Jesse Pinkman's world collides with an unexpected blast from his high school past- the non-problematic, Avery Thompson. Chemistry isn't just a subject for these two-it's the spark that ignites their forbidden romance. As they navigate the dangerous...
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"Acids... annnnd... Bases," said my chemistry teacher, Mr. White, as he wrote the two words on the board, the sound of chalk tapping away and dust flying about as he did so. I watched him attentively whilst also glancing down at my loose-leaf paper, writing the same words down. Chem was a difficult subject, so I made sure to take notes and study them at any chance I could. There was no telling when he'd spring a random quiz on us.
Maybe I was the only one in the class who was really putting in effort to learn something. Everyone else seemed bored out of their minds. The guy in front of me looked like he was drooling. One girl was even filing her nails. I could never understand why people didn't care about their education.
"Now," Mr. White continued once he finished writing, turning to look at us all. "Acids and bases are, well, literally everywhere around us. What kind of products that we use everyday, would you assume is an acid or base? Easy one." His eyes scanned over the room, but no one was raising their hands.
One thing came to my mind as an option, and though I hated to look like a goody-two-shoes, if nobody else wanted to answer, I might as well have taken the opportunity. I slowly raised my hand.
"Yes, Avery, Ms. Thompson."
"Bleach?"
He smiled some. "Ah, Bleach. Very good." He turned to write that on the board, underneath 'Base' and afterwards, faced everyone again. "A common household product that is, in fact, a base. Now, you may ask, but Mr. White, what about the food we eat, or what we drink, are those too considered acids and bases? Well, to answer that question, yes. Yes, they are. And we can be sure of that when we test them using the pH scale... What is the pH scale? You'll need to write this down, everyone, so follow along."
As Mr. White began to write the information down, the door to the classroom swung open, causing everyone, including the teacher, to look over in shock. But once we realized who it was, we weren't quite surprised anymore. It was just Jesse— late as usual, baggy jeans covering up his sneakers, oversized hoodie, with his favorite red beanie on, backpack strap barely on his shoulder.
"Oh, shi— uh, sorry, Mr. White," he muttered, grabbing the door handle and trying to close it behind him in a much quieter fashion.
I could tell Mr. White was already annoyed, his brows furrowing as he looked at the kid. "Do I even need to ask where you've been, Pinkman?"
Jesse sniffed. "I was—"
"No. Not another pathetic attempt of an excuse. Get to your seat. And take that hat off."
