This is the final story in this summer’s Flash Fiction series. You can read the entire series, and our Flash Fiction from previous years, here .

In seventh grade, I tried to get out of frog dissection by telling Mrs. Graeber that I was Hindu and it was against my religion.

“Back to your desk,” she said.

Ritu was assigned to be my lab partner. Ritu, despite the fact that she had no accent and sat with the whites during lunch, got the highest grades in biology. I thought she believed she was better than me; still, I was glad she was my partner.

The frog was stiff and nasty. It was sort of gray and smelled of formaldehyde. Before we began cutting, we had to label a series of diagrams to show that we knew the basic structures. We also had to take measurements of the dead animal. At fi

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