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“What about him?”
“He kept his secret from Lois for years.”
“Yeah, and they never got together until he finally revealed his secret.”
“That was just one storyline,” I counter. “What about the others when they date, and she doesn’t know.”
“Those are lame. How can she fall in love with a guy, if he isn’t honest?”
“Wait a second.” I stare at her. “What exactly are we talking about now?”
“I don’t know.” She bites her bottom lip. “You started it.”
A loud cough shakes us both from our discussion as our teacher stares at us. A few snickers roll around the classroom.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Henderson says, with no sympathy in her tone. “Was I disturbing you two?”
“What? No,” I speak up.
“Sorry.” Izzy turns back around, her head shrinking between her shoulders.
“Mr. Hillard, I know the President of the United States is commander in chief, but as student body president, that doesn’t make you commander in chief of this high school.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”
“Good. But, seeing as you’ve rearranged your choice of seating today, and you and Ms. Jacobs seem to have so much to discuss, I’ll be pairing you up first.”
“Uh.” I shoot her a look and then scan the room, totally unsure what we were being paired up for. “For what again?”
“Oh, yes,” she feigns a look of bliss, as she wraps her fingers together in front of her. “You and Ms. Jacobs were so enraptured with your conversation, you missed my assignment for the week. You’re pairing up to take care of your babies.” My face drops in horror, still not a clue what she’s talking about. Then she holds up an egg. “Each of you will be paired up with someone, and you’ll be given the task of caring for an egg for one week. As a couple.”
“A couple?” Henry Watkins says from the back. “Mrs. Henderson, I’ve counted, and there are more guys in here than girls. How’s that gonna work? I’m not gay.”
A small round of laughs echoes in the room.
“Yes, Mr. Watkins, because two men couldn’t possibly raise a child without being romantically involved. A father and a step-father would never have to work together for their son or daughter.”
Another round of laughs goes around.
“I have the eggs up here. You’ll be assigned one, and I’ll place a stamp on it. At the end of the week, we’ll break the egg open to make sure you didn’t boil it and cheat that part of the assignment. You’ll be asked to go shopping with your partner, work on school itineraries for your egg-child, assign weekly chores you think you’d want your child to take care of, and a whole list for other things. The packet will explain the rest. Not working as a team will dock you and your partner points. Mr. Hillard? Ms. Jacobs? You two can come up first and select your egg.”
Izzy shoots me an embarrassed look as I trail behind her up to the desk. Mrs. Henderson hands us each a packet that outlines what we are to do and then flips open the first carton of eggs on her desk. I reach down for one and look over at Izzy, shrugging my shoulders.
“Name?” Mrs. Henderson says without looking up.
“Uh, what?” I stare back at her.
She sighs. “As parents, you have to choose a name for your egg.” Her attention cuts away from us and looks out over the rest of the class. “Be careful. Remember, this is a social experiment, and many arguments have come from it, many of which started with the parents not even able to come to terms on a name.” Her eyes drift back to Izzy and me. “So?”
I look over at Izzy, who stares back at me, unsure what to say. Then an idea hits me.
“Tony.” I smirk.
Izzy snaps her head toward me, her lips curling up.
“Tony, it is,” Mrs. Henderson answers as we make our way back to our desks and our teacher starts to pair up other students.
