The second week of May, we began presenting our research papers in front of the class. I dreaded delivering my paper in front of my three ex-friends—Sonja, Stevie, and Josh. When Ms. Riva passed around the sign-up sheet, there were only a few spaces left, the first day and the final days for presentations. I volunteered to go first, just to get it over with.
The following morning, I stood at the front of the room and took a deep breath. “Every time you see a dog that looks cute, ask yourself the cost of that cuteness. Dogs are known as humans’ best friends, and yet, we do not put their health and welfare above our own selfish needs. We want dogs that look cute, and that ‘cute’ factor means they are bred to fit the way we want them to look. This has led to puppy mills and the commodification of dogs, and today one in four purebreds is unhealthy, over-engineered to suit humans’ purposes.”
I cleared my throat. “For the last fifteen thousand years, dogs have played a role in humans’ lives. Dogs in the ancient world of Western Mexico were hairless and were believed to protect and guide humans. Roman dogs weighed 250 pounds and carried pots of burning pitch strapped on their backs. They were trained to go under enemy horses and panic them during battle. Thanks to collars found in tombs, we know the names of ancient Egyptian dogs: Good Herdsman, Reliable, One Who Is Fashioned as an Arrow, Fourth, Grabber, and Useless.”
Laughter broke out across the class, and I smiled. At least they were still awake.
“In the New World, dogs were seen as free labor, used to turn spits, pump bellows, churn butter, grind grain, and power sewing machines by running in wheels. Dogs were also used to heat people’s feet in Puritan churches, where services lasted for six or seven hours on Sundays. Dog-whippers were employed by the churches to control unruly dogs.”
I paused to glance at the clock, realizing I was running out of time. I skipped a page and continued, “Today research is exploding with new understandings about dogs and their gifts to humans.” I gave examples of dogs trained to sniff cancer, predict epileptic seizures, and detect low blood sugar in diabetes patients. “Recent studies have shown that dogs can be used for emotional support in helping veterans recover from PTSD—”
Ms. Riva’s buzzer went off. “I’m sorry, Frances, but your time is up.”
“Just let her finish,” Sonja said loudly. “It’s insulting to cut off people who actually care about a topic.”
Ms. Riva walked over to Sonja’s desk and looked at what she’d written at the top of her critique sheet: Fascist Teacher.
“I think we need to talk after class,” Ms. Riva said quietly.
Sonja raised her voice. “I think if you work hard on a report, you should be able to give the whole paper.”
The classroom fell silent, as we all waited for Ms. Riva’s response. I wondered if Sonja was sticking up for me or just venting her anger at Ms. Riva’s rules.
“In the past, untimed presentations have caused some people to take up the whole hour.” Ms. Riva stared at Sonja, speaking in an even voice. “This way it’s equal for everyone. That’s why I’m timing it. It’s not an arbitrary decision. It’s not to exert control. It’s simply fair, and I want to be fair because I know you all worked hard on these papers.” She scanned the room, returning her gaze to Sonja. “Now if you have more you want to say on this matter, Sonja, I am more than happy to talk to you. However, I’m not willing to take up more class time with your grievances.” Ms. Riva nodded at me. “You have two minutes for questions.”
Sonja was the only one to raise her hand. “Could I hear your summary?” she asked with a smug smile.
I glanced nervously at Ms. Riva who nodded with a frown.
My throat felt tight as I skipped to the end and delivered my conclusion. “Although dogs have always been known for their deep loyalty and unconditional love, humans have unfortunately turned dogs into commodities, resulting in a proliferation of unregulated puppy mills. As we look back at all that dogs have done for humans, shouldn’t we all be asking first and foremost what we can do for dogs?”
Almost everyone clapped, except for Josh who was already writing his critique.
I sat at my desk as everyone wrote their comments. Sonja was the first to finish. She slapped her form on my desk and headed out the door without saying a word. She’d circled excellent in every category. Under comments, she’d written: Well-researched. That was all. I waited until everyone had handed me their critique pages, and then I looked at Josh’s: he’d given me high marks, but he’d skipped the comment section altogether.
When I arrived at chemistry, he was sitting at our table.
I paused next to my stool. “Do you want me to ask Mr. Benson to give us new partners?”
“It’s up to you, Frances.” Josh stared ahead at the board. “Whatever you want.”
Mr. Benson called the class to attention and then asked for two volunteers to put their answers on the board. Josh volunteered. It took about three minutes for him to write out his homework equations. When he returned to his stool, we were only six inches apart. I could hear him breathing. I could smell his soap. I could almost touch the wall of anger between us, but I couldn’t reach through it.
Josh did his lab work silently. Usually, I leaned toward him, and he led me through steps, making sure I understood each one. But today he didn’t look up, not once, except to sneeze and then he looked in the opposite direction. When he finished, he closed his notebook and began reading a novel about the civil war.
I managed to do most of the equation on my own, hoping some of it was right, and then I asked Josh if I could compare my answers to his.
He nodded, his eyes on his book.
But I didn’t reach for his notebook. “Josh, can we talk about this?”
He didn’t say no. He gave a little shrug.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you being so mean? Why are you cutting me off?”
“Why?” He smirked. “How can we be friends when you’re not even honest with yourself? You pretend you don’t know what you feel, but you do. You’re just not brave enough to admit it.” His eyes went back to his book.
He was right. I wasn’t brave. When the bell rang, I picked up my backpack and fled the chemistry lab. I could feel the tears coming, but I tried to fight them back, at least until I could hide in the bathroom. Try as I might to hold on to friends, I had a way of losing them.