From the rancid smell of formaldehyde and the clang of scalpels and pins, I knew what would be happening in fourth period.

“Dissections today,” Mr. Bray announced. He was in his forties, and had a large nose. He barely had hair, and at the sides of his head where he did, it was a wispy gray color. “Remember, groups of four,” he said. Immediately, people shot up out of their chairs and moved towards one boy. James Montreal. They shouted his name, crowded around him, pleading for him to be in their group. Mr. Bray was tranquil, and turned away to get the frogs. James on the other hand, was grinning smugly. He yawned, and dramatically stood up from his chair. Casually, he strolled over to me, as people watched, dumb-struck.

“Hello-o-o Aria,” he held onto the word, and flashed me a perfectly white smile.

“Hi?” I raised my eyebrows and looked back to my dissection questions. Another girl, Emma, sat down next to me. Her glasses glinted in the light. She greeted me, but James, with his enormous ego, thought she was talking to him.

“Hey Emma,” he leaned over the table and grinned again. She looked at him, bored, and turned away from him. He shrugged, and slouched back.

“Barry, hey!” James shouted to his friend. Barry was James’s look-a-like. He noisily joined us, laughing and joking with James. Meanwhile, the other students, disappointed, settled for other people. One blonde-haired girl with bright yellow converse who was president of some thing for smart people was laughing with another girl whom I remembered had almost never gotten a single question wrong on any assignment. Next to them, was a girl who always spoke in third person, and a girl who always made strange noises. Normally I wouldn’t have paid any attention to them, but I noticed that they were all in National Genius Intelligence Society. That was unfair. They would surely pass the dissection, but I had a big-headed celebrity, a guy whose name was always called for detentions, and Emma. She was smart too, but would we both be able to make up for their stupidity? Mr. Bray began to call up groups to get a frog. We were the last table to be called, and when we went up, he had bad news.
“Well, it looks like we’re one frog short,” Mr. Bray frowned apologetically.

“No!” Barry groaned irritably, and James joined in.

“You’ll have to share with another group,” he said firmly. Barry groaned again, but James sprung into action.

“Well, ah, under these circumstances, don’t you think it would be best if, all for the reason of learning and experience, we had our own frog?” he hinted with his eyebrows. What was he doing?

“Well,” Mr. Bray shifted from one foot to another. His small green eyes were darting back and forth. He was falling under the spell of the famous actor. “Alright,” he said uncertainly, running out the door. Barry slapped James on the back, and they laughed.

“Where’s he going?” I whispered to Emma.

“He going to get a frog…a live one from outside,” she said, sounding as if a relative had been run over. I, on the other hand, was excited! A live frog that would not reek of formaldehyde! I had seen many frogs before, but the only ones I saw were always flattened on the road. It would be interesting to actually have a live frog. The other groups were talking amongst themselves, seizing the opportunity of the teacher not being in the room. Many had whipped out their phones. Others were crowding around James, who was talking to Barry about some important movie premiere of his. Many were asking for pictures, autographs, everything of the sort. Emma and I sat in the back, completely disgusted.

“Why’s he even here?” I asked. What did a famous actor, who starred in three movies so far, that shattered the box office records, want with a public school?

“He said he wants to ‘see what it’s like to be normal’. He just wants more publicity,” she waved her hand dismissively. We sat in the back of the room, watching James repeat lines from certain scenes in his movies. James had movie star type blonde hair that seemed to be perfect from all angles. He had a flawless face with light blue eyes, and a perfect nose. Most importantly was his voice, that was not too high or too low, and it was loud and clear. I disliked everything about him. The door opened, and everyone darted back to their seats.

“Alright, here’s one,” Mr. Bray said nervously. He was carrying a jar, and inside was a green, skimpy frog that was croaking. Emma gasped, but James and Barry grinned maniacally.

“Can we kill it now?” Barry said, grabbing for the jar. Mr. Bray held it away from him, and went to the storage cupboard. He rummaged around, and took out a bottle of some chemical, and a white cotton ball. Swiftly, he jammed the cotton over the opening of the bottle, tipped the bottle upside down very quickly, and turned it back. The cotton ball was doused in the liquid. Mr. Bray handed the cotton ball to James, who took it very eagerly.

“I’m going to open it, you drop it in, and I’ll put the lid back on,” Mr. Bray explained. James nodded, and Emma frowned. Mr. Bray flipped the lid off, James plopped the cotton into the jar, and the lid was put back.

“What did that do?” Barry said.

“The chemical on the cotton ball suffocates the frog,” Mr. Bray said, licking his lips. I wanted him to elaborate but he seemed caught up in the horror that was happening in the jar. Emma turned away completely, but I grimly watched. The frog scrabbled at the transparent walls, but it was no use. I noticed it was slowing down, having difficulty moving. After a few minutes it simply squatted down, its throat bulging mutely. Then it was dead. The entire time, James and Barry were watching intently, as if it were a television screen.

“I suggest we name it Gilboz,” Barry said suddenly.

“What?” Emma said, finally turning back to us. Mr. Bray removed the frog from the jar and pinned it on a tray.

“See, it sounds like ‘Gilbo’, but there’s a silent z at the end. So it’s spelled G-I-L-B-O-Z,” Barry explained.

“That’s so stupid, and it doesn’t make any sense…let’s do it.” James eagerly grabbed the sharp scalpel that glinted underneath the ceiling lights. I could see my reflection in the knife. My black hair and dark brown eyes. Mr. Bray shushed the class and said we could begin.

“No, wait!” Emma cried, grabbing James. His arm was raised above his head, and he was holding the scalpel like a dagger.

“Yeah, we’re supposed to make a small, two inch incision in the stomach,” I said worriedly. I really needed an excellent grade for this class. Emma nodded along with me.

“Aria’s right,” she said. James shrugged, and lowered his hand. He gently placed the sharp end of the scalpel to the frog’s grayish green stomach, about to slice through. He cast his eyes down, but I noticed he glanced at Barry. Barry gave a slight nod of his head, and I realized what was happening.

“DIE, GILBOZ!” James cackled. He swiftly raised the blade up and slammed it down, jamming the knife into the frog. A muffled thump emitted, but it was not loud enough to penetrate the normal bustling of the class. Emma gasped, but I remained stoic. James and Barry were snickering. Emma stood up snootily and made her way toward Mr. Bray. But I grabbed her shoulder.

“What?! Our frog is ruined, we need a new one!” she hissed.

“Yeah but… it’s James Montreal,” I said pathetically, nodding toward the celebrity. Emma opened her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. “Mr. Bray probably won’t even take off points, since he’s famous and stuff,” I shrugged. I was lying, but I didn’t want to get in trouble, and get a bad grade. When we turned in our frogs anyway, they would all be sliced open, and their guts all punctured and oozing out. There would be no difference. I half dragged Emma back to her seat, and she remained silent.

“What’s this?” Barry grinned, poking a bluish red lump of an organ. I sighed, and flipped the worksheet open. With most of the questions, I could answer them without the dissection anyway. I nudged Emma, and we both worked on the questions, making up measurements for questions about the frog’s heart diameter and such.

“Let’s cut off the head,” James said, pointing the scalpel at the frog’s neck.

“Is this frog blood?” Barry marveled at his drenched fingers.

“I think I just snapped the leg bone or something,” James laughed, flinging the limb around. Emma and I scribbled in answers. I could see that Emma was thoroughly disgusted. But I wanted to join James and Barry, poking at organs and identify the bones. Just, not in a massacre-ish way. Suddenly I noticed it was deathly quiet. Maybe it was one of those awkward silences. But I heard heavy footsteps, and apprehension was building up, I thought I could feel it thickening in my skull. It was Mr. Bray. He marched slowly to our lab table, and gaped. I felt myself flush with embarrassment. The entire class was staring at us, whispering and frowning.

“Did you follow the directions at all?!” Mr. Bray sputtered finally. Emma and I were wallowing in shame, but James seemed perfectly calm.

“Yes, we did. So far we found the lungs, heart and arteries, spinal cord, and the stomach. I was trying to find the liver, so I was kind of splitting things open,” James said innocently. For once, I was glad that a famous child actor was in my lab group. But Mr. Bray was not easily fooled.

“Am I supposed to believe that?!” he yelled. James sighed, and looked guilty. I gasped; he was going to tell the truth.

“Okay. I actually didn’t know what to do, so I asked that group over there, and they told me to do this,” James pointed accusingly to a lab group that consisted of the kids that were constantly ending up in detention. They were all Barry’s friends. “I just lied, because I didn’t want to get them in trouble,” he looked down to the floor. But Mr. Bray was focused on something else.

“What happened to the head?!” He cried. I barely resisted a palm to my forehead. The green head was off to the side, its cold, dead eyes staring blankly at James.

“I thought we had to find the vocal cords too,” he shrugged, casually peering into the severed neck. Mr. Bray’s eyes were bulging out, his hands looking like he could strangle something.

“You lose thirty points…detention…and you clean up the room,” his breathing ragged, his face red. Emma and I nodded vigorously, but James and Barry shrugged as if it were nothing. Mr. Bray stalked back to his desk, and gradually, the usual murmuring returned.

“Ah, he believed it!” Barry laughed, and James did the same.

“You lied, and you’re laughing?” Emma blustered.

“Well you want us to tell the truth, and completely fail this?” James protested. Emma and I frowned, and took the tray away. Emma went off to clean the pins, tweezers, and the scalpel, and left me with the dead frog. It was a horrible mess. The frog was butchered. Its long, broken legs were strewn around, part of its arm severed only halfway. The head was indeed cut off, and a sticky gray film coated it. In some parts of the body, Barry ripped off the flesh, revealing pink muscle tissue. The organs were everywhere, spilling out of the body. The worst part, however, was the eyes. It was staring upward, its tiny black pupils fixed on me. I shuddered.
“Sorry, Gilboz,” I muttered, and dropped the massacred amphibian into the trash.

“Aria, do you have the scalpel?” Emma slid into my field of vision, as I threw away the flimsy plastic tray.

“No,” but just as I said it a thump came from the trash can. I peered down. “Yes, but not anymore,” I grimaced.

“You threw it away?” she said, exasperated.

“I didn’t mean to! And I’m not gonna get it!” I held up my hands. She rolled her eyes, and went to a different table to clean up. I glanced at the scalpel in the garbage. Against all odds, it ended up in the sticky webbed hand of the frog.