Dinosaur Boy (2 page)

A giant, green cartoon dinosaur appeared on the screen. Below its huge, obnoxious grin were the words:

The
Dinosaur
in
Your
Classroom

An
Educational
Video
from
Amalgam
Labs

There were bursts of giggles all around me.

I cringed.

The dinosaur faded and was replaced by a tall, skinny woman in a lab coat. She smiled prettily at the camera.

“Hello, boys and girls. My name is Dr. Dana, of Amalgam Labs.”

On the bottom of the screen was the disclaimer:
Some
scientists
portrayed
by
professional
actors.

“Dr. Dana” continued, in a soothing and falsely cheerful voice. The kind of voice that adults use when they are about to tell kids something they know we won't like.

“I'm here today to talk to you about something you may have already noticed. That's right! It's time to have an honest and important discussion about the dinosaur in your classroom!”

There was another round of giggles, as several shiny, metallic buildings appeared on the screen.

“This is Amalgam Labs,” Dr. Dana chirped. “Once an industry leader in the emerging field of DNA hybridization. DNA hybridization? What in the world is
that
, you ask?”

Dr. Dana came back on the screen, smiling patiently.

“It's simple, really. DNA is a molecule that exists inside of every living creature. Here's what a DNA molecule looks like.”

A picture appeared of something that looked like a ladder that had been stretched out and twisted.

“DNA is a very special material because it contains the instructions for how every creature is built. These instructions are called ‘genes.' ‘DNA hybridization' means combining the genes from two different creatures to create an entirely new DNA strand. Just like the DNA of the dinosaur-human hybrid in your classroom.”

Amalgam Labs came back onto the screen.

“Due to numerous ongoing lawsuits and the closing of our main facility in the United States after the passing of the International Treaty on Responsible DNA Research, we may never know exactly how the dinosaur-human hybrid serum was created. Or exactly who was responsible for injecting that serum into a virus and for putting that virus into the ice-cream maker in the laboratory's cafeteria. But what we
do
know is that the DNA of the two hundred and thirty-eight scientists who ingested the ice cream was changed forever.”

I risked a quick, stiff-necked glance around the room. My classmates were riveted, even though I knew they had all heard the story of Amalgam Labs before. We all had. Even the kids whose grandfathers hadn't worked there.

“So what happened to the scientists who ate the ice cream?” Dr. Dana continued. “Well, nothing at first!”

The screen image now showed two men, standing side by side. They were both wearing lab coats.

“The man on the left is Dr. Otto Marsh, one of the scientists who ate the ice cream. The man on the right is Dr. Edwin Cope, one of the three lactose-intolerant scientists at Amalgam Labs who did
not
eat the ice cream. This is what they looked like the day after the incident.”

Then two new pictures appeared. The scientist on the right looked exactly the same. But the scientist on the left now had a huge, bony frill growing out of his neck. It framed his face, kind of like a huge shirt collar.

A shirt collar with horns.

“Within one month, 98 percent of the scientists who were infected with the virus began to display external dinosaur features. Just like Dr. Marsh. Once fully developed, these features became permanent, fusing with the existing human features and creating a hybrid-like appearance.”

Another picture of Dr. Marsh, with his bony frill, filled the screen. Now, he was bouncing a small (and seemingly human) child on his knee.

“With the help of the Amalgam Labs psychological team, most of the affected scientists were able to adapt to their changed appearances and lead relatively normal lives. One hundred and seventy-two of the scientists went on to produce offspring, all of which grew to maturity without manifesting a single dinosaur characteristic. Therefore, it was concluded that the hybrid DNA was not transferable to subsequent generations.”

Dr. Dana came back on the screen, smiling a knowing smile.

“But as we all know, that wasn't the end of the story. Imagine our surprise when the
next
generation of offspring, the grandsons and granddaughters of the affected scientists, started to develop dinosaur characteristics!”

Two kids appeared. The one on the left was an ordinary, if slightly nerdy-looking kid in baggy jeans and glasses. The one on the right had a long, spiny tail, much like mine. He also had very short arms, which were pulled close to his body, and tiny hands with curved claws.

“The boy on the left is Dr. Cope's grandson. In every way, an ordinary human, just like you and me. The boy on the right is Dr. Marsh's grandson. As you can see, he exhibits several remarkably distinct dinosaur characteristics.”

And just in case we couldn't see, two enormous flashing arrows appeared, pointing to the boy's tail and arms.

“Today, there are several dozen dinosaur-human hybrids in schools across the country.”

A slideshow of various dinosaur-human kids began. Most, like me, were recognizably human with only a few dinosaur traits, like claws or tails. One girl had plates that looked identical to mine, and one very unfortunate boy had a giant triceratops horn where his nose should have been.

“As part of the class action judgment enacted against us, Amalgam Labs has agreed to assist these schools in coming up with effective strategies for the assimilation of dinosaur-hybrid students. We at Amalgam Labs believe that there is no reason that human and semi-human students cannot coexist in a nurturing, safe, and fun learning environment. The following are some tips that fully human students should keep in mind.”

A picture of a normal-looking boy appeared. He had his arm around a classmate, who had a beak for a nose and several horns.

“First and foremost, it's important to realize that your hybrid classmate is not contagious. Dinosaur-human hybrids are born, not infected. There is no way that you can catch the dinosaur gene by engaging in normal, day-to-day interactions with your hybrid classmate. There is no need for schools to provide separate bathroom facilities for hybrids.”

Up popped a school picture of a boy who looked perfectly normal and well groomed, except for his giant teeth and the bumps all over his forehead.

“Don't judge a book by its cover! Just because your classmate looks a little bit different than he did in last year's school picture, don't forget that
dinosaur-human hybrids are people too
. And they should be treated with the same respect as your fully human classmates.”

Next came a picture of a girl with a huge finlike growth down her back. She was performing a complicated math equation in front of a group of human children.

“In most cases, hybrids retain the brain size and IQ measurements they had before their dinosaur characteristics emerged. So don't worry! Your hybrid classmate is mentally the same person he or she always was!”

Next came a picture of the kid with the big teeth and forehead bumps, stomping his feet angrily. A cartoon bubble appeared over his head with the word “ROAR!” in it.

“Remember that any odd behavior exhibited by your hybrid classmate is
not
their
fault
. Try not to embarrass your hybrid classmate by drawing unnecessary attention to any of their actions that may not be as common among your fully human classmates.”

Now came a picture of a human girl with her arm around the shoulder of another girl who had a full tyrannosaurus rex head.

“Our research has shown that hybrids are unlikely to become violent. However, should the dinosaur in your classroom exhibit any aggressive behavior, please remain calm and immediately inform the nearest adult. Employees at schools where a hybrid has been enrolled have been trained to deal with just this kind of situation.”

A picture of what looked like a large water gun flashed on the screen.

“Nearly harmless, fast-acting tranquilizer darts have been issued to one of every three teachers in schools with a hybrid in attendance. And don't you worry! Should the tranquilizer become necessary, in the sole judgment of a licensed, adult carrier, your hybrid classmate will awaken in four to six hours, feeling refreshed and calm.”

I sneaked a sideways glance at Ms. Filch. Was she “one of every three” who had a tranquilizer gun in her classroom? And if so, where did she keep it? She didn't look terribly thrilled at the idea that it might one day be her responsibility to shoot me with a tranquilizer dart. But I might have just been imagining things.

“In conclusion,” Dr. Dana continued, as a class photo depicting a group of grinning students, including one whose enormous tail was curled over the toes of the other kids in the front row, came onto the screen, “as long as appropriate safety guidelines are rigorously enforced, there is no reason your hybrid classmate cannot be an active member of your school community. On behalf of all of us at Amalgam Labs, I wish you a safe and productive school year!”

The movie ended with a picture of what must have been the Amalgam Labs logo: two of the twisted ladders, one red and one green, in the process of being fused together.

I tried to slump down in my chair, but my plates wouldn't let me sink down more than an inch or two.

I tried to recall the advice my dad had given me, about holding my head up high. But somehow, his words didn't sound quite as compelling as they had that morning in our kitchen. After that movie, there was no way that a single one of my classmates was ever going to wish they had plates and a tail.

I was beginning to wish that I didn't either.

The next day, our first subject was computer lab. I walked there with Elliot.

Since the day Elliot discovered basketball, he hadn't left his house without looking like a temple to the sport that had finally made school bearable for him. And it looked like things were going to be no different this year. Today, he was wearing the Portland Trail Blazers jersey I had gotten him for his birthday and black high-top basketball shoes. He was even carrying a basketball. Probably for extra insurance, just in case summer break had caused some of the kids to forget that he was, in fact, a basketball player, as opposed to just “that tall freak.”

I had been the only person who had stuck by Elliot while everyone else was calling him “Jolly Green Giant” and asking him how the weather was up there. We had been friends since kindergarten, and I had always figured that he would have done the same for me.

I guess I was about to find out if that was true.

“Do you think you'll ever get used to your plates and stuff?” he asked me, and reached over to touch my topmost one. But he pulled his hand back at the last second. He looked a tad embarrassed, and I could practically hear Dr. Dana's cheerful assurances that I was “not contagious” playing through his head.

“I don't know,” I said vaguely, and turned back toward the computer lab, like I hadn't noticed anything. Elliot fell in beside me, dribbling his basketball from hand to hand as we walked. When we were little, people had sometimes asked if Elliot and I were twins. Probably because we had the same dirty blond hair and hazel eyes. Plus, we both had a ton of freckles. But that had been before Elliot's five inches and my dinosaur parts.

I doubted that anyone would mistake us for twins now.

“Do they hurt?” Elliot asked.

“Not anymore,” I said, looking at the floor. Looking up at Elliot had been a pain since his growth spurt. Now, with my plates, it was nearly impossible.

“Well, that's good. I guess,” he said uncomfortably. “And it's definitely…you know…permanent?”

“Looks like it.”

“Hmmmm,” he said, opening the computer lab door. “Bummer.”

Mr. Broome, our computer teacher, yawned at the sight of us. Mr. Broome suffered from crippling allergies, so he was always either sneezing like crazy or about to fall asleep because of his medication. Not long after we had all filed into the room, he muttered something about us having “free lab time,” put his head down on the desk, and drifted off.

I turned to ask Elliot what he wanted to do. But he just gestured sadly to the empty chairs on either side of us.

The rest of the class had decided to give us a three-computer buffer, on both sides.

I just shrugged, as though it didn't matter. Elliot shrugged back, as though he didn't care either.

There were a bunch of kids gathered around a computer in the row ahead of us. Allan Huxley stood right in the middle of the group.

Like Elliot, Allan had been in my class since kindergarten. But unlike Elliot, Allan and I had never been friends. A certain alleged pants-wetting incident back in first grade had made
that
pretty much impossible.

Not that I would have wanted to be Allan's friend anyway. Allan had been the leader of the group that had tormented Elliot last year.

He seemed excited about something just then, which worried me. His head, which was so big that it made the rest of his body look small, whipped around to stare at me.

I looked away, as alarm bells started going off in my brain.

“No, that's not it,” he said, turning back to the computer screen. “He doesn't have a neck thingy.”

In direct defiance of the many
NO
FOOD
OR
DRINKS
signs that were posted around the lab, he stuffed a wad of beef jerky into his mouth and started chewing it. Noisily.

At least, I thought it was beef jerky. Allan's dad was a big hunter and made his own deer jerky, so it might have been that. Ugh. Even before my dino gene had made me a vegetarian, the thought of eating dried Bambi strips would have made me want to barf.

“What about that one?” Parker asked, reaching a skinny arm around Allan to point at the screen. There were too many heads in the way for me to see what he was talking about.

“Can't be that one,” Allan argued, his mouth still full. “He doesn't have anything on his head. What about—”

“There!” Cecilia Craig interrupted. Cecilia, who preferred to be called Cici, shoved both boys out of the way so she could stick her rather prominent nose right into the thick of things. She gestured triumphantly at the screen. “
That's
totally it.”

All of the heads around the computer turned to look at me.

“
Stegosaurus
,” Allan said, grinning so hard I thought his face might rip apart. He had really thick eyebrows, which sort of loomed over both of his eyes so that even his smiles tended to look like frowns. “Definitely
Stegosaurus
.”

“I could have told you that,” I muttered. “I know what I am.”

“Nobody asked you, Spikey,” Allan said, and turned back to the computer. “Let's see. Stegosaurus. A big but gentle herbivore from the late Jurassic period. Identifiable by two rows of bony plates and a spiked tail…Could have weighed up to four tons…native to western North America…”

“Boring,” Cici singsonged. She flung her hair back over her shoulder, spraying a few drops of water in my direction. Cici had swim practice every morning before school, so her long, mousy brown hair was always a little bit damp. “Skip to the good stuff.”

“
Stegosaurus
had
an
unusually
small
head
,” Allan continued. “
w
ith
a
brain
roughly
the
size
of
a
walnut—
”

“A walnut!” Parker exclaimed, turning to fix his beady eyes on me. He was scowling, as usual, and he looked just as mean as the Angry Bird on his bright red shirt. “You hear that, Sawyer? Did it hurt when your brain shrank?”

“Shut up, Parker,” Elliot said loyally. “Obviously his brain didn't shrink.”

“Stay out of it, Gigantor,” Cici hissed. “We'll look up what kind of dinosaur you are next.”

“I am
not
a dinosaur,” Elliot fumed, then immediately looked guilty. He turned to me. “Sorry, Sawyer. It's not that I'd mind being one. It's just that I'm—”

“You guys, you
guys
,” Allan interrupted, waving everybody silent. “Listen to this:
Because
of
its
small
head
size
and
the
existence
of
a
mysterious
cavity
in
its
upper
hip
region, some scientists have theorized that Stegosaurus had a supplementary brain located in its hindquarters.”

“A supplementary brain?” Cici sniffed. “In its hindquarters? You mean its—”

“Butt,” Allan finished, turning around so that I could see the victorious grin on his oversized face. “I mean its
butt
. This article is saying that Spikey here probably has a brain
in
his
butt
.”

Every kid in the room, except for Elliot and me, started laughing hysterically. I stared down at the keyboard in front of me, burning with embarrassment. I couldn't look up. Especially when, over the deafening laughter, I heard Parker start chanting, “Butt Brain! Butt Brain! Butt Brain!”

It had been a huge mistake to come back to school.

I sneaked a glance over at Mr. Broome, but he was still passed out like a useless lump. At that point, I doubt he could have done anything to bring the room back to order anyway. Elliot's weak protests on my behalf were being drowned out by Allan's booming laughter and Cici's deafening cackle. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Parker stand up on a chair. His red shirt hung loosely on his skinny frame as he raised his hands like a conductor and led his whole side of the room in the Butt Brain chant.

I closed my eyes. I couldn't see anything, so I actually
felt
the icy chill of the outside air before I saw who was responsible for letting it in.

“
SILENCE
!” a voice rang out.

I opened my eyes.

The voice, part yowling cat and part booming cannon, caused everybody in the room to freeze. Parker stopped gesturing so abruptly that he almost fell off his chair.

An extremely small, skinny woman with extremely large, poofy hair stood in the doorway. She was wearing a very stiff-looking suit and glasses that were so large they took up most of her face. She nodded at Mr. Broome, who was blinking sleepily at her from behind his desk.

“So sorry to wake you,” she said gravely.

“What? Oh, uh, not at all, Principal Mathis,” Mr. Broome stammered. He cleared his throat loudly and struggled to sit up straight.

Principal Mathis…so
this
was our new principal. Principal Kline, our last principal, had resigned suddenly in the middle of the summer and none of us had seen his replacement.

Until now.

Principal Mathis turned away from Mr. Broome. Her eyes, squinting behind her enormous glasses, scanned the room until they came to rest on Parker.

“What is your name, young man?”

“P-P-Parker Douglas,” he answered, and I thought I saw his knees start to shake.

“Mr. Douglas,” she said. Her voice was so quiet now, we all had to strain to hear her over the crushing silence. “I see you have come up with a new nickname for one of your classmates.”

“It wasn't me,” Parker choked out. “We were just looking some stuff up—”

“What was it?”

Parker, still up on the chair, pointed down at the computer.

“Just a website on types of—”

“No,” Principal Mathis said quietly. “The name. What was it?”

“B-B-Butt Brain,” he stammered. And even in the midst of his terror, for tiny Principal Mathis was truly terrifying at that moment, I saw a small smile tug at the edge of his lips.

I don't know if Principal Mathis saw it too. I'm not sure it would have made any difference.

“I believe you are aware, Mr. Douglas, that we have a zero tolerance policy at this school regarding the belittling and harassment of students?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Parker mumbled. The smile was suddenly gone from his face.

“And you would agree, I assume, that name-calling is a form of belittling? And also harassment?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Parker mumbled, barely audible now.

“Thank you, Mr. Douglas,” Principal Mathis said flatly. “Please come with me.”

She turned toward the door.

Parker climbed self-consciously down from the chair. He took a step toward Principal Mathis, then froze again as she suddenly turned back around.

“Bring your things. You shan't be returning.”

Now that Parker wasn't hurling insults at me, I felt almost sorry for him as he stooped down to pick up his backpack. He looked very small and pathetic as he exchanged a miserable look with Allan and then followed Principal Mathis out of the door.