biology class, featuring macklin celebrini
The biology lab smells faintly like disinfectant and anxiety.
You stand at your workstation with a tray covered in gloves, pins, and something very un-frog-like under a paper towel that your teacher insists is “completely normal.” Across from you are two very familiar classmates who somehow make a frog dissection feel like a group project and a public event.
Will Smith leans back in his chair like he’s in control of the entire universe, even though he’s definitely never done this before in his life. Next to him, Macklin Celebrini is already tying his gloves with calm precision, like this is just another day and not… whatever this is.
“Okay,” Macklin says, glancing at the instructions. “We’re supposed to identify the external anatomy first.”
Will squints at the paper. “External anatomy. Right. That’s… that’s the frog part that’s outside, yeah?”
You try not to laugh. “That’s usually how ‘external’ works.”
Will turns to you immediately, grin lighting up. “See? She agrees with me. I like her. She’s logical.”
Macklin doesn’t look up. “You like everyone.”
“Not true,” Will says. Then, after a beat: “I like her more.”
Your pen freezes slightly over your worksheet.
Macklin finally looks up at that, expression unreadable but clearly entertained. “We have a frog to dissect, man.”
“I’m multitasking,” Will says seriously.
You shake your head, trying to focus. “Okay, can we just not get expelled today? Let’s start before I regret being assigned to this group.”
Macklin nods. “Good plan.”
Will leans closer to you as you pull on gloves. “If I faint, tell people I went down bravely.”
“You’re not fainting,” you say.
“That sounds like a challenge,” he replies.
Macklin slides the tray forward. “Nobody’s fainting. We’re cutting a frog.”
Then Will: “That sentence is crazy out of context.”
You carefully lift the paper towel.
Will leans in. “Okay, I expected… more frog energy.”
“It’s a preserved specimen,” Macklin says.
“It’s giving ‘retired,’” Will adds thoughtfully.
Despite yourself, you laugh. “Alright. External anatomy. Eyes, limbs, all that.”
Macklin points with a gloved finger. “Eyes are here. Nostrils there.”
Will immediately leans in closer than necessary, shoulder brushing yours. “And what are those?”
“That’s its head,” you say.
He nods slowly like he’s learning deep philosophy. “Frog head. Got it.”
“You’re doing amazing,” Macklin says dryly.
Will gasps. “That was sarcasm.”
You pick up the scalpel carefully. “Okay, I’m starting the incision.”
Will suddenly gets very still. “Wait—hold on—are we sure I can’t just… emotionally support the frog instead?”
“It’s already preserved,” Macklin says.
“That’s worse,” Will mutters.
You make the first careful cut, focusing. The room feels quieter for a second.
Then Will softly, next to you: “You’re actually really steady with that.”
You glance at him briefly. “It’s a scalpel. Not a live grenade.”
“Still,” he says. “Impressive.”
Macklin, without looking up: “Don’t distract her, Romeo.”
“I’m not Romeo-ing,” Will says immediately.
“…What does that even mean?” you ask.
“It means he’s flirting,” Macklin says.
Will points at him. “You’re supposed to be my wingman.”
“I am your wingman,” Macklin replies. “I’m helping you not get rejected in biology class.”
“I have not been rejected,” Will says.
You don’t look up from your work. “You also haven’t been accepted.”
Macklin makes a sound that is definitely a laugh.
Will puts a hand over his chest like he’s wounded. “Harsh.”
But when you glance up, he’s smiling.
The frog dissection continues in uneven progress—Macklin steady and efficient, Will alternating between helpful and completely distracted, and you trying very hard not to let either of them make you mess up your cuts.
At one point, Will carefully hands you a probe. “For precision.”
“You’re taking this very seriously now,” you note.
“I’m always serious,” he says.
Macklin immediately: “No he’s not.”
Will points at him again. “Stop undermining my character arc.”
You snort. “Character arc?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Quiet guy in biology class. Falls in love with science. And possibly—”
Macklin interrupts, deadpan: “Don’t finish that sentence.”
Will looks at you. “—frog anatomy.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” he says, a little softer now. “But I’m having fun.”
For a moment, it’s just the three of you, gloves on, messy lab table, frog dissection half-finished, laughter still hanging in the air.
And somehow, biology class doesn’t feel like biology class anymore.
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