The Copperhead
It’s exactly nine in the morning. My history teacher explaining the Odyssey or something to us. It’s all Greek to me.
“Now, Simon, pass along these worksheets, and don’t forget to write your name this time.”
Simon skips down the rows of desks, passing sheets to everyone. He sneers at me.
“Looks like she doesn’t trust you, right?” he said.
“Think about it like this: you are easier to keep an eye on if you stand.” Simon was the class clown, troublemaker, and bully.
I look at the worksheet. then I reach for my pencil, but I find a pencil and an egg. This egg is translucent and slightly squishy. It’s a snake egg! Someone probably slipped it into my backpack when I didn’t look.
“Whatever,” I mutter to myself as I put it back where I found it.
Ten minutes later, Simon collects our work, and it’s great. He rips my work in half, and then gets into trouble.
“Simon. Only collect the work. Pass me the papers, and see me after class.”
Stifling laughter, I notice my eraser is missing. I look through my backpack looking for my eraser, but I instead find an egg. Where did this egg come from? Oh, right, I put it there. I put it aside in a pocket. The teacher has passed out another packet of paper to everyone. I look at the first question: What did Odysseus eat to stay immune to Circe’s spells?
A. Moly
B. Copperhead Eggs
C. Coriander Seeds
I circle option “B” in a way that feels instinctive, then my mind clears up and I see I should have answered “A.” I reach for my eraser, and remember that it was missing. Fine. I’ll go ask my teacher if I may borrow an eraser.
My teacher is looking through the papers when I walk up to her desk. She faces me and says, “You know very well not to use the internet for your work. How did you know that Ὅμηρος was Homer’s Greek name?”
“I read the introduction.”
She skims the introduction and points at the test saying, “Ὅμηρος, Homer’s Greek name is pronounced…,” and nods at me. She smiles and pats my back. A bit of eggshell falls out of my pocket. Everyone looks at me, and I suddenly take the egg out of my pocket. How weird. A baby copperhead.
“Yeah, you snuck a rooster into school, haven’t y-”
“Simon, nobody asked for you opinion. I am the teacher. If you listened to biology class, you know this isn’t a rooster, and we all know that sneaking a rooster into school is something you’d be more likely to do. Sit down. And you, explain what that is.”
“I found it in my backpack.”
“Yes, my pet snake lost an egg yesterday!”
“No, Simon, copperheads aren’t legal pets, if you had a snake, you would tie knots in it and throw its eggs at windows. The eggs would all get destroyed, if they survive the windows, in the microwave. No eggs that could hatch would be left over. And sit down.”
A wave of laughter washes over the class. Unexpectedly, my teacher isn’t upset about the little copperhead. She pats it on the head, looking at it with expectation yet satisfaction. Had she predicted its appearance? Confused, I then walk back to my desk.
“What do you want to name it?” my teacher asks. I thought she would ask, “What will you do to it?” She wants me to keep it, like a pet, and that doesn’t feel right. I don’t know what to do. The little snake looks at me, blinks, and yawns.
“Well? What do you want to name it?”
For once, I don’t know an answer.