Page 9 of Scars of Anatomy

Dissect

The strong scent of formaldehyde hits my nose as soon as I set foot inside the anatomy lab. I take a look around and find dead rats sitting in trays at the center of every table. I scan the faces of my classmates, their expressions varying drastically as they all stare at the dead animals.

I turn my gaze to my table. Delilah is leaning in to get a better look at the rodents, observing them with interest. Pale Rat Boy is slumped back in his seat with a look of indifference, but I can detect some disgust in the seemingly permanent scowl on his face.

Probably realized one of them is a distant cousin of his or something.

Then I spot Olivia, looking at the cadavers with indifference.

She’s not totally disgusted or freaked out like most of the class, but she’s not freakishly thrilled like some of our classmates either. She just stares at it with curiosity.

“Hey, Finch,” I say, drawing the attention of everyone at our table.

She pulls her gaze away from the formaldehyde-soaked animals and flashes me a smile. “Hey.”

“Finch?” Rat Boy asks, his nose scrunching in distaste.

“It’s a nickname,” I explain dryly, seriously restraining myself from following up my statement by calling him Rat Boy to his face.

He lets out a small hmph in response, scowling at me with revulsion.

I sling off my backpack and set it on the floor before slipping into my seat. “Ready to crack this bad boy open?” I ask Olivia, feigning excitement to lighten the mood, rubbing my hands together impishly.

She laughs. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“You guess? You’re trying to make it into a profession where you crack people’s chests open and mess around with their most vital organ,” I say. There’s no way she can be squeamish with a career plan like that.

“Yeah, with people ,” she emphasizes. “Not dead, smelly lab rats.” She scrunches her nose adorably.

Ah , good to know she doesn’t like rats.

“Good morning, class,” our TA says, all too chipper while walking into the room. Tracy’s cheerful mood has no undertone of malice, despite throwing us into the deep end by having us do a dissection for our first lesson.

Tracy drops her thick lab manual on top of the front desk before grabbing a marker and writing on the whiteboard. She makes a list of internal organs before calling out a page number, instructing us to open our lab manuals.

Making herself comfortable, Tracy grabs her chair and rolls it to the front table, plopping into it. She snaps on some latex gloves before turning on the projector, one half of the whiteboard now glowing with the image of a dead lab rat, much like the ones at our tables.

“Everyone needs to slip on some gloves, and each pair of partners can grab a rat from the center of your table,” Tracy instructs.

I reach for the glove box at our table, pulling out two pairs and handing one of them to Olivia. She gives me an appreciative smile, but I can detect the apprehension behind it.

“Hey, we got this,” I assure her with a nudge of my elbow, even though I don’t feel quite as confident myself about this whole dissection thing.

She nods, reaching back to tie her long caramel-colored hair into a ponytail with the band around her wrist. She tugs it tightly into place and tucks some loose tendrils behind her ears. Slipping the gloves on, she reaches over our side of the table to slide one of the trays in front of us.

“Let’s do this,” I say, dramatically snapping on my gloves, causing her lips to twitch. “Who should do the honors?” I ask, grabbing the scalpel out of the tray. I’m willing to do the initial cut if she doesn’t want to, but I don’t want to just assume and take over.

She lets out a deep breath. “I’ll do it.”

“You sure? ’Cause I can do it if you want.”

“No, I’ll do it,” she insists with a reassuring smile. “I’ve got to start practicing sometime.”

I return her smile. “M’lady,” I state, carefully offering her the blade.

She grips the scalpel securely in her hand just as Tracy starts giving instructions. With immaculate focus and precision, Olivia cuts. She slices slow and steady, doing just as Tracy instructs. When she’s finished, she sits up straight, breathing out a sigh of relief and admiring her work.

“Great job, Finch,” I praise her. “Now the worst part is over.”

Tracy makes laps around the room, observing and helping groups when needed. She spends the most time at Adrianna’s table. She and her friends are too repulsed to even touch the rat.

“Very good job,” she compliments us over Olivia’s shoulder as she stops by our table. “Good.” She tosses out a quick approval to Delilah, who did the cutting, and Rat Boy.

For the next hour we poke around inside the rats, identifying different organs and learning their functions.

Not exactly how I’d like to spend my time with Olivia, but I have to admit, I can’t wait for our unofficial lunch date—even though my appetite isn’t what it normally is, after digging around in a rat for nearly an hour.

“Don’t forget, you’ll be quizzed about what we learned today next week! So remember to study, and if you need any help there’s open lab on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You can stop by and ask me questions, as well as study,” Tracy yells before dismissing the class.

As we peel off our gloves and gather up our things, I begin to ask Olivia, “Ready for lun—”

“Hey,” Delilah says loudly, suddenly cutting me off.

“We’ll catch you later, Liv.” She shrugs on her backpack, walking away slowly and looking expectantly at Rat Boy, seemingly waiting for him to follow.

“Have fun at your lunch meeting with Professor Cooper,” she says, and shoots me a look I can’t quite decipher.

“Let’s go, Quinton,” she says, guiding him out of the room.

“You have a meeting with Professor Cooper?” I ask when they walk out, suddenly feeling disappointed.

She lets out a nervous laugh, freeing her hair from her ponytail. “No, not exactly. I’m still game for having lunch together if you are. I do have to drop some papers off in Professor Cooper’s mailbox, though, first, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” I extend my arm to the door, gesturing for her to lead the way.

We walk down the hallway to the main office together, and Olivia ducks in to slip some papers into a mail slot, politely sharing friendly greetings with the secretary.

“Ready?” I ask once she exits.

“Ready.”

We walk across campus to one of the many dining halls. I decide not to take her to the one I usually go to with my teammates, afraid they’ll give me too much shit about having lunch with a girl and scare her off.

“So,” I start, unable to hold back my curiosity, hooking my thumbs beneath the straps of my backpack as we walk. “What was that whole situation about?”

“What situation?” Olivia asks, doing that cute thing where she pinches her brows together and slightly tilts her head to the side in confusion.

“The one at the end of lab. Delilah was acting weird, and then she said you had a meeting with Professor Cooper. Why did she think that?” I ask, not in an accusatory way, but casually.

I know Delilah knew about our lunch plans, since she was right there when I made them with Olivia.

It doesn’t make sense that she’d think Olivia had other plans, or that Olivia would tell her otherwise.

Olivia flushes and cringes in embarrassment. “She didn’t . . . it was her idea to say that I had a lunch meeting with Professor Cooper instead, actually.”

“All right, I’m going to need you to explain.”

“Well,” Olivia drawls, looking pensive. She exhales, her lips vibrating together. “I guess you could say Delilah and I sort of made up a plan to act like I had a meeting with Professor Cooper.”

Now it’s my turn to pinch my brows together in confusion. “I’m still not following.”

She sighs, her shoulders slumping as she looks guilt-ridden. “We both kind of lied so I could have lunch with you. Alone.”

“Oh.” It’s starting to make sense.

Olivia groans, hiding her face behind her hands in a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

“I’m sorry. I was just afraid if Quinton knew he’d want to tag along, and I don’t know.

I just had a feeling it wouldn’t be as nice if it wasn’t just the two of us, because I know he can be a bit unpleasant sometimes. ”

I huff out a laugh. “I’ve caught on.”

She shoots me an apologetic look, and I hold open the door to the cafeteria for her, the cool air-conditioning welcoming us as we step inside.

We both grab some food and pay, sitting at a vacant table with our trays.

“So, is—” I blank, almost slipping up and calling Rat Boy by his nickname. I scramble to think of his real name. “Quinton. Is Quinton your boyfriend?” I ask, unable to bite back my curiosity.

I can only assume there’s no romantic relationship between them, but I have to ask.

The question has been gnawing at me since the other day.

She doesn’t seem to be interested in him—at least not as interested as he is in her.

But who knows, she could be attracted to him.

Some girls tend to like that whole pale as hell, dying, creepy vampire look.

Olivia chokes on a sip of her water, quickly pulling the bottle away from her lips and capping it. She clears her throat before answering, “No. No, definitely not.”

Relief floods my chest. “Was he ever your boyfriend?”

“No, never.” She shakes her head. “He, Delilah, and I all met freshman year. Initially, we were assigned to be lab partners in one of our science classes, and then with our degrees being similar, we had all the same classes throughout the years. Naturally, we grew close and became friends. But Quinton . . . Quinton’s a very closed-off person.

He never really makes an effort to make new friends.

I think Dee and I are the only friends he has here,” she says, her voice softening with pity.

I nod. “He’s got it bad for you, though.” I state the obvious.

She lets out a groan, looking at me with agony. “That’s what Delilah says.”

“But you don’t have feelings for him?” I confirm.

She bows her head in shame, shaking it.

“Does he know that?”

“Yeah, I told him once a long time ago that I didn’t have feelings for him. He took it hard,” she confesses. “I just feel so bad. I didn’t want to be mean to him or embarrass him further, so I told him we could still be friends. But I’m scared I’m leading him on by doing so.”

I shake my head and reach over the table to place my hand on top of hers, my heart aching for her.

She looks wrecked over it. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. You should never feel bad for not reciprocating someone else’s feelings.

You were honest with him, and that’s what matters.

No one can fault you for being honest. Especially when you were nice to him about it.

If he’s the one struggling with just being friends, then it’s his job to walk.

He shouldn’t stick around, hoping you’ll change your mind when it’s clearly made up. ”

She looks up at me, appreciation in her eyes, but I can still detect the sadness that lingers behind them over the sore subject.

We sit in silence for a moment, my hand still resting on top of hers for comfort. I catch her gaze sliding down to our hands, mine following. A form of intimacy hums between us, even in the middle of the bustling cafeteria.

“Do you have feelings for anyone?” I ask, hoping she might insinuate she has mutual feelings for me, or that she has a boyfriend. Hopefully it’s not the latter.

Her brows pinch and her head tilts to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask, suddenly dying to know the answer.

She shakes her head, a small blush blooming across her cheeks. “No.”

Silence floats between us, and I brush the pad of my thumb over the backs of her fingers.

“Do you think you could have feelings for me?” I ask, suddenly feeling confident after our little moment. She may not have felt it as strongly as I did, but I know she at least feels something—whatever it is—undeniably flowing between us.

Her brown eyes snap up to mine, her cheeks burning red.

She bites the inside of her cheek, deliberating, slowly pulling her hand from mine and sitting up straight.

“I don’t know if that’s an appropriate question for me to answer when your girlfriend is a few feet away,” she says, nervously looking over my shoulder.

My face contorts in confusion. “Girlfriend?”

What the hell is she talking about?

Following her gaze, I look over my shoulder to find Adrianna sitting a few tables away, her eyes shooting daggers.

I let out groan. “She is definitely not my girlfriend,” I say.

Olivia looks at me skeptically.

I let out a sigh, deciphering how I can gently break down my relationship with Adrianna to Olivia without me sounding like a complete asshole.

“Adrianna is like my Quinton,” I state. “She likes me and wants me to be her boyfriend, but she knows I can’t make that type of commitment to her.”

Olivia’s eyes soften in understanding, and she nods, looking a bit embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed with how . . .” She trails off, unsure of how to describe Adrianna’s multiple bold, possessive actions toward me. “Comfortable she is with you.”

“No, I understand how you might have misunderstood. Adrianna can be a bit unpleasant sometimes too,” I say, quoting Olivia’s earlier statement, when she was describing Rat Boy.

Olivia lets out a small laugh, some brightness coming back to her eyes, and any lingering tension dissipates.

We carry on with our lunch, conversation flowing easily and naturally. When I’m finished with my tray I push it aside and she lends me her notes to copy what I missed from lecture the other day, as promised. Afterward, we walk to English together, going over some new poems Professor Hobb assigned.