Plant A Kiss?

A year’s worth of Euglena had frozen and perished in the biology lab after the spontaneous snowstorm last month. Naturally the biology department panicked and begged its Euglena dealer, Bronx Science, for more of the bacterial colonies. But Bronx Science, in an act of pettiness that showed that it was Stuyvesant’s rival first and Euglena dealer second, shipped boxes of mistletoe to the department instead.

“WE’RE DOOMED!” boomed Mrs. Maggio’s voice, carrying despair that exited the door and echoed in every corridor of the hallways, ricocheting into the chambers of the heart and Chambers Street itself. “WHAT THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH ALL OF THIS?!”

Dr. Tu chuckled mischievously, knowing all too well that the volatility of adolescent emotion was a bacteria culture worthy of study in itself. With a roll of duct tape, ribbons, small holiday-themed pouches, a ladder, one of the boxes of mistletoe, and two hours, she prepared the biology lab room for tomorrow’s antics.

The next day, biology students quickly shuffled into the lab, perplexed as to why they were not given a pre-lab or any packetwork describing what procedures they were going to execute that day. What was even more peculiar was that numerous red ribbons were suspended from the ceiling with mini felt pouches of various designs attached to the end of them, concealing something hidden within.

A curious student gave one a gentle tug. It slipped off with ease, revealing a red ribbon tied around a bundle of mistletoe. His eyes widened at the sight of the rounded, minty leaves. His partner’s eyes widened too, but he was shocked with revolt.

“I am not kissing you.”

“Why not? It’s tradition.”

“You ugly.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you ugly too.”

“Yeah, but at least I’m smarter than you. You have a 91.99999986 average, but I have a 91.99999987 average.”

At this point the rest of the class was listening in on their squabble. Some even whipped out their phones to film a juicy Snapchat story. One classmate decided to intervene.

“A hundred-millionth of a GPA point doesn’t change the fact that you’re both idiots.”

The entire class became clamorous, whipping out their transcripts and yelling at her about how a hundred-millionth of a GPA point was worth extra sacrifices in sleep schedules, sanity, and a shortened life span for the sake of the extra merit.

“You’re the stupid one for saying something so nonsensical!” The couple under the mistletoe shrieked, embracing one another for support.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’m gonna redeem myself by saying something that makes perfect sense: it’s a waste if these two,” she pointed at the couple under the mistletoe, “don’t kiss.”

Dr. Tu walked in through the door, tired of everyone’s theatrics.

“Whoever kisses under the mistletoe first gets an AUTOMATIC 100 ON THE LAB! Everyone else has to write a report about oxytocin and compare it to Euglena growth!”

She didn’t need to say it twice. The couple tried to kiss.

Yes, tried to.

First, their noses collided. Then, everyone face-palmed when they resorted to simple pecks on the lips, even though everyone was so romantically awkward they didn’t really know how to kiss, either. Dr. Tu even gawked at the sight and internally noted that there were some bases that not even higher-education knew how to cover.