." Meegan McGovern, the junior class queen bee, cocks her head in that way that makes her long strawberry blonde hair swish to one side. "I am so not into leaving class smelling like formaldehyde and fetal pig."
"Ah, here's the thing! We're not dissecting fetal pigs this year," Ms. Tyler says with a perky self-satisfied smile. "Who wants to guess what we are dissecting?"
Hands flutter up half-heartedly with guesses of frog, rats, iguana. Chad Olson -- hottest junior at my school, my one true love, and surely the guy destined to be my adoring husband -- says, "Please tell me it's not a cat. A guy on my water polo team said they dissected cats at his school."
I'm not really listening to Ms. Tyler's response because I'm far too busy conjuring up a sunlit glistening image of Chad Olson playing water polo.
My beautiful daydream is broken as Ms. T sashays over to the counter to retrieve an ominous looking covered tray.
"Alright guys, meet your new lab mate for the next two weeks." She dramatically rips the plastic cover off the tray revealing some sort of alien looking creatures complete with tentacles and sickly gray skin.
A collective "ewwwwwwww" echoes forth.
"Who knows what this is?"
I instantly recognize the poor pallid creature that has given its life in the name of high school science. When it's painfully obvious no one else has a clue, I raise my hand. "Is it a squid?"
"Excellent, Astrid!" Ms. T says like a game show host telling a contestant they've just won a brand new car. "We are dissecting squids. Did you dissect one at your last school?"
"No ma'am." I shake my head. "We tore into an Octopodidae."
"Oh! An octopus. Very nice." Ms. T is creeping me out now. That is until she says, "It’s your lucky day, Astrid. Since you correctly identified our little friend here, you get first pick of lab partner."
"What?" My mind momentarily fritzes out.
"Choose one of your classmates," she explains, "to be your dissection partner for the next two weeks. Anyone you want."
My eyes immediately land on Chad Olson, and I feel my cheeks flush. I would happily pluck out my left eye for a chance to work with him. Oh, who am I kidding? I'd pluck out both eyes to get him as my lab partner.
But naturally he's got a girlfriend. Even if it is the horrible, mean-girl Meegan McGovern.
I glance at Ruby sitting at the table in front of me, and she's subtly shaking her head. She can clearly see that I'm on the verge of selecting her. I mean that makes total sense, right? She is my best friend. Who doesn't pick their best friend to be their lab partner?
"Okey-doke!" Ms. T says, her patience waning. "Who's it going to be, Astrid?"
When I look at Ruby again, she mouths the name "Chad."
"I'll take Ruby," I say, without glancing back at her, but I can feel her eyes burning into me with disappointment and pity. Who can blame her? I'm pathetic.
"You are hopeless." Ruby moves over to my table, as the other students pair up.
We're nearly done when I see that no one has chosen Chad. He's obviously been left alone because no one has chosen Meegan. Clearly all involved have naturally assumed that these two lovebirds absolutely must be partners.
But then it's Libby Gleason's turn, and she actually goes and picks Meegan McGovern.
"Me?" Meegan replies dismayed.
"Move your stuff to Libby's table, Ms. McGovern," Ms. T says with a tight-lipped smile. Even Ms. T. is surprised by this turn of events.
Clearly Libby, one of those super smart girls in the classroom but clueless as to the proper social etiquette of high school lab partner selection, is oblivious.
"Here's the thing." Ruby nudges me and whispers, "I love you so much that I'm doing this for your own good."
"Doing what?" I ask, but before she can answer, a horrible retching rises out of Ruby's throat like she's on the verge of hacking up a furball.
Ms. T is alarmed. "Ruby! Are you okay?"
"I suddenly... feel ill. I think, maybe, I'm going to..." Ruby fakes like she's about to hurl. People back away. She's exceptionally convincing.
"Okay, honey," Ms. T grabs a wastebasket and thrusts it in Ruby’s direction. "I think you better go see the nurse."
"I think you're..." Ruby holds the trashcan up covering her face and makes more retching noises which are nicely amplified by the metal can. "I think you're right."
"Hope you feel better, honey." Ms. T quickly ushers her out the door, then turns back toward the group. "Okay then, where were we? Oh yes, well it seems you lost your partner Astrid."
Only Chad Olson remains.
"That means Mr. Olson, looks like you're working with Ms. Jones." Ms. Tyler nods her head with a slightly dazed look in her eye. She's probably thinking exactly what everyone else in this classroom is thinking -- Chad Olson has never been picked last for anything in his entire life.
I'm so stunned by my incredible good luck that I nearly fall out of my chair.
Chad stands and swivels uncertainly in my general direction. Squinting like he's confused, he scans the back of the room. The look he gives me suggests he isn't quite sure who I am. But since I'm the only one currently without a partner, he eventually deduces that he's working with me.
Meanwhile, I can feel Meegan McGovern's evil cornflower blue eyes trying to sear mean-girl holes into the side of my head.
Ask me if I care. I do not!
My heart is literally going all pitter-patter as Chad moves toward me. Just the sight of Chad Olson makes me feel all squishy inside, and I am not a girl who
generally goes squishy because of some guy.
The thing is, because I've gone to so many schools, I have seen every possible configuration of guy. Every school has their "hot" boy.
But of all the hot guys I have ever encountered, Chad is by far the hottest of the hot. He has beautiful blond hair with just the perfect amount of wave and glistening sun-kissed highlights that make his pale blue-green eyes sparkle like a perfect summer sky. He's tall with broad water polo shoulders and perfectly proportioned everything else.
I could go on and on describing his astonishing beauty. I could write a book of Shakespearean sonnets detailing his extreme and rugged good looks.
And then, at last, he is standing at my table.
"Hey," he says with a bored, somewhat distracted bob of the head.
I smile and reply, "Hey."
These are the first words Chad Olson and I have ever spoken to each other. They will be the words that I will one day recount to our children when I tell them how I first met their father.
He dumps his books on the desk and slumps into the seat next to me. His head swivels away, and I follow his gaze over to Meegan who is giving us the cold shoulder. Arms crossed in front of her, she sits perfectly straight in her chair looking beyond annoyed that someone else managed to snag her precious boyfriend as a lab partner.
What can I say, Meegs, this is clearly one of those moments of purposeful serendipity when two souls are united by something bigger than themselves.
I'm sure she'll be able to go on with her life. After all, she is a pretty girl in a my-best-days-will-soon-be-behind-me sort of way. I'm sure there are all sorts of guys out there into mean, trashy blondes.
"What's your name again?" Chad asks.
"Astrid," I say. "And you're, um, Chad right?"
He nods.
Ms. Tyler points to the back of the room. "Okay people. In an orderly fashion, each team needs to line up to collect their squid."
Five minutes later, Chad and I are back at our lab table with a grayish dead squid spread out before us.
"Man, that thing is gnarly," Chad says with a look on his face like he's smelling something bad. Which he is. The squid stinks of acrid chemicals. It's a familiar smell to those of us who have taken high school bio three times already.
I look down at the poor dead squid on the table, and for a fleeting instant, I feel a strange affinity with this lonely marine cephalopod, all long and slimy and tentacly, lying on the table far, far from the ocean home it once came from.
That's how I feel. Far from home. Which home I feel far from is unclear. I'm just tired of always feeling like a stranger in a strange land, walking around in a world full of people who are rooted in their lives and familiar with their general surroundings.
Chad, on the other hand, does not seem to feel any empathy or perceive any wonder in our squid. Instead, he's turning a grayish-green.
"Okay scientists," Ms. T claps her hands to regain the attention of her lost students. "First you need to identify both the dorsal and ventral side of the squid."
In order to do this, we need to flip our guy over. But I'm not sure if I should let Chad make the first move. I look to him and smile.
Perplexed, he asks, "Do you have any freaking clue what she's talking about?"
"Um, well, I think we need to turn our squid over."
"Yeah, uh..." He looks from me, down to the squid, then back up to me. "I don't want to touch that gross thing."
Without a word, I use my bare hands gingerly flipping our little angel over.
A smile spreads across his awestruck face. "Wow! You are amazing. Most girls would be so wigged out they wouldn't know what to do."
Ms. T continues. "Then once that is located, place the squid on the dorsal side which is the back of the squid with the stomach facing you."
Our squid, conveniently, is already facing the right way. "We're good," I assure a still confused Chad. "It's already facing us."
"Awesome," he says, then slides his chair a couple inches closer to me. It's also closer to the squid, but I don't want to get hung up on details. And he does seem to be calming down a bit.
I can't resist the urge to show-off a little, so I lean in and whisper, "Next she's going to have us make a long incision right down the middle, here and there," I point with my finger, tracing a line. "Then two incisions here above the tentacles so we can get a good look at the organs."
When that is exactly what Ms. T instructs us to do, he looks at me like I am the smartest girl alive. "I thought you said you did an octopus at your last school?"
"I did," I reply. "But at the school before that we dissected a shark. Which is sort of similar to a squid."
He nods, and I can feel his eyes on me as I organize our scapulas. "So I heard that you've been to like 100 schools or something?" he says, and I wonder if he's trying to make conversation with me.
"Only 10."
"Ha! Only. You say that like it's nothing." He shakes his head and gives me a heart-stopping smile. "Man, I think that'd be so great. To get out of this lame school and this puny town to start someplace else. Anywhere new."
Assuming he's not all that interested in doing any of the dissection, I take the knife and make a slow, steady incision. "Yeah, I guess it's okay. Be sort of nice to stay in one place for long enough to actually have a life and make some friends, though."
For the briefest second, his eyes flick over to Meegan, and he says, "Yeah, well, having a life can be a little overrated sometimes."
What? Could there be trouble in paradise?
"I think your girlfriend is a little upset that you guys aren't partners."
"She'll get over it," he replies. Then adds, "I'm sure your boyfriend was super bummed when you moved away?"
"Oh." Despite never having had a real boyfriend, I smile a tragic little smile. "It was hard, at first, but I'm sure he was able to move on."
Just then the bell rings. "Okay people, cover your specimens and place them in the fridge. We'll pick up where we left off tomorrow."
I place our instruments in the tray with the squid and cover the poor little soul back up. Just as I'm about to pick up the tray, Chad takes it.
"I'll put it away." He smiles. "You did everything else."
"Thanks."
"Well, fun working with you," he says as he heads toward the fridge.
"You too." I'm afraid my heart might melt in my chest like a crayon left in the sun. Yet, somehow I manage to form the words, "See you tomorrow."
Chapter 6
The rest of the school day sails by in a happy blur. I replay my conversation with Chad Olson, at least, a thousand times in my head.
After school, I amble across the street to the small cluster of shops that includes my uncle's karate studio.
Finishing the Snickers bar I bought at the school store, I walk over to the dumpster that sits like a boxy sentinel in the far corner of the parking lot to throw away the wrapper. I stop cold when I see a shadowy figure hunched next to the dumpster.
It's that creepy Jax guy. Again.
He’s kneeling, and at first, I can’t tell what he’s doing. Inching closer, I think I see him feeding part of a burrito to a pair of red squirrels out of his open hand. That’s odd. It also looks like a tiny finch is hopping down his wrist toward the food in his hand.
I lean in to get a closer look, but the movement must spook the animals because the delicate bird blusters off and the squirrels scramble like mad over the fence.
“Hey.” He stands, turning his green eyes to me and pointing at my jacket. “Nice blazer.”
"What are you doing?!" I swear my heart skips a beat. "And why are you hiding back here?"
"I'm not hiding. I'm on my coffee break." Apparently to prove his point, he hoists up a brown paper bag that's probably covering some bottle of cheap liquor. Gross.
"Right." I can't believe my uncle would hire such a deadbeat.
"Want some?" He holds it up and flashes a smile. I have to admit if this guy
wasn’t so skeevy, he might actually be cute.
"No, thanks. I'm headed to class." For some reason, this conversation is annoying me. I find myself compelled to ask, “How old are you anyway?”
“How old are you?”
“I’m 16.”
He nods, “I’m 19.”
He’s staring at me, and I feel my cheeks start to burn. “Should I mention to my uncle that you're out here on your, um, coffee break?"
I don’t know why I’m being so mean. I guess it doesn’t matter anyway because he just grins at me, totally unfazed.
"Go ahead," he says like it's a dare. "I told him I'd be done painting the exterior of the building today."
I look up at the huge brick and stucco, two-story building that takes up half a block. He's got a good 3, maybe even 4% completed. No way he'll finish today.
"Good luck with that." I swivel on my heels heading toward the studio door.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be done. Always finish what I start.”
As he says this, something occurs to me. "Hey, by the way. You did a lousy job fixing the drainpipe."
"Really?" he asks with that cocky little grin. He's slowly ambling back over to the mess that appears to be his painting supplies.
“Yeah, really.”
"Ever occur to you that maybe he doesn't want something attached to the wall that could aid someone making a pathetic teenage attempt to sneak out of the house?"
This, in fact, did not occur to me.
"Whatever..." I shake my head and keep walking, but now I'm wondering if that could be true.
Moving through the studio's front door, I’m immediately assaulted by the sound of seven lunkheaded teenage boys, with more testosterone than sense, all yelling "Ai-ya!"
These are the superstars of the advanced class, who also get to take my uncle's sparring class. Right now they're working on their block/punch combinations.
"These attacks are sloppy. Your practice is sloppy!" my uncle scolds them, demonstrating a solid arm block. He paces the mat in front of his students like a fierce general inspecting his soldiers. His black karate uniform makes him look even more menacing than usual.
