One
“HEY!” ELI CALLS AS I throw the black dodgeball at him. “It’s time-out! That’s not allowed!” The ball smashes against his face, and the students around me burst out laughing. Eli swipes his messed-up brown hair- all thanks to me- out of his face and flashes me his trademark smile that would melt any girls heart. Not mine. I’ve known him since pre K. We’re like, best friends- or, rather, he’s my boy best friend.
“Coach!” Eli whines, taking on a high voice that sounds like a two-year-old whining to his mom. “Harper threw the ball at me, and it really hurt!” Everyone laughs at his “Charlie bit my finger” reference.
“Now Harper,” Coach says in a fake-scolding tone. “We don’t harm others.” I laugh so hard I can barely breathe. The bell rings right at that moment, and my girl best friend, Emily and I walk on to History.
****
“How was school today, Happy?” Mom asks as I walk in. My family calls me “Happy” because when I was younger I couldn’t pronounce my name, so I called myself “Happy”, and the name stuck. Even now, in eleventh grade.
“It was good. I hit Eli in the face with a dodgeball,” I reply casually, setting my backpack down on our brown couch, right next to my younger brother. He swats my hand away as I tousle his hair, busy with his video game. The sound of bullets leaving the gun and the artificial “oof” as players get hit fills the air.
“Ben, have you even done your homework?” I ask him.
“Have you?” Ben retorts.
“I just got here,” I reply defensively.
“And, yes, I have. Thanks for checking in, Mom,” he says, his eyes not leaving the screen.
“Not funny!” Mom calls from the kitchen as the smell of spaghetti wafts through the air. Ben rolls his eyes and snorts. I drag my backpack to my room to do my homework. A full-on essay for English. Math. I plop down at the table, just as Dad comes up from his laboratory in the basement. He’s a scientist, but his reputation was ruined by his last experiment, which went horribly downhill.
“Hey, Happy,” he says as he sits beside me. I twirl my fork in the hurricane of tomato sauce-soaked noodles before me.
“Hey Dad,” I reply. “How was work?”
“Still working on Project V,” he says, reaching over my plate to grab my garlic bread, which he knows I don’t like. Project V is Dad’s newest experiment. He won’t tell us what it is, he just says it’s his chance at redemption. Ben finally takes his eyes off of his shooter game and joins us at the table. He digs into the pasta, not even waiting for Mom to sit down. And she does, once she’s done serving everyone else and giving them drinks and napkins and silverware. That’s what moms are for, right? I shove the fork full of pasta into my mouth, never good with manners, and make a satisfied “mmmmm” and give Mom a thumbs-up. She smiles and takes a small bite of her own meal.
At school the next day, Emily, Eli and I sit together at lunch. Eli invited his friend over with us, and he’s now telling this long, boring story about how his sister stole his laptop. Emily and I slow-clap, shaking our heads, as if we’d rehearsed it.
“Bravo, bravo,” Emily says sarcastically.
“Masterful storytelling,” I add. Eli’s friend blushes, not sensing our sarcasm. Emily and I exchange a look and burst out laughing. He looks confused, but Eli whispers something in his ear, and his face turns beet red.
In Biology, Eli asks to be my partner for a project studying the difference in DNA from various birds. I look at mockingbird DNA, Eli blue jay DNA. I promise to ask my dad for help, some of his experiments are animal-based.
“Man, you’re so lucky to have a scientist as your dad! He can help you with all your science projects!” Eli whines as he searches up ‘blue jay facts’ on the web.
“Dude, you’re supposed to look at their DNA,” I say, rolling my eyes. I peer through the microscope at the sample of mockingbird DNA. Little string-like things twist together to make up the small drop of feces in the little glass container. Eli shrugs and smiles.
“Blue jays are cool. They’re so… blue,” he says innocently. I roll my eyes and look at his sample of blue jay feces through the microscope. It’s astonishing how different they are. My hand snatches up my pencil and writes down what I see on the piece of loose-leaf paper on the desk. The project’s due tomorrow, I’ll call Eli tonight. The bell rings, and I tuck the container of feces in my bag. Eli does the same.
“It’s so cool that we get to look at bird crap,” he adds as he boards his bus and I board mine. I smile and promise to call him when I get home. I do my homework as fast I can and call Eli.
“Hey, Harp,” he says once he answers, his voice sounding automated and fuzzy by the poor connection.
“‘Sup,” I reply, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear as I put my Math sheet away.
“Have you talked to your dad yet?” Eli asks.
“Oh, crap, no. I’ll call you back. One second,” I answer, hurriedly hanging up and rushing down the hall. I check the living room and kitchen first, then his and Mom’s bedroom. He’s not there. He must be in his lab. I knock on the giant, formidable metal door that leads to the basement, click the button that means we need him- for dinner, or something. No answer. Maybe he can’t come to the door, his hands might be covered in something, or he’s in the middle of a call. I twist the vault-like handle to the door. We’re not allowed in his lab, but surely it couldn’t hurt this one measly time. Once the door eases open, it leads to a staircase dimly lit by lantern-like lights set up every few feet. I slowly walk down, my footsteps echoing off the metal stairs. Once I reach the bottom, my breath is taken away. There’s maybe a 25×25 space lit up with bright fluorescent LED lights. Metal tables hold various gadgets and containers and computers. File cabinets take up an entire wall. I look around in awe, careful not to touch anything. Don’t want to spill some poisonous liquid or set off an alarm.
“Dad?” I call, though it’s clear he’s not here. I walk between the tables, looking at all the weird stuff he has. But something catches my eye. On the last table, bare except for a laptop and a few other folders, is a folder labeled “Project V”.
“No, I shouldn’t touch it,” I tell myself.
Oh, but I really should. Curiosity overcomes me, and I flip open the folder. And wish I hadn’t. If I hadn’t opened that folder that day, if I hadn’t gone down to Dad’s lab, if the Biology teacher hadn’t assigned that project, none of this ever would’ve happened. “V” stands for Virus. A virus that could wipe out the entire human race.
Edit:: The first chapter I wrote I just fell in love with this story. In a lot of my other stories I try to make my characters tough, selfless, kind, etc. But in this story, Harper is curious, humorous, and she occasionally makes fun of others. But that’s what I love about her. She’s so real.
Edit 2:: I was thinking about naming it “Project V” or “Virus”, but I’m open to any suggestions. I just can’t seem to find the right name for it!
Science Fiction
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Now that I’ve read this part, I think “Project V” might work. “Virus” seems a little generic, and if the scientist dad plays a significant part in the story, I think “Project V” would fit perfectly!
I was considering Project V as the title, but I wanted to see what you guys thought!
I think “Project V” is a better fit for the story, and is also a catchier, more interesting title than “Virus.” It’s a bit more mysterious too, which is something that always leaves me wanting to read on.
True. Thank you for your suggestion!
How about “Dodge This, Bitch” as a title.
I like the suggestion, but that would be a bit inappropriate, judging by my age
How about Project V: Wipeout? Because you said this virus could wipe out the entire human race.
I like that one! Thank you for the suggestion.