The Evolution of Claire

by Tess Sharpe

  There’s a knock on our door. I look at the clock on the bedside table. It’s nearly nine.

  “Are you having someone over?” I ask Tanya.

  “Someones, actually,” she says with a grin.

  I open the door to find Ronnie and Amanda standing there.

  “I brought snacks,” Ronnie says, holding up two canvas bags stuffed with food.

  “And I brought the whiteboard and the face masks,” Amanda says.

  “We’re going to help you figure out the Pearl Problem,” Tanya says.

  A smile breaks across my face. “Seriously?”

  “We can at least come up with a few decent ideas to bring to Bertie,” Amanda says. “There’s no way Pearl should be isolated just because she’s got a mischievous streak. Also, can you imagine the kind of draw a Brachiosaurus playing with a toy would be for the park?”

  “Especially for the little kids,” Tanya adds. “The carnivores are going to be way too scary for the little ones. My baby sister would probably faint if she saw a real T. rex. But if she saw Pearl? Especially if she’s doing something a kid can relate to, like playing ball? She’d think it was so funny. It’d be a gold mine!”

  I step aside to let the girls in. Amanda sets up the whiteboard, scattering a bunch of markers on Tanya’s bed for us, and Ronnie sets out the array of chips, dips, and candy.

  “How was your assignment with Dr. Wu?” Amanda asks as we pass back and forth the jars of mud masks and the selection of sheet masks she brought.

  “Tanya and he bonded over potential Mosasaurus specimens,” I say.

  “There are Mosasaurus specimens?” Amanda’s voice rises, her eyes turning feverish with delight. “Oh my God, I have got to get back into that lab.”

  “I don’t think they have the actual specimens yet,” Tanya says hastily. “He said something about working on certain strands to acclimatize it to these waters.”

  “Makes sense,” Amanda says. “Wow. A Mosasaurus. That’s like the be-all and end-all. Their teeth alone…” She lets out a dreamy sigh that really shouldn’t be associated with rows and rows of deadly dino teeth. “I think I’d die if I saw one.”

  “Don’t say that! Especially because there’s probably going to be one in the park in a few years!” Ronnie says. “Knock on wood right now!”

  Amanda laughs, but raps her knuckles on the wooden headboard. “Okay, so, masks and then brainstorming, or brainstorming and then masks?”

  “Why not masks while brainstorming?” Tanya suggests, picking up the jar containing a mint mask. “Multitasking.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Amanda says. “That one’s really good,” she adds, nodding to the tube I’m holding, a cucumber gel mask from Ivy Rose.

  “Did you know Justin’s mom owns that company?” Tanya asks.

  “What? No way!” Amanda’s eyes light up. “I love Ivy Rose!”

  “I’m gonna use this one,” I say, and get up and walk into the bathroom to apply it. The girls follow me, and we spend a few minutes jostling each other in front of the mirror, applying our masks. When we’re done, Amanda’s got a gray charcoal mud mask on, Tanya’s gone green with the mint mask, I can smell Ronnie’s brown sugar scrub/mask combo from across the room, and my own cucumber mask feels silky and smooth against my skin.

  “Okay, I’ve set a timer for the masks. Let’s brainstorm until it goes off,” Tanya announces, clapping her hands together.

  We go back into our room, sitting on the edges of the beds and facing the whiteboard. I write The Pearl Problem at the top in big red letters, and Amanda adds a little Brachiosaurus chasing a Gyrosphere doodle at the bottom.

  “Let’s break it down,” Ronnie says. “Pearl’s energetic and clearly an independent thinker.”

  I add these things to the board.

  “She’s not even fully grown yet,” Amanda adds. “I checked her stats with Bertie. She’s only six. She won’t reach full maturity for another four years or so. But the three other Brachiosauruses are approaching their twenties. They’re from Dr. Hammond’s original park.”

  “Do you think it could be as simple as giving her a friend her age?” Tanya questions.

  “The problem is, even if that was the solution, it kind of can’t be,” Amanda says. “There isn’t another Brachiosaurus her age. And they can’t integrate any of the younger ones into the valley because the Triceratops might get territorial or mean. The reason the dinos coexist as well as they do in the valley now is because the Triceratops aren’t going to mess with the mostly grown Brachiosauruses. Smaller ones might be another story. The scientists have decided it’s just too big a risk.”

  “Okay, so a Brachiosaurus friend isn’t an option.” I divide the bottom of the board into three sections: OPTIONS, NON-OPTIONS, LAST RESORTS.

  “I hate to say it,” Ronnie says. “But medication might be a last-resort option. Maybe something to calm her?”

  I start a list under the LAST RESORTS heading and write Medication, even though I hate the idea of sedating her so she’s complacent and slow.

  I look back at the NON-OPTIONS section, where I add Friends her age.

  “What happens if Pearl gets a friend who isn’t a Brachiosaurus?” I ask, thinking about how much Earhart loved Sally.

  Amanda raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “What about Lovelace? She’s the youngest in her herd. Could they become friends?”

  “I mean, cross-species animal friendships exist. The Internet is full of cute videos of bears and tigers being best friends, and that domestic cat that nursed the bobcat cub that was rejected by her mom,” Tanya says.

  “I love those videos,” Ronnie admits.

  “It’d be cute,” Amanda acknowledges. “But usually for those types of bonds to exist, the animals need to be raised together from a really young age. And with dinosaurs…who even knows? It’d be a big maybe. And it’d take a lot of time. Probably too much.”

  We continue to brainstorm, bouncing ideas off each other and going back and forth. After we wash off our masks, we settle down on various spots on the bed, dividing the chips and candy among us, examining our now-filled whiteboard.

  “I’m still thinking that creating some sort of toy for her is the answer,” Amanda says, crunching on a salt-and-vinegar potato chip.

  “Combined with in-depth training to distract her and keep her away from the Gyrospheres?” Tanya asks.

  Amanda nods. “But what kind of distraction is the question. It would need to be made out of the same material as the Gyrospheres….What is it, again?”

  “Aluminum oxynitride,” Ronnie says. “It’s strong enough to stop a fifty-caliber bullet. The military is making shields out of it.”

  “It’d need to be made out of that,” Amanda continues.

  “But if it’s made out of the same material as the Gyrospheres, she’s going to keep associating them with play,” Tanya sighs. “And then we’re back at square one.”

  I bite my lower lip, staring at the whiteboard, which is chock-full of ideas—from the really good to the positively ridiculous—trying to see a path through.

  My eyes fall on the sketch Amanda did at the bottom of the board, a cartoony Pearl chasing a Gyrosphere. Something occurs to me, and I sit straight up.

  “Amanda,” I say. “How good is Pearl’s eyesight, do you know? I mean, the Brachiosauruses in general—is their eyesight good?”

  “I’m not sure…,” she says. “Why?”

  “I remember reading about how surfers in Australia will sometimes paint black stripes on their surfboards because it’s like an optical illusion. It makes them invisible to sharks.”

  “Oh, I remember that article!” Tanya says, sitting up. “The stripes resemble the markings of the striped pilot fish, which have a symbiotic relationship with them—they feed off the remains of their prey
. Sharks don’t have good eyesight. The theory is that they see a surfboard and associate the shape with prey, which is why they attack surfers. That’s where the stripes on the board and even on wet suits come in—the sharks don’t associate the stripes with prey. They assume the surfers are pilot fish and stay away most of the time.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “So what if we take that theory and twist it to this situation?” I ask, gesturing to the drawing. “We could take a few Gyrospheres and paint them in patterns that would differentiate them from the Gyrospheres the guests will be using. If she’s trained to see the painted Gyrospheres as hers and toys, then she won’t be interested in the ones that aren’t hers.”

  “Ooh, that’s an excellent idea,” Ronnie says, her eyes shining at the possibility.

  “I agree,” Amanda chimes in. “Especially because with the brain scanning technology they have here, the vets and trainers will be able to zero in exactly on what kind of patterns stimulate Pearl’s pleasure centers.”

  “This is so cool! Do you think they’ll listen to us if we bring this up to Bertie?” Ronnie asks.

  “Bertie told me to come to her if we have any ideas,” I say. “Maybe we could all go and pitch this to her at lunch tomorrow?”

  “That sounds great,” Amanda says. “And speaking of tomorrow, Ronnie and I have got to get back to our room before Beverly calls curfew on us.”

  I look over at the clock and am shocked to see it’s almost eleven. “Go, you two. Tanya and I will clean up.”

  “We’ll do this in our room next time,” Amanda promises.

  I smile at the thought of a next time.

  They hurry out, on the alert for Beverly, and I close the door behind them, leaning against it for a second.

  I love my friends from college, but a lot of them are English and poetry majors, like Regina, and our study gatherings were kind of a bore. This session was incredibly fun. And productive. So basically, my two favorite things.

  “I can’t wait to tell Dr. Wu he was right—brainstorming as a team is key,” Tanya calls, picking up a few empty chip bags and dumping them in the trash next to the bed. I hurry over to collect the soda cans and bottles and put them in the recycling.

  We get everything cleaned up and then get ready for bed. I pack my bag so I don’t have to do it in the morning, and drop Izzie’s notebook in the front pocket of my satchel.

  I slip under the covers and Tanya turns the light off. I can hear her rustling around, and in the dark, I get the courage to say it.

  “Hey, Tanya?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  “For what?” she sounds bemused.

  “For tonight. It was really fun.”

  “Of course,” she says. “I know this is important to you. It’s important to me, too. I’m just glad we were able to help. I mean, that’s what friends are for.”

  She says it like it’s so easy, and I’m grateful for the dark as I stare up at the ceiling, because it’s never been easy like that for me.

  I drift off, and I dream of the jungle, of great waxy leaves brushing the top of my head, my boots squelching in the rich soil, the chirp of insects in the air. And the farther I venture into the island’s tangled embrace, the more I feel at home.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tanya says, when the elevator to the lab opens and we see Wyatt standing there.

  He smirks. “Dr. Wu sent me to come get you,” he says.

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “The same reason you are,” he says. “Did you think I was going to miss a chance to monitor the first hatch? That’s historic.”

  “Every time we’re around the dinosaurs, you complain,” I say. “Do you even know what monitoring like this will involve?” I ask.

  “Claire,” Tanya says, very seriously, placing her hand on my arm. “You know that doesn’t matter. He goes to Hahhh-vard!” And she draws out the ahh to an absurd length.

  I go bright red trying not to burst out laughing.

  Wyatt goes bright red for an entirely different reason.

  “Dr. Wu’s waiting,” he says icily.

  “We know the way,” I say.

  “Do you have the key card?” He holds it up.

  I grit my teeth, and Tanya and I follow him through the lab. We pass by the amber room, and I see that the scientists have moved on to a new area of the giant chunk we saw them working with on our first visit here. I wonder if they’ve identified any of the DNA draws yet…and then I wonder if I can get Tanya to ask Dr. Wu for me, because he’s still pretty intimidating.

  He’s waiting right in front of the first scanner, and he leads us into the hatching room, where the eggs are gleaming white in their nest.

  “All right, let’s get started,” Dr. Wu says, all business. “The microneedle treatments were performed at five o’clock yesterday evening. The eggs will be particularly prone to fracturing in the next week as the shell and the sac heal over the entrance points. If you look closely”—he directs our attention to the nest, where each egg is situated perfectly—“you’ll see that each egg is set over a sensor that helps us scan growth, healing rate, and any potential problems. You will not touch the eggs or the incubator shield. You will sit and watch the monitors and record your observations every fifteen minutes. Any questions?”

  “What kind of observations are you looking for?” Wyatt asks.

  “Your own,” Dr. Wu says. “Not the ones you think I want.”

  “Are we allowed to watch the nest as well as the monitors?” I ask. “I won’t touch. I promise.”

  “Yes, feel free to observe the eggs themselves, though if all goes well, there will be no activity to speak of. The data will be more interesting.”

  “And we just have an hour?” Tanya asks.

  “Unless you want to go back to monitoring the fusion bandage compounds,” Dr. Wu says.

  “No, no, this is great,” Tanya says quickly.

  “Press the call button here”—he points to the red button near the farthest monitor—“if you identify a problem or anomaly.”

  “How will we know?” I ask.

  “You’ll know,” Dr. Wu says. “The tech knows what it’s doing.” He looks down at his watch. “And I am late for a meeting with Mr. Masrani. Behave, all of you. This is a great privilege I’ve decided to bestow on you. I’ll come get you in an hour.”

  He sweeps out of the room, leaving us alone with the eggs.

  Tanya and I cross the room to look at the monitors. There’s one screen for each egg, the sensors in the nest helping the computer render a perfect image of the growing embryos. It’s incredible to see how tightly folded the mini Pteranodons are within the eggs, which are pretty big, about three times the size of a chicken’s egg.

  On this one, I can see the little curl of her claw tucked against a tight spike of wing. I reach out and trace the claw on the screen, unable to stop myself.

  “Look at the detail,” I say.

  “This is so neat,” Tanya says, walking from monitor to monitor. “How do you want to do this?” she asks.

  “Look, they all have letters.” I point at the corner of the first monitor, labeled EGG A.

  “Okay, good,” Tanya says. “So we’ll divide them up between—”

  A red light suddenly starts flashing behind us, and a beeping sound blares. I whirl around and my mouth drops open when I catch Wyatt snatching his hand away from the incubator shield.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, hurrying over to the nest and peering inside. “Are they okay?” I scan the eggs, searching for cracks or any sign of distress; then I look over to the monitors Tanya’s checking, praying there are no alerts or alarms or anything wrong. Thankfully, everything seems normal, and she gives me a relieved nod.

  “I just wanted to see,” Wyatt says.

&
nbsp; “He just told us not to touch it,” Tanya snaps. “Can you maybe not piss off the scientist in charge of all of this? He’ll kick us out! He doesn’t want us here in the first place.”

  “He’s just an employee,” Wyatt says scornfully, like it’s something dirty.

  Tanya rolls her eyes. “Look, I don’t care if you want to coast and have us girls do all the work. But don’t screw up this opportunity for Claire and me, because we don’t have a dad on Masrani’s board of directors who will bail us out of every mess we get into.”

  Wyatt’s eyes narrow. “You better shut your mouth.”

  “Or what?” Tanya asks. “Gonna run to Daddy?”

  He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t have any ammunition other than that. Pitiful.

  “Just leave us alone,” I say. I join Tanya at the monitors, and we begin to divide up the eggs, her taking A through F and me taking G through L. We ignore Wyatt, who’s just skulking around the lab, opening cupboards and snooping around.

  We write down the eggs’ initial stats, recording the time, and repeat that fifteen minutes later. That’s when we start to compare before the next round.

  “It looks like the calcium levels in egg G are a little higher than the others’,” I say, scanning our notes. “We should keep an eye out for that if it continues.”

  “Look at egg B,” Tanya points out, staring at a monitor. “Is it me, or does she have an extra claw?” She traces her pen along a shadow on the monitor’s view of egg B’s embryo. She’s right—it does look like there’s another claw growing.

  “Maybe it’s a mutation….Dinosaur polydactyly?” I suggest.

  “I had a cat with extra toes when I was little,” Tanya says. “I called her Thumbs because I was a very original five-year-old.”

  I laugh. “Let’s make a note of it for Dr. Wu,” I say.

  “It might just be the way she’s positioned, too,” Tanya says, tilting her head as she looks at the monitor again. “But it really looks like a claw to me.”

  Wyatt snorts behind us. We just keep ignoring him.

  Our hour is up faster than I expect. Even though it’s kind of tedious work, being able to see the embryos on the monitor is fascinating. I could watch them all day, given the chance.