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Ms. Peril

The microscopes are heavy and delicate and Ms. Peril wouldn’t normally be breaking them out this early in the year, but something’s happening, something strange. The kids tromp around the school parking lot steaming, glass slides in their mittens to catch snowflakes.

Each time they get two under the lens they confirm it again: identical. All of them. The scope camera clicks away, filling a card with proof.

“What does that mean, Ms. Peril?” asks Chandra.

“It means you should all pack your lunches tomorrow,” says Ms. Peril, who wouldn’t normally break out the probability portal in the fall semester either.

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