“Cage!”

This time is was Mrs. Meyers, a rotund, calls-it-like-she-sees-it kind of woman married to the girl’s volleyball coach, Coach Meyers.

”Well?” she said.

Some of the class giggled. Cage was dizzy and hot. Why was he always so hot?

“I’m sorry coach, uh, ma’am… What was the question?”

“The mammalian breathing mechanism of Microchiroptera is unique in that it can respirate roughly how many times per minute?” Her line of questioning was fierce.

“Six hundred, ma’am?”

A few students turned to look at him. “Well then, I guess looks can be deceiving.” She pointed back at the projector screen. “That’s correct, in flight, bats respirate in tandem with the flapping of their wings, something they do at the extraordinary pace of…”

“What’s up with you?” said Matthew. “You look like shit. Too much respirating with the fapping of your ding-dong, or what?”

Marten leaned in and whispered. “If so, he’s not fapping at home. I called your place last night, but your mom said she didn’t know where you were. Where you been hiding out, Cage?”

Before Cage could answer, the bell rang. “Alright,” Coach Meyers’ wife said. “Read chapter 13 before Thursday: Oceanic mullusks, good stuff.”

“I got your sea slug right here,” Matthew said, grabbing his bag.

“More like your sea urchin,” replied Marten.

“That’s not what your mom said, Kemp.”

The classrooms poured into the hallways and students coursed the arteries like red blood cells off to their next way station. Before the boys parted, Marten said to Cage: “See you tonight?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “I need to check on something first.”

“Busy guy… I’ll hit you up.”

Marten turned off and started up the stairs. Matthew yelled a sexually explicit remark, and ran from Mrs. Meyers’ view.

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