Dinosaur Boy

by Cory Putman Oakes

  There were muffled giggles behind me.

  My cheeks felt like they were on fire. They must have been bright red by now, which probably made me look even more ridiculous. The tips of my plates also felt hot, like they were embarrassed too.

  I was still only halfway in my chair, so I had no choice but to turn my back on the gigglers and sit down. I sucked in a breath and wedged myself painfully into the narrow space between the desk and the chair. In order for all of my plates to fit, I had to sit with the front of my chest pressed uncomfortably against the edge of the desk. I was crammed in so tightly I couldn’t even take a deep breath. And several of my plates were bent at strange angles.

  Was I going to have to sit like this for the entire day?

  Before I could worry about it too much, there was a loud scraping sound to my right. Parker, having piled his books back onto his desk, was now scooting his chair a few inches away from mine. His too-close-together eyes dared me to say something about it.

  I looked away, over toward Mary Bishop, who had the desk on the other side of me for the second year in a row. Mary was staring straight ahead. Her right eye twitched a little, which I think meant she knew that I was looking at her. But she didn’t turn to look at me.

  Instead, she curled the end of her long, black ponytail lazily around one finger. And, keeping her eyes on the front of the room, she dug her feet into the ground and slid her desk a few inches to the left.

  I thought that was kind of unfair. After all, I had never tried to move away from Mary. Not even last year, after she ate three fish tacos and a blueberry banana smoothie for lunch and then threw up all over both of our desks. You’d think that if I could forgive her for a lapful of purple guck with little bits of chewed-up fish floating in it, she could forgive me for being part dinosaur. But I guess not…

  “Ahhh, there we go,” Ms. Filch said, as she finally stood up and turned to face us, remote in hand. “Principal Mathis has asked that we start off the year with a little movie. Every class in the school will be watching this today, but we’re the lucky ones who get to see it first. Ernie, can you get the lights please?”

  An excited murmur ran through the room. Movies, even boring ones, were always better than real class. I couldn’t turn around enough to see, but Ernie must have managed to get the lights because a pleasant semi-darkness fell over the room. I could only see vague outlines of all the kids around me.

  For the first time that morning, I felt myself relax. As much as I possibly could, in my extremely uncomfortable chair. I even had the cheery thought that maybe, just maybe, the worst part of my day was over.

  But then, Ms. Filch started the movie.

  The Dinosaur in Your Classroom

  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 slides
how 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.

  Butt Brain

  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.”