Thyme's Machine

Blinded by Science

Goggles says nothing when I enter the classroom. He just lifts that bushy eyebrow, which looks like a furry caterpillar, and I know he’s not going to stop his talking just for a tartan skirt that arrives late. So I sit at my desk and stare back at Leonora, who’s looking me up and down with her I-wanna-be-an-Influencer eyes. Seriously, can eyelashes handle so much mascara?

“So that leaves just—” Goggles looks around the class. “Who doesn’t yet have a teammate for the science project?” A science teacher that speaks with slanted italics sprinkled all over the show like potassium permanganate crystals – it seeps into everything he says, and then I start thinking in italics too.

I am about to raise my hand.

Damn. This is one day I should’ve been on time.

I wonder who’s the scraping on the bottom of the barrel – the one person no one else wanted – and I pray it’s not Jessica.

Then Roger Retard lifts his hand.

Goggles’ face lights up and both caterpillars are dancing with joy above his thick lenses. “Ah, Roger and Madison. Smith and Jones.” He almost can’t contain his amusement.

WTFF? What’s so funny about Smith and Jones?

(I think I counted four times Goggles used italics – maybe my science marks are his fault: the italics are distracting).

Roger Jones turns in his seat and looks at me. He sighs.

Really? Does he think I am excited about teaming up with him?

Luckily the bell rings, so we are free to escape. It’s English class next, and that’s just about the only subject I like.

I lie.

I love English (italics added in the interest of science).

But Goggles isn’t finished. “Remember, I want you to present your ideas on Monday morning. That’s this Monday. Straight after the weekend. You can put your social media to good use and communicate with each other about the project. No excuses and—” Goggles gives me that science-teacher look that I hate – the one that reminds me I’m a science Neanderthal, “don’t be late for class.”

I lose count of the italics, and we grab our stuff and file out of the class. It’s a tight squeeze as we all try to get out the door at the same time in case he wants to say something more, like we must learn the Periodic Table or something. I’m not the only one who thinks anyone who can do science or thinks it’s cool should be put in a separate school where regular kids don’t have to try to fit in.

“Your granny die and leave you her wardrobe?” Leonora! I knew she would have something to say.  I can’t think of a smart-a*s reply so I just keep walking. In English class, I rule, with or without tartan. I suppose she thinks she looks amazing in her green and white gingham dress. It must be made from stretchy fabric because every curve on her body is perfectly contoured. I suppose she thinks her long blonde curls are just perfect too.

Maybe they are.

Nothing about Leonora is ordinary, except her name.  I at least have a cool name. I know most people don’t like their names, because they were cool names when our parents were young, which is a l o n g time ago. But Madison is really okay.  Mom and Dad did something right. I wonder how they came up with my name?

Note to self: remember to ask M&D about name.

I have a really nice name. I can’t think of something else that counts in my favour. I have short dark hair. Not black, but almost. It’s cut to one length just below my ears. Some people call it a bob.

I have blue eyes. Mom and Dad both have brown eyes, so for a long time, I thought I was adopted and they just never told me. Then we learned something about recessive genes and, to cut a long and very boring story short, it is possible. Don’t ask me to explain it, because I don’t remember the details.

That was the day I found out that Benjamin, the embryo in the jar in class, was actually a human embryo. I haven’t ever been that freaked out in my life. I wondered what colour his eyes would have been, and why he died.

And who the hell thought about putting it in a jar for high school students to make fun of?

And did we even know it was a boy?

That’s probably why I don’t like science – it’s got too much that doesn’t make sense, and I don’t know how to make sense of it.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. English class.