“What are we doing today?” Malini asked Mrs. Jacques. The science lab was deserted and her voice seemed unnaturally loud in the empty room.
“First things first, I need you to clean off the lab tables. Anything that looks valuable, you can put in the lost and found basket by the window. Otherwise, throw everything away and wipe down the tables with this disinfectant.”
Malini wedged a roll of paper towels under her arm and picked up the bottle of blue liquid.
“When you’re done with that,” Mrs. Jacques continued, “place one dissection kit at each pair of seats.” She opened the top of a large cardboard box that sat on her desk and started pulling out items. “There are three things in here: the tray, the instruments, and the frogs. Please cut open the instruments but leave them in the bag so none of the pins get lost. Don’t cut open the frogs or the entire room will smell like formalin.”
A wave of nausea rushed over Malini. Her face must have paled because Mrs. Jacques snorted. “Are you okay? Don’t worry. They’re not gross or anything. In fact, this company preserves them so well, they almost look alive.” She pulled a shrink-wrapped frog from the box. It did look alive but for some reason this was not a comfort to Malini.
“I can do it,” Malini forced herself to say. In her head, she was planning to use the chemistry tongs to carry the frogs by the corner of their packaging. No way was she touching those things.
“Good, because you’ll be dissecting one in Anatomy and Physiology tomorrow. Might as well get comfortable with the idea.” Mrs. Jacques flashed a sardonic smile as if she found her student’s discomfort with dissection both ridiculous and amusing.
Malini responded by heading to the first table and clearing it of the used paper towels, pencils, and scratch paper that had been left behind. She tossed everything in the garbage before spraying and wiping down the table.
“Looks like you’ve got it under control. I’ll be grading papers in the teacher’s lounge if you need me.” She picked up her stack of work and shouldered her way out the door. It swung shut behind her.
“Right,” Malini said, finally free of Mrs. Jacques’ watchful eye. “Sure, I’ll handle your dead frogs for you. Why, I love the feel of plastic-wrapped amphibian in the afternoon.” She rolled her eyes toward the door.
She made short work of the cleanup. Then she doled out the trays and instruments as instructed. The frogs she left for last. Using chemistry tongs, she lifted each one out of the box by the plastic corner, flipping them onto the dissection trays one by one. Unfortunately, the plastic was slippery enough that it became like a game, trying to get the frogs into the trays before the weight of the animal slipped her grip. She was fine for the first several tables but on the last one, farthest from the box, the specimen slipped and landed in a rubbery splat on the tile floor. Sighing, she abandoned the tongs and decided to put her big girl panties on. She picked it up with her hands.
She was surprised how fake it felt resting in her palm, the plastic wrap a barrier against the dead thing underneath. It was sad, really. In the wild, when a thing died, it decayed and became food for other living things. The great circle of life. This was permanently dead—preserved in a state that should have been transitional. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her now. She’d dissected things before and understood the importance. There wouldn’t be doctors without dissection. But for some reason this particular frog made her stomach sink.
Her palm tingled. Maybe her hand was falling asleep? Malini tried to dump the frog onto the last tray but the plastic wrap stuck to her skin. She gave it a shake. Sweat beaded around the plastic. She shook her hand again, harder. The frog didn’t fall to the table. The tingle advanced to a burning sensation. At first it was minor, like a sunburn, but soon it felt like someone was holding her hand to a hot skillet. Her skin was on fire.
She tugged franticly at the plastic. It didn’t come easily. A patch of skin from the heel of her hand ripped away. Blisters formed near the edge of the packaging. The plastic bubbled against her palm. The chemicals used to preserve the frog must have somehow leached out of the bag!
Bolting toward the sink, she cranked the water and flushed her hand. She screamed as the spray hit her injured skin. Hot and cold comingled painfully in her palm and the plastic oozed from her hand, taking a layer of skin with it. Red and blistered, black burnt-looking skin edged the wound. The cold water helped. The burning pain turned into a dull ache, just as Mrs. Jacques burst through the science room door.
“I heard a scream! Malini, are you all right?” she asked.
“I … I…” Malini began over her shoulder, but as she looked down into the basin she couldn’t finish her sentence. For one, her hand was completely healed and … and… “The frog is alive!”
Mrs. Jacques ran to her side, shutting off the water and rubbing Malini’s back. “It’s okay, Malini. Take a deep breath.” The teacher inhaled sharply. Next to a mangled piece of plastic the grass green frog leapt repeatedly into the shiny stainless steel wall of the sink, not only alive but vigorous.
“Oh my God. I have never seen such a thing in my twenty years of teaching. That company is going to hear from me!” She handed Malini a paper towel. “I know it’s upsetting, dear. To think they’ve packaged an animal alive. It’s horrific. I can’t believe the poor thing survived.”
Malini’s eyes turned toward the other frogs, the ones on the trays. She searched for any sign of movement, anything to help her believe the frog had been alive in the package the whole time.
“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll check the rest of them. Hopefully it’s an isolated incident. You’d better go home. You look woozy. Do you want me to call your father to come pick you up?”
Malini shook her head. “No, I’m fine, Mrs. Jacques,” she forced herself to say. “But I think I will go, if it’s okay with you.”
“Of course.”
Malini backed through the door, twisting the paper towel between her fingers. Alone in the hallway, she looked down at her palm, pain-free beneath the paper. Her skin was its usual shade, perfectly healed.
“Shit, this is not … right,” she said under her breath and bolted out the door. She had to find Jacob and talk to Dr. Silva. This wasn’t normal. It definitely wasn’t natural. But Malini was afraid to even consider what it might mean.