"Ritu," by Akhil Sharma
Briefly

In seventh grade a student claims a Hindu religious objection to avoid frog dissection. Ritu becomes the assigned lab partner and performs most of the biology tasks. The frog is described as gray, stiff, and smelling of formaldehyde, and the lab requires labeling diagrams and taking measurements. Ritu removes and pins the organs while the narrator struggles with measurements and accepts the ruler. When the teacher questions who did the work, the narrator claims the measurements and Ritu remains silent. The teacher insists on equal participation, and classmates judge the pair. Years later, the narrator reconnects with Ritu through a mutual friend.
The frog was stiff and nasty. It was sort of gray and smelled of formaldehyde. Before we began cutting, we had to label a series of diagrams to show that we knew the basic structures. We also had to take measurements of the dead animal. At first, Ritu offered to do the paperwork; I kept asking her which organs were which, then she began taking out the organs and handed me the ruler. I truly did not know how to measure the various parts. Finally, she said, "Are you going to do anything?"
Mrs. Graeber walked around the class checking on our progress. By this time, Ritu had pinned the organs to the wax of the workbench, and they looked the way they appeared in the drawings: the heart, the kidneys, the stomach. Mrs. Graeber asked Ritu who had done what. Ritu and I were both standing. I said that I had done the measurements. Ritu looked down and didn't speak.
Read at The New Yorker
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