Free Poached by Stuart Gibbs

the way from Oklahoma City.”
    â€œJust to see Kazoo?” I asked.
    â€œAnd the rest of FunJungle, of course,” the man said. “But Kazoo was the kicker. It’s our honeymoon!”
    â€œWow,” I said. “Congratulations.”
    â€œThanks!” the bride chirped. “We really wanted to go to Australia to see wild koalas, but the plane tickets there are crazy expensive. And then FunJungle got Kazoo and started offering all these deals . . .”
    â€œWe’re staying at the FunJungle Caribbean Resort for half price,” the husband told me. “It’s just like being in the real Caribbean, only closer!”
    That was actually the promotional line from the resort’s commercials.
    â€œIt just seemed like fate,” the bride told me. “So we drove down right after our wedding. We only got here last night. The resort even gave us a free bottle of champagne onaccount of our just getting hitched. And now we’re about to see Kazoo. Our first real koala! I’m so excited!”
    I didn’t know what to say. These two amped-up newlyweds were going to be devastated to learn that Kazoo was gone. Their honeymoon would be ruined.
    There was a FunJungle employee stationed at the door of the exhibit. His job was to wave people in once there was room for them so that the viewing area didn’t get too crowded. He was only a teenager, probably just out of high school, but people still paid attention to him. He waved my class inside.
    All the students filed in ahead of me. I cringed reflexively, expecting to hear them scream.
    Instead I heard them all gasp with delight.
    I entered and gasped myself. Only I was doing it in surprise.
    There was a koala in the exhibit.
    It was difficult to see, since it was tucked into a crook of one of the eucalyptus trees in the back. And, as usual, it was asleep. I couldn’t even see its face, as its head was tucked down between its arms, like a student who’d fallen asleep at his desk in math class. Its big, fuzzy ears poked out, however, which was enough to trigger squeals of delight from the schoolgirls.
    The kids all crowded around the viewing windows,pressing their noses against the glass. “Aw nuts, he’s sleeping,” one boy groused, and many other kids echoed his disappointment.
    â€œLet’s wake him!” another boy suggested, and then, despite the PLEASE DO NOT BANG ON GLASS sign posted right over his head, he began to bang on the glass.
    Thankfully, a teacher swooped in and grabbed the kid’s wrist after only a few seconds. “Roscoe, if you can’t behave yourself, you’ll have to wait outside,” she hissed.
    â€œSo what?” Roscoe asked. “The koala’s not doing anything anyhow.”
    Kazoo hadn’t so much as flinched at the sound of his glass being banged on, but that wasn’t unusual. A bomb could have gone off in the room and Kazoo probably would have slept through it.
    Kristi Sullivan was in her usual spot, perched at the small podium, rattling off facts as though nothing were unusual. “The baby koala begins its life by consuming only its mother’s milk,” she was saying, “But after a few months it begins to eat pap, which is actually a special form of the mother’s feces.”
    Several of the kids squealed with disgust.
    â€œI know it sounds terrible,” Kristi told them, “but it’s really a wonderful way for the mother to pass on the microorganisms that will allow her baby to digest eucalyptus leaves.”
    I kept my jacket hood up and my back to Kristi so that she wouldn’t recognize me. Then I pressed my own nose against the glass, staring at the koala, wondering how he could possibly still be there . . . and if he was, how I could be in trouble for stealing him. I stared at the white tufts of Kazoo’s ears, trying to make sense of everything.
    And then, suddenly, I realized exactly what was