Snip!

Juggling a few projects right now, and one of them stars a hopelessly uncoordinated main character (they say to write what you know). In this scene, Linnea is confiding her worries about P.E. and an upcoming physical fitness test to her father, a geeky spieoliologist whose specialty is the Northern cavefish, which, living in total darkness as it does, has evolved to have no eyes. I’m fascinated by the idea of “regressive” evolution, a beneficial adaptation that lets organisms save energy by shedding stuff they don’t need and could actually hold them back.

““How was your day?” Dad asked, eyes on the screen.

“A horde of two headed dragons invaded the cafeteria.”

“Hmm.” Peering at the screen.

“We tried to fight them off by hurling chicken nuggets at them.”

“Huh.” Frowning at the screen.

“But it didn’t work. They ate the nuggets then burned down the school with their fiery breath. I’ll be staying home from now on.”

At last Dad looked at her. “What did you say?”

“I said…Dad, what’s a flexed-arm hang?”

Dad blinked. “I have no idea,” he said.

“Well, I have to do it.” As Linnea told Dad about Mr. Furey and the physical fitness test, her eyes got hot and her throat got lumpy. “What if I’m a weenie, not a winner?”

Dad closed his laptop. He ran his hand through his hair, which had helmet-dent. His look of confusion made Linnea’s heart sink. It also made her angry.

“You’re going to say I’m not a weenie!” she cried. “But you don’t understand.”

“I understand weenie and winner are subjective terms.” Dad scooched his chair closer and hooked his arm around her. “And I don’t approve of tests, except as a means of assessing progress.”

“Because you’re a grownup! You forget what it’s like.”

“Not really. I was terrible at gym. I sank exactly one basket in twelve years. P.E. was the only class I ever got a D in.” Dad’s eyes crinkled. “It made me feel bad, sure. But even then, I knew I wasn’t destined to be an athlete.”

“You already knew you were destined to be a scientist?”

“No. Back then, I was sure my destiny was rock star.”

Dad jumped up and started playing air guitar. He leaned back, plucking away, pooching his lips and shutting his eyes. He looked so ridiculous Linnea switched from almost crying to hysterical laughing, which resulted in hiccups.

Dad got her a glass of water and sat back down. He was out of breath. Dad was definitely not an athlete.

”Imagine you’re an amblyopsis spelaea. Bigger, self-aggrandizing fish call you a loser because you live in impenetrable darkness and lack eyes. But those other fish are wrong as wrong can be. Because Northern cavefish have adapted to extreme and harsh conditions. They have developed amazing regenerative abilities. They are absolute geniuses at being who they are.”

Wait. Was Dad comparing her to a cavefish?