Evolution, Me & Other Freaks of Nature (7 page)

I will not hide from these people. This is my life. I live in this town, I go to this school, I have as much right as anyone to stand up straight and speak up in class and go into the cafeteria to eat my lunch if I want to (now that I have lunch money from working in my parents’ storeroom). I am sick of being so scared.

There's the bell.

Good luck to me.

Sixteen

I'm beginning to see what Charles Dickens meant about it being the best of times and the worst of times. Because there were moments today that sort of balanced out the crud of last week.

First of all, in Mr. Kuhlman's class this morning I was ON. I decided yesterday that instead of just reading the assigned pages in
A Tale of Two Cities,
I should keep on going to the end. So worth it. What I wouldn't give to meet people like that—noble, brave, self-sacrificing. And romantic? Oh yeah. You think anyone would ever go to the scaffold for me?

I even admire Madame Defarge, even though she turned out to be so evil. At least she was strong. At least she stood up for herself. She waited years and years to exact her revenge, and when her time came, she went for it with everything she had.

So I got to raise my hand a lot in Mr. Kuhlman's class, and I even powered through Teresa's snide, mocking looks and whatever mean things she was mumbling under her
breath. Who cares. As that banker guy Mr. Lorry says to Lucy at the beginning of the novel to keep her climbing the stairs even though she's so afraid, “Courage! Business!” That's me now. Just keep going.

Then yoga was lovely. Missy must have had a good weekend, because she was extra mellow—which is really saying a lot, since normally I almost fall asleep at the sound of her soft, singy voice. She had us doing gentle stretches for about half an hour, then the rest of the period we just lay on our backs while she guided us through some imagery, and by the end I had to be careful not to snore. It was the most relaxing class I've ever been in in my life.

And then biology.

I don't know where Ms. Shepherd came from or why on earth she's decided to hide out at my particular high school, but all I can tell you is I'm grateful. And I'm also with Casey on this one:
Love her.
You never know what she's going to do next.

Which was just why she did it.

Before class started she was acting all casual, flipping through some science journal, sipping from the Starbucks the giant had just brought her. Instead of leaving this time, the giant hung around, but I didn't really think much of it.

The bell rang. And instantly Ms. Shepherd sprang to her feet and shouted at the giant, “Marry me! Where's your duck? Who stole my spoon?”

Then she pitched her science journal past the giant against the wall, where it hit so hard the pages flew apart.

The giant just stood there expressionless.

Suddenly Ms. Shepherd smiled and said in the sweetest voice, “I'm sorry. I hate you. Let's go to the merry-go-round. Bye-bye now!” Then she took the giant gently by the arm and escorted him to the door.

While we all sat there in freaked-out silence.

Letting go of the giant's arm, Ms. Shepherd turned back to us. “THAT, my friends, is science. That is the unpredictable beauty of our universe. History is unpredictable, human behavior is unpredictable, and subatomic particles? Unpredictable. It's what quantum physics calls the ‘uncertainty principle.’ It means we cannot—no matter how desperately we try—we CANNOT know with one hundred percent certainty exactly what will happen next. Right? Evolution!”

She caught the Back Turners completely by surprise. When they realized what she had just said, they had to scramble, scooting their chairs around, plopping back into them, trying to act all righteous and dignified about it. It was pretty hilarious, but Ms. Shepherd kept a straight face.

“Perhaps that was predictable,” she said, “but not necessarily. Human minds can change.”

She thanked the giant and gave him a tip (or maybe she was just paying him for the coffee, but he certainly deserved a tip for standing there and taking that), then got down to today's lesson.

Courage! Business!

“Genius,” Casey whispered to me.

Genius and fun, and Casey's right—I love her. I can't
believe how lucky I am to have her this semester. I can only think God has a reason for it. Maybe this is His way of thanking me for what I did with Denny.

I looked over at the Back Turners and almost felt sorry for them. Almost. I mean, obviously they're doing this to themselves. But Ms. Shepherd went on with her lesson, and I could see that most of the kids—including Teresa— wished they could have been watching. It's like sitting with your back to the TV and trying to figure out all the action based on the sound track.

Coffee must be very, very good for Ms. Shepherd's system, because she was all animated today. She spent the hour talking over examples from history and science and life to prove to us that even though we might guess what will happen in the next moment or the next century, we can't absolutely know.

“And this,” she said toward the end, “is why evolution rules the day. Because nothing is static. Everything changes. That is the BEAUTY of life. And the successful organisms—the ones like you and me and viruses and sharks and everything else that's out there today—we owe our existence to the genes that kept mutating and adapting all along. THANK YOU, MUTATIONS.”

I love it when she says things like that. Like she doesn't even care how weird it sounds.

“If you think about it,” she went on, “not a single one of us is exactly like anything that came before. In a way we're all truly freaks of nature. That's what it takes to survive—the freaks shall inherit the earth. Look how well
viruses are doing. They mutate and adapt constantly—it's why we have to develop new vaccines all the time to keep killing them.

“Which raises an interesting question,” Ms. Shepherd said, glancing over at the Back Turners. “Because if you don't believe in evolution, then you must not believe that diseases change over time. In which case, there would be no need for anyone to get new flu shots every year, because obviously if we've been vaccinated once, that should last forever, right?”

“Brilliant,” Casey whispered.

“Just something to think about,” Ms. Shepherd said. And then the bell rang.

And I just sat there. I didn't want to move. I wanted to sit there and understand everything I'd just heard.

Because I think until that moment, I was only sort of paying attention. I was treating biology like any other one of my classes—just something to learn so I could get a good grade and move on. I appreciated that Ms. Shepherd was making it fun and interesting, but it was still just a class.

But as of today, I have to admit it: I have a crush on science.

Can you love a thought? Can you love a concept?

Not to be too dramatic, but when Ms. Shepherd explained that about the flu shot and about us all being freaks of nature, it was like something reached inside my chest and yanked on my soul. Like somebody opened up my head and shouted down into my brain, “Do you get it? Mena, are you listening?”

It's just that it all makes sense. In the same way that God makes sense to me sometimes and I really think I can feel Him. I can see the order to things, His purpose behind them. I wish I felt that way more often—about God, I mean—but whenever I do, it's like someone has pumped up my heart with helium, and I can barely keep from floating off into space.

I was still sitting there, all dreamy, when Casey said, “Library?”

“Uh-huh.” Somehow I gathered up my books and followed him into the hall.

Teresa and the others had already faded into the crowd. Another blessing. I walked along slowly next to Casey, savoring the buzzing in my ears.

“So,” Casey said as we coasted along, “what did you think of
Fellowship?
Incredible, no?”

“Huh? Oh, I didn't watch it.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” I said, still happily ambling along. “Look, the truth is, I'm never going to watch it. My parents won't let me.”

“Because?”

And that's what snapped me back to reality.

Seventeen

How much do I really want Casey Connor to know about my life? You want to be able to pick and choose the good parts—the parts that make you look as little like a freak as possible (no matter what Ms. Shepherd says about the freaks inheriting the earth)—and keep all the other ones to yourself.

But on the other hand, how can you make friends with someone if you don't let him in a little? So there I was, Moment of Decision, and Casey was giving me his usual skeptical/inquisitive/semi-amused sort of look, and it just came out.

“Sorcery.”

“Sorcery,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

He squinted at me and waited for further developments.

“Lord of the Rings
has wizards, right?”

“Yes,” Casey said. “That it does.”

“Well, my parents don't approve of stories about magic and sorcery and stuff.”

“Because …”

I took a deep breath. Here it was, the line I was crossing over, and Casey would either laugh in my face or—or I didn't know what.

“Because sorcery is from the devil.”

“Of course,” Casey said, without a hint of sarcasm.

Emboldened, I said, “And we don't glorify the devil in our household.”

“Unlike the way we do in mine. Midnight sacrifices and bloodshakes and all that.”

“I'm serious.” I glanced at Margo Alden going by. She'd know exactly what I was talking about. Her mother once confiscated
The Littlest Witch
from Margo's backpack and made the school librarian remove it from the shelves.

“So let me guess,” Casey said. “You have also failed to read
Harry Potter.”

I nodded.

Casey collapsed against the nearest wall like he'd been shot. “Must … get … help. …”

He didn't care that people were staring, but I certainly did. That's all I need is to draw more attention to myself. “Thanks a lot.” I set off in a huff.

Casey blocked my way. “Come on, Mena, you can't be serious. You actually buy all that?”

“Buy what? That my parents would kill me if they caught me watching any of those movies or reading
Harry Potter
?
“

“No, that whole devil and sorcery stuff. Come on—
we actually live in modern times. Telephones, cable, penicillin—”

“Forget it,” I said, but I noticed I kept walking with him. I probably should have just said goodbye and let him go on his way. He's never going to understand.

“There's nothing satanic about
Lord of the Rings,
or
Harry Potter,
for that matter. Good triumphs over evil— what's more American than that?”

“Fine,” I said. “Enjoy them.”

“What if I let you watch it at my house?”

We stopped just outside the library doors. “First of all, there's no way my parents will ever let me go to your house—”

“Have you asked them?”

“No. And second, I would never do something behind their backs like that—”

“Oh, so you've never lied to your parents?”

“No. I happen to prefer the truth.”

“So this thing,” Casey said, waving his hand, “this thing you're grounded for life for—what's that all about, Little Miss Can-Do-No-Wrong?”

Considering how little respect he had shown for the whole anti-sorcery thing, there's no way I was telling him the other stuff. “None of your business.”

“None of my business because it's so terrible I'll be shocked you could do such a thing? Or none of my business because it's another one of these bizarre no-wizards-for-Mena kinds of things? Wait, let me guess—does it involve elves?”

“Shut up.”

“Very persuasive,” Casey said. He gave me a little bow and opened the door for me.

And that's what's so irritating about him. One minute he's all over me, making me feel like an idiot, and the next he's being all gentlemanly and nice, helping me scrape my books off the floor or holding doors for me or whatever. He'd probably laugh in my face if I told him about the whole Denny Pierce thing, and then buy me a bouquet of roses.

“Can we please just drop this?” I whispered as we entered.

“Of course. Provided you show up at my house this afternoon so we can both get our A's. And I can get my name on Ms. Shepherd's website.”

“Forget it. I can't.”

“Have you even asked your parents?”

“There's no point.”

Casey pulled out his cell phone. “Try.”

I swear, that guy is so annoying. “I can't call from in here.”

“Then let's go outside.”

“You're really a pig.”

“Thank you kindly. Now let's go.”

Out we went again, into the hall. “I have my own phone, thank you.” I punched in my parents’ office number. It was all so pointless.

“Mom?” My voice cracked a little. I hadn't really prepared myself. “Um … hi.”

“What is it, Mena. I'm on the other line.”

“Great. Um, I have this project due in … in biology? And my lab partner—you know, Casey?—wants me to work on it after school.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

Casey gave me an “I told you so” smirk. As if I needed that.

“Okay,” I told my mom, not believing my good luck. “Thanks.”

“How will you get home?”

“Um, Casey, can your mom drive me home?”

He nodded.

“Casey's mom will take me.”

“Fine,” my mother said. “Have her come in when she drops you off.” I could tell she was trying to rush me off the phone.

“Casey's mom?”

“No, Casey. Be home for dinner. Bye.” And she hung up.

And I had to stand there for a moment, the phone still at my ear, processing what she said.

Have her come in when she drops you off.

Casey's mom?

No, Casey.

Oh. No.

Hadn't I said Casey was a boy? Hadn't I called him a he? Maybe I didn't. Maybe I'd never said it once.

Let me be clear: I know my parents’ feelings on this. They are beyond freaked over the idea that someday I
might meet some boy who isn't a good Christian, and I'll be drugged or just swept away by hormones, and I'll go back to his place and have sex (they don't even deal with the unprotected part—it's the sex that horrifies them), and then I'll be ruined for my eventual husband, who'll expect me to be a virgin on our wedding night.