The second bell after lunch rang just as my posterior hit the stool. I could feel a small smile playing around the corners of my lips. Chemistry. Wonderful, definite, factual chemistry. Where everything was black and white and you were either right or wrong - no in betweens.
My classmates filed into the room with either glum or indifferent expressions on their faces. Some held incredibly tattered books in their arms. I gazed down at my own copy of ‘Discovering Chemistry’. It was nearly two years old and spectacularly well used but still looked brand new. It, like all my other books, hadn’t a mark on it. I ran my fingertips over it’s smooth, unmarred surface feeling the texture of the paper cool beneath my touch. My long auburn hair fell in a curtain around my face and I used it to separate myself from the rest of the group, and to hide the shadows of bruising that decorated my jaw.
Just as I pondered how long it took facial bruising to fade, our teacher, Mr Collins came in. He was young - only in his early twenties - and as many of the girls in the class (who I’m convinced he was the only reason they picked chemistry) described as beautiful. I won’t lie, he was ridiculously attractive. But he was a teacher and besides, he was my friend, I wouldn’t dream of flirting with him. His electric blue eyes swept appraisingly over the group of students seated before him. His gaze paused momentarily longer on me as a small furrow appeared between his brows. I smiled and shrugged. Clumsy, I mouthed to him. He nodded, clearly not completely satisfied, but he stood a little straighter and looked back to the class.
“Okay, okay, quiet everyone and listen up,” his deep, warm voice filled the room with little effort. “Today we’re doing an experiment so you just need your experiment copies open on the ethene experiment.” His gaze moved over the class as many people’s faces pinked. “Anyone who actually did the homework, please raise your hand…”
I raised my hand but I knew I didn’t need to. Mr Collins knew that I had every single experiment already written up from ages ago. What was worrying though, was that only three more people from our class of twenty raised their hands too.
“Right… Let’s see…” Mr Collins scratched his head thoughtfully, “Everyone divide into groups of five. Remy, Lee, June and Nina, as seeing as you all actually did the homework, I want one of you to a group.”
I sighed. The last time the class had been trusted to do an experiment, things had gone horribly wrong. Let’s just say that the school had to invest in a load of new glassware and there would forever be a murky looking stain on the ceiling to commemorate our time here.
Three of my classmates wandered over to my bench, which I had cleared while emotionally readying myself for the impending chaos. I smiled warmly as Lisa, Colin and Santiago all consulted my notes and divided up to gather the equipment. In fairness, they weren’t the worst people to be grouped with. In fact, Lisa and I were rather friendly.
Our apparatus was set up quickly as I measured out our chemicals. I used a spatula to gently push a piece of glass wool into the bottom of a boiling tube and I poured the ethanol into the tube, watching as it was gently absorbed into the wool. I fixed the tube horizontally into the retort stand. But just as I carefully manoeuvred a spatula full of the fine white aluminium oxide powder into the boiling tube, a large bang made me jump, scattering the powder all over the desk.
The door to the lab had been flung open. Framed in the doorway stood a tall, muscular figure. If I didn’t know better, it would have piqued my interest, but as seeing as I knew who he was, I frowned and began to dust off the table.
“Sorry I’m late sir,” Nick Lefevere, class clown and bad boy, announced more to the class than to Mr Collins. “I had a… uh… prior commitment.” He finished his little introduction with a knowing wink. Of course, trust Nick to imply that there was more to going to the restroom than actually using it.
“Yes, yes,” Mr Collins waved his hand dismissively, “Just join Remy’s group over there and try not to break anything. Also, you’re on detention for being late, tomorrow after school.”
Nick did not react to the last part, probably because he wasn’t planning on showing up anyway. Instead, a wide grin spread across his handsome face as he strode across the room to tower over me. I did not look up - I refused to, but I could feel his giddiness emanating over me.
“Sit down, shut up and don’t touch anything,” I stated through clenched teeth.
“How wonderfully charming to see you too, my darling!” His voice was that of an over-exaggerated theatre performer.
“Piss off Nick, I don’t have the patience for your nonsense.” My voice had lost it’s snarling quality. Now, I was just apathetic. We had a job to do and as seeing as there was a risk of suck back in the test tube when the ethanol had completely evaporated off, I really wanted to pay attention.
“But Remy, you know you love it,” his voice was low and taunting as he leaned close to breathe the words into my ear. I shuddered as his fingers caressed my bruised jaw and I jumped back in shock.
“Fuck off,” I snarled through gritted teeth. There was a line and he’d just toed it very dangerously close to the edge.
“You heard her,” Santiago stepped in front of me, blocking Nick from my view. Santiago was a pretty big guy, but he was no match for Nick. However, Santiago had a reputation preceding himself. It was probably the worst kept secret in the school that the reason for Santi’s transfer to our dull, generic school from the affluent Spanish suburbs was because he was a former gang member. Apparently, he’d almost killed a kid. With his bare hands. He did nothing to confirm the rumours, though he did even less to quell them. Sometimes, it seemed, a little untruth could go a long way.
At Santi’s comment, Nick stepped back, his palms out in front of him in a gesture of peace. “Look man, I’m just being nice to her,” Nick said in mock earnestness, shrugging. “She could do with some friends anyway.”
I frowned, shook my head slightly and just got back to the experiment.
“Don’t let him bother you,” Lisa whispered across the bench.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I smiled, “I don’t have the time to be bothered by him.”
But he did bother me: the way his brown eyes raked over my body, the way he’d wink alluringly every time I caught his eye - his very presence annoyed me.
We had collected three gas jars of ethene by the time the ethanol evaporated. I pulled the Bunsen burner away from the apparatus and set it down about a foot away.
“I’m gonna get some more ethanol,” I muttered, as Santi went to collect another gas jar from the press. Lisa had snuck out for a cigarette break. Without really thinking, we left Nick alone with the experiment. Stupid mistake.
Just as I replaced the cap on the bottle of ethanol up at the teacher’s desk, there was an explosion. Nick stood, Bunsen flame in hand, amidst glass shards. He ran his hand through his dirty blond hair guiltily. He caught my eye and I realised, the look in his eyes was that of a boy who really wasn’t sure what to do. A boy who had been spoiled so much his whole life, that now he had no mother there to make everything better and had a teacher who could see right through his charms, he really didn’t know what to do.
I sighed, my heart rate beginning to calm as I strode back to our desk. Calmly, I took the Bunsen burner from his hands and twisted the gas supply off. Santiago quickly came to my aid as I began to clean up the shards of broken glass. I said nothing to Nick, just shot him a glare that clearly stated “I told you so”. Mr Collins would not be pleased.
“I was just trying to help!” Nick ran his hand through his blond hair again, so that pieces of it were starting to stick up in random places, “I didn’t actually mean to blow the bloody thing up!”
“But you did,” I glared at him, “Can’t you just sit back and not get involved for once?” I felt a small gasp escape my lips as I said this. I looked away from Nick and bit my lip to hold back the tears that stung the backs of my eyes. That accusation. Too familiar. I sounded like…
A sharp pain in my right palm brought me back to reality. It turned out that I had unconsciously clenched my hand and as a result, I now had a shard of test tube sticking out of the soft flesh of my palm.
I clenched my teeth and began to squeeze the glass out. But it didn’t move much. Instead, I was faced with a rush of blood into my upturned palm. I blanched.
“Here, let me help,” Nick’s large paw gently encompassed mine. He began to work the glass out, softly, alternatively squeezing each side of the shard until it fell lose. “Pretty big piece to get stuck,” he commented passively as he handed me a wad of tissue to help stop the bleeding.
“I would advise a proper dressing on that Ms Olivier,” Mr Collins’ rich voice came from behind us, making me jump. “And Mr Lefevere, I expect to see you after school today in detention for being so careless,” Mr Collins’ gaze was harsh as he turned to me, “You too Remy, you should’ve known better than to leave him alone with fire.” He nodded at Nick sardonically.
I felt my eyes drop to the floor and my toes scuffed the cheap linoleum, “Would saying that I have a lot on my mind help my case?”
“If anything, the opposite Remy,” Mr Collins’ tone softened, “but I’ll talk to you about that in private later.”
I nodded, already trying to formulate a viable excuse. I was trying not to look at Mr Collins’ disappointed face - I couldn’t bear the disheartened look he cast in my direction. Even Nick looked a little shocked at my punishment.
But a soft dampness in my hand brought me back to reality. My hand had actually bled through the tissue wad.
“You really need that sorted, Remy,” Nick commented, as I felt myself go pale again.
“It’s nothing a few steristrips won’t sort,” Mr Collins added, “But Nick, you’d better go with her to the office. She looks a bit pale.”
Nick nodded and took me gently by the elbow. I was still okay enough though to pull my arm away with disdain. It was his fault I was all cut up anyway. I dreaded to think how long it would be before I could play guitar properly again.
I strode to the office five paces ahead of Nick.
“Remy, wait up,” he called, jogging to keep up with my determined pace, “You’ll pass out if you get all worked up like that!”
I stopped and swung around, “I’m not that bloody delicate, Nick, really. Besides, it’s your fault I’m bleeding, your fault I’m going to have hell to pay when I get home late because I’ve been in detention and your fault that I won’t be able to play on Saturday!” I stopped myself abruptly, instantly regretting mentioning Saturday.
“Playing what on Saturday?” Nick’s eyes narrowed.
“Nothing,” I muttered and turned back around to head to the office.
I could hear his footsteps behind me as I continued to get the first aid kit. I unconsciously clenched my teeth. Even his very presence behind me was unsettlingly aggravating. His loping steps were out of time to my own, much smaller ones and he hummed to himself as we walked.