24 Lillian Lane

JACK

"Mr. Anderson, would you be so kind as to help her with the dissection?" Mr. Aarons asks.

I look up from my poorly written lab report which I'm frantically editing. Me? Help who do what? Oh. He wants me to help Eve do yesterday's assignment. But why me? I'm definitely not the smartest student in this class. Of all people... me?

Whatever. I slouch to the back of the room. Eve doesn't turn around to acknowledge me. This is going to be awkward...

Eve picks up the long jagged knife.

"That's not a scalpel," I say, because I'm pretty sure it's not.

From in front of me, Eve's ears turn red and she fumbles for another knife. She drops it, and I try my best not to laugh.

As we continue with our dissection, I shock myself with the amount of information I remember. I name aloud the liver, intestines, lungs, and kidneys. I feel so smart! See, Eve? I'm not just that dumb neighbour, am I?

Eve tries to remove the heart from the ribcage, but her hands are shaking and she can't grip it. I remember what I did when I encountered this problem. I reach over Eve's shoulder and grab the knife, my hand closing over hers. I make a gentle sawing motion on the frog's bone. Soon enough, it snaps. I'm not sure if this is the actual way to do it, but it worked for me yesterday. Eve looks pretty impressed. I glow. I'm usually the one being impressed by her.

As I remove my hand, Eve pauses a moment, then removes the heart. I can't help noticing how it's considerably larger than Kermit's was. Before my brain can stop my stupid mouth, I've pointed this out aloud. Eve looks at me like I'm crazy. I guess I am. Who names roadkill?

I'm not glowing anymore.

But Eve laughs. In a good way. Her laugh is so infectious that I can't help but join in. I feel a rush go through me, the same thing I felt last night in my room.

Soon the classroom gets quiet, and people are turning in their chairs to look at us crazy laughing maniacs. We stop.

That rush is gone. That rush is gone, and I feel empty. I want to feel like I felt right then every day.

Subconsciously, I tap my foot, awaiting the bell. When it finally rings, I grab my bag and race down to the music room. I grab my school-issued violin from the shelf, and set up. My school violin isn't as good as my one at home, but it's pretty good.

The door to the practice room opens, and Mr. Harrison pokes his head out.

"Ah! Jack! Ready to show me what you've got?"

I nod, and we sit down. I begin to play. Usually when I play solo, I keep my eyes closed, but today I keep stealing glances at Mr. Harrison. He seems impressed, bobbing his head and occasionally writing things down on his notepad. I end my song with a flourish, and slowly bring my bow to my side.

"Well?" I ask.

"Remarkable, Jack! Absolutely remarkable!" Mr. Harrison peers at his notes. "I have a few minor adjustments, but overall, wonderful work!"

I smile, but I'm still uneasy. I don't know how to describe it, my piece is still... missing something. The je-ne-sais-quoi, if you will. I feel like it's just beyond my grasp, but I can't quite reach it. I was hoping Mr. Harrison would pinpoint it for me, but no such luck.

Mr. Harrison babbles away about incomplete chords and syncopation, but I'm only half listening. My mind keeps drifting back to today: Alexandria picking on me, Michael and Bridget, Eve and the dissection...

I actually smile at the memory. What better way to bond with someone than examining frog intestines?

Bond? Gross. What am I talking about? I'll never bond with Eve. I don't like her.

Do I?

Suddenly Alexandria seems like ancient history, just a girl who used me and rejected me. Eve, on the other hand. Smart, funny, talented. Could I possibly be falling for a Morley??

What a day. My head is throbbing.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison," I say, grabbing at the paper with his notes. "I have to go. See you tomorrow!"

I exit the practice room, rubbing my aching forehead. As I head for the hall, I notice someone leaned up against the practice room door.

Eve. Of course. Not now. Go.

I want to speak, but my brain can't form a sentence. I just look dumbly at her instead.

I notice Eve's hair, in its usual braid, falling past her shoulders to her elbows. I notice her eyes, big and brown. I notice her clothes, a navy sweater and leggings. I notice her fingers, curled around her trumpet.

Okay, Jack. That's enough noticing. Get a move on before she thinks you're some kind of creep.

I scurry out of the room, out of the school, and all the way home. As I throw open the door, I can hear the sounds of a football game from the living room. My dad chomps loudly on a potato chip and shouts.

"YEAAAAHHHH! Boo-yah! Touchdown!"

My dad has coached college football for 18 years, and he's still obsessed with it. Noticing me at the door, he shouts hello.

"Hey, dad," I say wearily, and head to my room.

I lay on my bed, staring at the football poster my dad bought me for my birthday. I'm not really the athletic type, but sometimes he likes to pretend I'm the son he really wanted; the one who would be on the school football team and who would watch those games beside him. Sometimes I feel like I'm disappointing him, by being a "music kid." My dad's hard to please.

I push those thoughts out of my head, willing my mind to think about something else. The only thing that comes to mind is her. Eve.

If I'm going to be honest, I may as well admit it. I like her. More than any Anderson should.

What am I going to do?