Olivia flashes her friend a dry look, rolling her eyes. “Sorry, I just have a commitment. I meet up with a friend every Tuesday night for dinner,” she explains, giving me an apologetic look.
I vaguely remember her mom freaking out last night when she thought it was Tuesday and Olivia was home for dinner.
“It’s no biggie,” I assure her. “I can take a rain check.”
She smiles before her eyes grow wide in realization. “Oh, I have those notes from lecture today if you want to copy them,” she says, starting to shrug off her backpack.
“That’s okay.” I stop her. “I’m kind of gross right now,” I say, flashing her my sweaty palms. “I don’t want to ruin them. Or possibly lose them. Any chance I can copy them tomorrow? Maybe we can do lunch together?” I ask hopefully, realizing we both have a lunch break between lab and our English class tomorrow.
“Uhh.” She thinks about it for a moment, hesitating. Delilah nudges her with her elbow, and the two girls share a look before Delilah gives an affirmative nod. Seeming settled, Olivia turns back to me, smiling. “Sure, that works.”
I flash her a grin before backing away slowly, knowing I need to get back to practice. “All right, I’ll see you then,” I confirm before turning around and jogging back to my teammates, feeling excited about tomorrow.
Eight
Dissect
The strong scent of formaldehyde hits my nose as soon as I set foot inside the anatomy lab. I take a look around and find dead rats sitting in trays at the center of every table. I scan the faces of my classmates, their expressions varying drastically as they all stare at the dead animals.
I turn my gaze to my table. Delilah is leaning in to get a better look at the rodents, observing them with interest. Pale Rat Boy is slumped back in his seat with a look of indifference, but I can detect some disgust in the seemingly permanent scowl on his face. Probably realized one of them is a distant cousin of his or something. Then I spot Olivia, looking at the cadavers with indifference. She’s not totally disgusted or freaked out like most of the class, but she’s not freakishly thrilled like some of our classmates either. She just stares at it with curiosity.
“Hey, Finch,” I say, drawing the attention of everyone at our table.
She pulls her gaze away from the formaldehyde-soaked animals and flashes me a smile. “Hey.”
“Finch?” Rat Boy asks, his nose scrunching in distaste.
“It’s a nickname,” I explain dryly, seriously restraining myself from following up my statement by calling him Rat Boy to his face.
He lets out a smallhmphin response, scowling at me with revulsion.
I sling off my backpack and set it on the floor before slipping into my seat. “Ready to crack this bad boy open?” I ask Olivia, feigning excitement to lighten the mood, rubbing my hands together impishly.
She laughs. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
“You guess? You’re trying to make it into a profession where you crack people’s chests open and mess around with their most vital organ,” I say. There’s no way she can be squeamish with a career plan like that.
“Yeah, withpeople,” she emphasizes. “Not dead, smelly lab rats.” She scrunches her nose adorably.
Ah, good to know she doesn’t like rats.
“Good morning, class,” our TA says, all too chipper while walking into the room. Tracy’s cheerful mood has no undertone of malice, despite throwing us into the deep end by having us do a dissection for our first lesson.
Tracy drops her thick lab manual on top of the front desk before grabbing a marker and writing on the whiteboard. She makes a list of internal organs before calling out a page number, instructing us to open our lab manuals.
Making herself comfortable, Tracy grabs her chair and rolls it to the front table, plopping into it. She snaps on some latex gloves before turning on the projector, one half of the whiteboard now glowing with the image of a dead lab rat, much like the ones at our tables.
“Everyone needs to slip on some gloves, and each pair of partners can grab a rat from the center of your table,” Tracy instructs.
I reach for the glove box at our table, pulling out two pairs and handing one of them to Olivia. She gives me an appreciative smile, but I can detect the apprehension behind it.
“Hey, we got this,” I assure her with a nudge of my elbow, even though I don’t feel quite as confident myself about this whole dissection thing.
She nods, reaching back to tie her long caramel-colored hair into a ponytail with the band around her wrist. She tugs it tightly into place and tucks some loose tendrils behind her ears. Slipping the gloves on, she reaches over our side of the table to slide one of the trays in front of us.
“Let’s do this,” I say, dramatically snapping on my gloves, causing her lips to twitch. “Who should do the honors?” I ask, grabbing the scalpel out of the tray. I’m willing to do the initial cut if she doesn’t want to, but I don’t want to just assume and take over.
She lets out a deep breath. “I’ll do it.”
