He finally looked up at me. “You want to say that again?”
Not really.Actually, I wish I could take it back. Reluctantly, I repeated my statement.
He glared at me. “Are you telling me what we’re doing here isimmoral?”
By now, a few of the students had noticed the exchange, stopping their work to listen. I could hear the whispering, feel the stares on my back.
Why, oh why, did I have to speak out?
When I remained silent, he said dismissively, “Go sit down, Walker, and finish the dissection. I’ll try to forget you came up here spouting such garbage.”
Oh, it was tempting. I could slink away and slip back into the skin of the quiet, attentive girl who diligently completed her assignments and tried not to draw attention to herself. But I couldn’t do it.
Dry-mouthed, I managed to push the words out. “Sir, for ethical reasons, I would like to request an alternative to animal dissection.”
An incredulous expression crossed my teacher’s face. “Dissection is an important part of this curriculum, young lady. Its inclusion is determined by educators a lot more qualified than a fifteen-year-old girl. While you don’t seem to recognize hands-on experience as an invaluable learning tool, they do.” He made a scoffing sound. “You want to know what happens if I make an exception for you? Tomorrow, students will have a moral objection to completing their homework because it’ll interfere with quality time with their dogs.”
He made me sit outside the classroom for the rest of the lesson. I went home in tears and my parents took my case to the principal. Ultimately, it was my request for a non-animal alternative to dissection that dangled a legal case before the school. They backed down. But Mr. Stratoudakis never forgave me for showing him up like that and he made his class a new form of torture for me, belittling me every opportunity he got. The subject I enjoyed most now became one I dreaded.
Ironically, my stand gave me a cult status among the students. I was the first student in my school to refuse to dissect—although this was overshadowed by the fact I was also the first student to challenge Mr. Stratoudakis—and overnight I went from teacher’s pet to popular rebel. It also earned me the nicknameKermit, which stayed with me until I graduated.
Although my parents publicly took my side, in private it was another matter.
“All this fuss over a frog?” my mom asked, bewildered.
“It wasn’t just about a frog, Mom. It was about unnecessary cruelty.”
“But the frog was already dead.”
“But it didn’t have to die. Biology is supposed to be the study of life.”
I pull myself out of the memory and poke at the food on my plate. For all my differences with my parents, I love them and dislike deceiving them with this undercover role. If they ever find out the truth of what I’m doing, I dread how hurt they’ll be.
12
AMY
––––––––
A steel cage dominates the room. Next to the cage is a table with all sorts of medical-looking equipment on its surface. When I spot the syringe, pride is trampled under the weight of my fear.
“Oh, no, please don’t, please don’t,” I hear myself say frantically over and over again.
Please don’t what? Drug me? Kill me?Everything. I want out of this nightmare. I want to go home. I want my father.
Jill shoves me into a chair and stands behind me. I can’t tear my gaze away from the cage. Why is it here? What are they going to do to me?
“How much do you weigh?” Barry asks me.
“What?”
“How much do you weigh?” he repeats impatiently.
I stutter out my weight. Jill holds me down while Barry picks up two syringes and moves toward me.
The tears pour down my cheeks. “This is not fair! What did I ever do to you?” I flinch as the needle penetrates my skin, my body shaking with the force of my sobs.
Barry’s eyes flare with some unguarded emotion before he looks away and injects me again. After a moment, he glances at his watch. “Nearly three minutes. It should start taking effect now.”
