Dance with Me

yeah, right
look and picked up a small
scalpel.
Ten minutes in, Pete yawned. His mouth was dry and his hand was
starting to shake from the precise cutting.
Leather Jacket Guy smirked. “Hey, check this out,” he said, and poked
the frog in its eye with the scalpel. A weird liquid gushed out. “Sick, right?”
Then he shoved the blade into the frog’s arm and sliced it off. He picked up
the tiny hand and waved it at Pete.
Pete shook his head. “I need a break.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I swear I’ll stop messing around.” He held out the little
frog hand. “Here, let’s shake on it.”
The kid chuckled as Pete pushed off the stool and headed for the
classroom water fountain. He took a long couple of drinks. Dang, he was
thirsty. And he was starving! His stomach decided to growl then, since he’d
skipped breakfast trying to make it to school on time.
He was heading back to his workstation when Mr. Watson stopped him.
“Everything going well, Mr. Dinglewood?” he asked.
Mr. Watson was shorter than him, with white hair and a white mustache.
Glasses hung on the tip of his red nose, as if somehow he was looking down
on Pete—even though that was physically impossible.
“Yep, things are fine,” Pete blurted.
Mr. Watson frowned. “Glad to hear it. Now, please return to your
dissection lab. You of all people cannot afford to fail.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” Pete muttered, whirling around.
It all went downhill from there.
Pete took a quick, long stride and his foot landed on his pack strap
instead of landing securely on the floor. That was when he slipped, losing
his footing, falling backward. He felt his toe connect with Leather Jacket
Guy in a brutal way. The kid yelped, and Mr. Watson shouted something in
reply.

---

Pete landed on his back, his breath knocked out of him. He blinked, and
when he opened his eyes he spotted the kid’s scalpel in the air. The small
knife must have flown up on impact. But then, in disbelief, Pete saw the
scalpel lose gravity and fall toward his face, the point of the tiny blade
coming straight for his eye.
Adrenaline spurted through his body. With the quick reflexes that came
from years of playing football, Pete swatted the tool away like a deadly
insect just as the blade was about to blind him. The scalpel hit the stand of
the workstation and fell to the floor.
“Holy …” Leather Jacket Guy hissed.
“Dear Lord, Peter, are you all right?” said Mr. Watson, hovering over
him like a frightened parent. “Don’t move, I’ll call the nurse. Class, stay
seated! Nobody move! Emergency procedure, please! Out of the way!”
The class ignored Mr. Watson and crowded around Pete as his chest rose
up and down with heavy breaths. He didn’t think he’d hit his head, but he
felt dizzy and kind of out of it. Not to mention mortified.
Someone whispered, “Way to go, Dingleberry.”
A couple of kids giggled. “Yeah, what a loser. Now we know why he
was kicked off the football team.”
Pete slowly sat up as his face flushed red. Dang, there was no doubt he
should have stayed home.
Somehow, Pete managed to get through the rest of the school day. The
nurse had checked him out and given him an ice pack and sent him on his
way. It was a relief when the final bell rang and he walked quickly around
slow-moving kids, through the doors, and down the school’s front steps.
When he checked his phone, he saw he had a new text from his mother. He
rubbed a hand over his face.
What now? Couldn’t he get through one day without her asking him to
do something? Yeah, he loved his mom but now that she didn’t have his dad
to help her, Pete was always on call. She better not ask him to take Chuck
out again. He wouldn’t do it. He’d say “Nope, sorry, I’m sick.” He clicked
on the text:
Hi Pete, after school could you swing by the butcher and pick up
my order of pork chops?
He responded flatly: 
Fine.
She responded: 
Thank you!
(Heart emoji).

---

Pete popped a wad of watermelon gum into his mouth and set off
walking to the butcher shop, which was a couple of blocks out of his way.
He wanted to get his license, and that was the plan six months ago, before
the divorce, but now everyone seemed to have forgotten.
He finally arrived at Barney’s Butcher Shop during a lull. No cars were
parked in front, which was perfect, because he could get the order and get
out fast. Pete pushed through the glass door, and no one was even behind
the counter. Sale prices were posted on the glass and some old rock music
was playing from the back.
He walked to the display case of raw meats, scanning left, then right.
“Hello?” he called out. “Yo, I got an order to pick up.”
There wasn’t a bell to ring, so he stood around for another minute
waiting for someone to help him. When no one came, he’d about had it. He
knocked on the glass counter a couple of times. “Hellloooo!”
Finally, he took matters into his own hands, walking behind the tall
display case. “Hey, anyone here or what?”
On the other side of the case was a long butcher table with watery, red
liquid on it. The overpowering scent of meat and blood made his guts swish
around again. The gum in his mouth turned sour. He put a hand to his
stomach as if to ease it.