Page 22 of Eight Steps to Alpha

Chapter 8

Planaria are a brown,cross-eyed, adorable flatworms with amazing regeneration abilities. Little did Fe know, they would also be responsible for what would be the most awful, emotional day of her life. It all started at the beginning of science week at Hillman’s Academy. Which meant five days, long hours, extra messes, and stressed out faculty.

Not to mention the hundreds of unfamiliar faces who came from neighboring schools looking to be entertained by petri dishes and the periodic table. But Hillman's Academy was known for its prestigious science program, and this week alone was responsible for seventy-five percent of the following years enrollment.

Entertaining this circus of science geeks, much to her dismay, was of “utmost importance.” And the week started out great. For the most part. On Monday, Fe passed out the little flatworms, and everyone, including Susie Baker who was known to be afraid of a fly, fell instantly in love. Fe didn’t blame them. They were adorably cute. Though they did kind of resemble a cross-eyed penis. Their straight little bodies, and large bulbous heads almost smiled at her… Regardless, the kids fell in love, and with a little coaxing, she was able to convince the children to cut the little buggers into pieces with their scalpels.

Planaria were used in the classroom to study stem cell regeneration. When cut in half, in quarters, or even 279 times, each section, should eventually regenerate into a new little worm. When Fe presented the idea to Mrs. King over a month earlier, she was over the moon with excitement, and gave Fe the go ahead to order all the supplies. This was a huge step in the right direction for Fe, because if there was any way she would ever get her own class room, impressing Mrs. King was it.

She just wasn’t sure where she’d gone wrong, as her trial the week before had gone remarkably smooth. But when the children collected their specimen from the closet that Friday afternoon, half of the little worms were dead.

D. E. A.D.

Deceased.

Floating on top of their little Petri dish homes.

Including Susie Baker’s, who immediately burst into tears and threw herself on the floor. Eleven-year olds were notorious assholes when it came to cleaning up after themselves, but Fe had to admit, when it came to empathy, they were spot on. Because it didn’t take long before all the children, all thirty-two of them, were crying like hound dogs in the middle of the science lab.

Fe fetched the box of tissues from Mrs. Kings desk, and started passing them out like lottery tickets. “You guys, it’s okay! You didn’t kill them, this is just part of life. Everyone will die eventually. Your cats, yours dogs, even your parents.” Which was apparently the wrong thing to say, as it only made them howl louder.

“Mija,” Mrs. Gomez said as she came into the room with her hands on her ears. “What happened?”

Fe was speechless, and for the first time a long time, she didn’t know what to say. In fact, every time she opened her mouth, it seemed to make matters worse.

“Cupcake died, that’s what happened!” Susie howled.

And apparently, keeping quiet wasn’t the right answer either.

She had that feeling when the day began, that deep down twisting in her gut feeling, that naming these little worms was a bad idea. The more names that were spouted out, the more that twist coiled up like a spring, telling her to put an end to this madness. But the kids were so excited, so engaged in her lesson for the first time in a long while, that she threw caution to the wind and decided to just go for it.

Boy did she regret it now. Because Friday, Fred, Cupcake, Lemon, Thing One, and Thing two were all belly up and no longer swimming.

Eventually, Mrs. King came into the lab, finding Fe standing in the center of the room with a box of tissues in one hand and Tommy Jones hanging on the other. His arms wrapped around her waist, his nose burred into her side, blowing buggers into her lab coat. She was so distraught over the whole situation, she didn’t know what to say. She just stood there, her hopes and dreams of having her own class a long-forgotten memory.

What made matters worse, was that Mrs. King wasn’t alone. She brought Mr. Paulie, the assistant principle who always looked like he was constipated, with her.

“What in heaven’s name is going on in here?” he asked, squinting through his bifocals, like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Well sir,” Fe began, glancing around the room to the dozens of children, crying in each other’s arms, sobbing in their desk, or sitting on the floor. “It seems a few planaria have kicked the bucket.”

The rest of the day went much the same. They held mini funerals in the school courtyard, sent children to talk to counselor and psychologists, and in general, a gray cloud of guilt followed Fe around everywhere she went for the rest of the afternoon.

By the time she made it home, Fe was not only delirious, anxious, and ready to crawl into bed and eat a whole bucket of ice cream, but she was also defeated. Until the scent of heaven hit her nose and she saw Elliot standing there in the kitchen wearing her pink apron.

There was something about the sight of him, standing there shucking corn, with “watch me whip” across his chest, that made her whole day melt away in an instant. Like a comfortable shoe she couldn’t wait to sink into. She dropped her backpack to the floor, and walked toward him. She’d only seen him a half dozen times throughout that week, and already she had twenty stories to tell him.

The funny things, like when Mark Sadoski brought a cat to school in his backpack. Or the sad things, like the poor lost souls of the Planaria. But all she could do was look at him. At his hair that was sticking out all over the place, telling her he had absolutely no clue how to style his new cut, and his smile, which made her feel at home, no matter where in the world she saw it.

“Hey,” he said, pointing to the table with an ear of corn. “Sit down. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

Her stomach growled with the mention of food, but she locked eyes on his hair and walked toward the catastrophe. She grinned as she pushed her fingers through his hair, even though the annoyance on his face made her want to giggle. “You have no idea how to style this, do you?” she said, proceeding to push her hands through it, resisting the urge to lick her fingers and add some moisture.

He grinned, but held completely still so she could finish. “You’re as bad as my mama, you know that?”

She shrugged, trying not to let his hushed tone affect her. She stepped away from him, leaned against the counter, and edged toward the plate on the side of the stove. “What’cha making?” she asked in a sing song voice.

“Fried Chicken.”

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