Amanda Lester and the Pink Sugar Conspiracy

Thank goodness the pathology class didn’t meet in an autopsy room. It hadn’t occurred to Amanda that she might be subject to such a horror until she looked at her schedule, and then she panicked. Morgues were gross, and even when she learned about the school it hadn’t dawned on her that she’d have to have anything to do with them. So the fact that the class met in a regular classroom was quite a relief, at least until the teacher, Professor Hoxby, a morbid older man with purplish skin who would have been perfect in a horror movie, spoke.

  “Students, this week and next we will meet here, but the week after we will convene at the autopsy room. I will give you complete instructions in a few days. For now I want you to get into the spirit of the class by reading chapters one through seven in your text, The Complete Handbook of Autopsy Practice, Featuring 1200 Color Images, Twelfth Edition, by the time we next meet. This should take you through images one through sixty. I must tell you that this is a particularly excellent edition because it now covers tonsils in great detail, as well as amputations.”

  Amanda felt like she was going to throw up again, and looked at the seat in front of her to make sure there were no coats there. Professor Hoxby was practically glowing a sort of metallic purple now. He was really into this stuff.

  “I also want you to pay special attention to the chapter on little known facts about dissection,” he continued. “This is a particularly insightful addition that will help you greatly in your work.”

  Now everyone was gagging, even the boys. Amanda wondered how often people threw up in Professor Hoxby’s classes. He didn’t seem to care that he was making people sick. In fact he seemed to be relishing doing so. The whole idea of going to the detectives’ school made Amanda ill, but she’d never expected the reality of the situation to be so nauseating.

  Suddenly the boy next to her heaved all over his desk. The vomit dripped all over his pants and the floor, but fortunately it didn’t travel in her direction.

  “Splendid!” said Professor Hoxby. “Now you will get a lesson in specimen acquisition. You there next to the boy who vomited. Come up here and get a sterile plastic bag and scoop. Chop chop. Yes, I mean you.” He was gesturing toward Amanda.

  Surely he was kidding. The poor boy had just hurled. The whole class was on the verge of joining him. And the teacher wanted her to collect the barf?

  She could feel herself beginning to gag. And then it was too late. She joined the boy, vomiting all over herself in an effort to avoid hitting anyone else. Twice now her sensitive stomach had embarrassed her. She felt like such a baby.

  And then, suddenly, the whole class was throwing up. It would have been amazing to have captured the sound effects, even if Amanda wasn’t crazy about horror movies, because they were among the best she’d ever heard. Wait! She could do it. Wiping her hands on the clean portion of her skirt, she reached into her bag and turned on the recorder on her phone. Good. She hadn’t missed it. People were still vomiting and she was capturing authentic noises she could contribute to that open source sound library she liked to use. Now that she thought of it, there might be other opportunities for capturing sound effects at the school.

  Amanda looked around the room and beamed. She was getting excited.