Zoology

Chapter 1

   Chapter 1: Trenton

      I think I knew that it was a bad idea.

     I think that, somewhere back in the depths of my mind, I knew that what I was about to do was so outlandishly wrong that it could not go unpunished. But, of course, I guess my mind left me right around the time I bought the snake in the first place.

     Yesterday, when I spent the entirety of my life savings (a whole ten dollars, actually) on a seemingly threatening but very nonpoisonous gardener snake from the local pet store, I felt like it was probably the smartest thing I’d ever done. Even the condescending looks from the pimply cashier did not sway my confidence. I, Trenton Baxley, would kick off the last week of freshman year with the greatest prank of all time.

     Or, at least, I thought it was.

     Walking into school that morning was a little surreal. I don’t know if it was the self-induced, prank-crazed high or the particularly loud hallway, but I felt unstoppable. Untouchable. This would go down in freaking history. Not even the disgusting, subpar, is-this-even-edible school breakfast could dampen my spirits. As I sauntered into first block, the snake curled up in a hand towel in my backpack, Molly Sanders, a.k.a. the school’s most gorgeous patron, snickered at me.

     “Loser.”

     Not for much longer, I thought, gliding down into my chair with extra charisma. Just as soon as my ancient English 1 teacher walked in, I’d release the reptilian horror…

     I’m not really sure what happened next, but it was so quick that I’m still not sure what actually went down. I guess someone hadn’t noticed my backpack and tripped over it, but suddenly my grey satchel bag was somersaulting through the air; cringing in terror, I watched the five inch long, very dizzy snake depart from the outside pocket of the backpack and launch directly into the bra of Molly Sanders.

     There was a complete and utter silence for a single second that seemed to stretch into infinity as bleach-blonde bombshell Molly sat, frozen, in her seat. It was as though someone had turned some universal, time-controlling dial backward and slowed down the dropping of her jaw- and then it started. High pitched, blood curdling screams that I’m sure traveled clear to the other end of the school, escaping her perfect red lips. I’m sure half the people in the room were silently urging the snake to hang in there just a while longer, to really torture the meanest girl in school; the other half probably wanted to be the snake, trapped in the cheetah print bra she left exposed half of the time.

    After what seemed like eternity, she grabbed the tail of the snake and threw it as hard as she could. Luckily for the snake, it sailed straight out the open window. Much less luckily for me, however, my English 1 teacher had finally walked into the room.

     A half hour later I was enduring yet another visit to the principal’s office. Principal Greene, nicknamed “The Sweaty One” by the entire student body, was the most short-tempered person I’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. He weighed at least two-hundred and fifty pounds and was 6’4, wearing the same ensemble of too-small golf shirt, too-big khaki pants, and steel-toed boots every single day. By now he had been yelling for so long that the sweat stains under his arms looked like small oceans. I’d learned not to say anything until he was done, so I just sat there and took it like a man. Except, actually, I was scared to death.

     “So, Mr. Baxley, do you have anything to say for yourself?” it took me a second to realize he was asking me to speak, so my response wasn’t very thought through:

     “What? Um, no.”

     With a loud, exasperated sigh, Principal Greene shook his head and walked out of the office, slamming the wood paneled door behind him. I tried not to acknowledge the lingering smell of perspiration in the room as I carefully pulled my phone out of my back pocket. Only one new message:

     That was the best thing I’ve seen all year.

     It was from my best friend, and only real friend, Harper Torrez. Harper was a “free spirited old soul” who took fashion advice from Audrey Hepburn, spent her free time drinking exotic tea, and did the opposite of what her parents told her to. I’d known Harper since third grade, when she was a complete nerd with blonde pigtails and the ambition to be the first female president. Now, she preferred taking midnight trips to Taco Bell and dying her hair different colors.

    I smiled and texted back a quick “thanks” before slipping my phone back into my jeans pocket; just in time, too, because all too quickly, I saw, through the dusty window to my left, my mom’s red Honda Civic screech into the school parking lot. Preparing myself for yet more screaming, I stood and walked out the door. I was sure by the end of the day my eardrums would bust.

     I was right about the eardrums thing. By the time I was locked up in my room, my head hurt so bad I thought I might throw up. To make things worse, my mom’s livid voice still rang in my ears:

     You’ve been suspended.

     That was pretty bad, even for me. I guess I never thought it would really happen; I knew my shenanigans were usually punishable by the occasional ISS, In School Suspension, but I didn’t dream it would get me expelled. It had been the last week of school, the last 168 hours of my freshman year, and I’d screwed it all up. The stuff had really hit the fan. I was done for.

     I spent the next hour staring at the ceiling, unwilling to move. Maybe I’d just keel over from boredom. That would be better than this, I thought. My laptop kept dinging, so I figured Harper was trying to get in touch with me. She probably wanted to go to Goodwill, or something. She liked to hang out there, which I thought was weird. Not that there’s anything wrong with Goodwill- it just isn’t where I like to spend my Monday afternoons.

     Just as my headache began to fade, I heard the familiar chink of a key in the lock of my bedroom door. My mom, with her poof of long, brown hair and almost-black eyes, entered the room. She took a long look at the clothes strewn on the floor and the dirty dishes on my desk before parting her thin lips. I prepared myself for the worst- however, what she said was way worse than anything I could have dreamed up.

     “You’re getting a job.”