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mumbled, “I guess I’ll see you at the office,” and walked away.
    Zera picked at her salad. The idea of trying the Beefy Fries or a Marilyn shake made her stomach lurch. At a table near them, she’d overheard one of the scientists say that the “secret ingredient” in the milkshakes was the genetic code from some kind of parasite, attached to a cow’s “milk” gene in order to create “weight-loss milk.” I don’t even want to know the details..
    Zera looked over at that table again and her fork slipped from her grasp as a sudden brightness filled the room and a dizziness overtook her. No , she thought , that’s ketchup, not blood . For a moment she thought she saw blood on the corner of the scientist’s mouth, blood on the fries. For that moment, even the scent of copper had filled her nostrils. She did a double-take and her head cleared; the “blood” turned back to ordinary red ketchup, the smell disappeared. This place is getting to me , thought Zera. I’m going bonkers. Too much information.
    Theodore broke his silence. In a croaky voice, barely above a whisper he said, “He led me on, Tiffany.” He glanced around. “Not one word, not one stinking word. And I’m the one who single-handedly created Beefy Fries. Damn it!”
    Zera was shocked. She’d never heard her uncle swear.
    “You should have known something was up when they didn’t let you name them.” Tiffany daintily dipped a Beefy Fry into a puddle of ketchup and Zera had to look away before she put it in her mouth. “They’ve been walking all over you and you’ve let them.” 
    The Toad didn’t respond. Shaking off the blood-ketchup thing, Zera remembered the Beefy Fry naming episode. Months ago The Toad submitted a scientific name for his creation. He’d bragged to Tiffany and Zera how he’d cleverly combined the Latin name Solanum tuberosum , for potato, with the one for cattle, Bos taurus , into Bos x tuberosum and added his own name as inventor — Green, or greenii , for the Latin translation, on the end. Bos x tuberosum greenii was rejected as a name by corporate headquarters in preference of Bos x tuberosum sparkii — in honor of Bob Cadger’s dog, Sparky.
    “You’re right,” The Toad said. “I’m one of the greatest minds in this field and I haven’t received my due for anything. BioTech’s walked all over me.”
    Zera tried to be invisible, taking small sips from her water and not adding anything to the conversation. She also knew about The Toad’s other “products.” Although she always pretended she wasn’t interested when he talked about them, she listened attentively. She’d heard about Biocorn, the corn spliced with a bacteria that immediately killed any bug that nibbled on it, and about the New World strawberries, strawberry genes combined with those of the great strawberry-worm. The strawberries were designed so that the caterpillars would fall in love with them and try to mate with them instead of dine on them. The only flaw was that the strawberries looked a bit like the caterpillars, green with yellow spots and long black hairs — not very appetizing. Zera thought BioTech Multinational’s products were disgusting, but also strangely mesmerizing. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for her uncle.
    The Toad sat up straighter and raised his voice a little. “This is the last straw. Things are going to change.”
    “It’s about time,” Tiffany said. “Because he doesn’t deserve the money, or the glory. You do.” She jerked her blonde head in the direction of Cadger, sitting at the largest table in the middle of the room, surrounded by admirers. Cadger hadn’t said a single word to The Toad since they got there.
    Tiffany touched the corners of her mouth with a star -spangled napkin then looked at The Toad, her eyes steely with determination. “You’re brilliant, Theodore, but you’re not a businessman. We need to change that. I know how to get ahead. I grew up poor, the shabbiest dressed kid