Can't Beat the Chemistry

by Kat Colmer

  Remind me, two a1 orbitals can be mixed to give a pair of sp hybrids, right?

  I roll my eyes; he knows this! I’m halfway through typing a reply, telling him exactly that when another text buzzes in.

  No! Don’t tell me. I know this ;)

  My grin is instant.

  Yes, you know this. Stop overthinking.

  I ball up the napkin I’ve been shredding and fire off another text.

  Aren’t you in a lecture right now? You should be concentrating.

  The speed at which he replies is testament to the fact that he’s doing anything but.

  Educational Psychology. Just learned that Pavlov’s dog urinated at the sound of a bell. Real handy in a classroom ;)

  I read the text twice, because …

  Urinated? How is that handy in a classroom?

  Salivated! Stupid autocorrect.

  Like that’s any better.

  How is salivating at the sound of a bell useful in the classroom?

  My gaze is locked on the phone, waiting for his reply.

  No imagination, MJ, that’s your problem …

  That sets off another eye roll, but at least Luke’s texts keep my mind off Jason.

  Meeting Jason for study today?

  Correction, Luke’s texts kept my mind off Jason.

  Waiting for him now.

  I reach for a fresh napkin and get ripping.

  You get all your reading done?

  I pause my papery destruction to think of a suitable reply.

  Have read what I needed to. Thanks for asking :)

  I managed two articles Saturday night after Luke trudged off to the garage. I could have done more, but I found myself on the couch next to Rosie, Harvey draped across our laps, and Patrick Swayze dripping ocean water on the screen.

  I know you never intended to spend the weekend away, but FYI, I also had a good time.

  My hands pause mid-rip, and I re-read the last part of his text. The warmth that floods every corner of my body takes me by surprise.

  I’m smiling as I type my reply.

  Text me after your test for a debrief?

  Will do ;)

  I’m still smiling when I spot Jason winding his way between tables towards me, a tray of burger and fries in his hands.

  ‘Hey.’ He slides into the seat opposite and I’m treated to his angles and planes smile.

  I force myself to ball up the paper carnage that was once a napkin and face the inevitable. ‘What did you want to see me about yesterday?’ Please don’t say you want a different project partner.

  Jason’s eyes widen, and when the skin beneath them flushes pink, I know I’ve broken some social rule. But what’s the point in stuffing around? I need answers here! Even if they’re not ones I want to hear. I’m all for ripping that Band-Aid off quickly.

  Eyes on his plate, Jason shoves a fry into his mouth. ‘How was your weekend?’

  Okay, Jason clearly doesn’t subscribe to the quick rip philosophy. He’s still avoiding my gaze as he rummages around in his backpack, then stacks some notebooks on the table. Notebooks containing science project notes. I sag into my chair with the relief of seeing those notebooks.

  ‘Um, fine. I read those two articles I told you about. So yesterday, what did you want to see me about?’ Because if it wasn’t to tell me he was quitting or wanted a different partner …

  ‘A friend of mine lives up the road from your boarding house. Kevin Malcha. Know him?’

  I shake my head.

  A shrug. ‘Anyway, I was over there studying, and when we finished, I thought I’d drop by—’ he glances up, gaze briefly brushing mine, then landing back on his notebooks, ‘—see if you wanted to, I don’t know, grab a bite to eat or something.’

  Grab a bite to eat or something. Not ditch me as a partner or talk about the science project. He wanted to grab a bite to eat … or something. What was it that Luke said in the car? He’ll make excuses to hang out together. A cautious bubble of hope lifts me up in my chair. ‘I’m free this Wednesday after school, if, um … you still want that bite to eat … or something.’

  Jason’s gaze finally locks on mine. ‘Wednesday. Neat.’ He smiles. ‘That works for me.’

  That bubble of hope grows until it bursts … into a tepid fizz of something lukewarm that barely passes for excitement. Shouldn’t there be more, I don’t know, anticipation?

  My phone buzzes again.

  Brain hurts already & I haven’t even started the damn test. I say we skip tutoring today & grab something to eat instead? My shout. As thanks for all your help.

  I bite my lip around a grin. As far as ploys to get out of his tutoring session go, this one’s not bad. And Drummer Boy has been working hard this past weekend. Missing one session won’t hurt. I’ll have to ask for evening leave permission but …

  On one condition: I choose where we go.

  There’s this new Lebanese place a short walk from the boarding house I’ve been wanting to try out.

  Deal! Gotta go. Wish me luck!

  I shake my head, stopping short of the eye roll.

  You don’t need it!

  He can do this test in his sleep.

  ‘Can that wait?’

  I look up to find a handful of Jason’s sauce-covered fries pointing at my phone. ‘I’d like to get started. We have a lot of ground to cover.’

  It was one text. But I flick the mobile to vibrate and tuck it away, then get busy pulling my science project reading and notes from my messenger bag. Jason is right. I should be concentrating on the here and now, on our science paper, on him.

  My brain, however, won’t cooperate. Three quarters of an hour later and my thoughts are still sabotaging the session, wandering off task—in the direction of the Lebanese restaurant around the corner.

  Hopefully Luke will like the place. Lebanese isn’t everyone’s slice of baklava, but then he doesn’t strike me as the type to shy away from a new experience. Maybe he’s been there before. Which means he’ll be able to tell me which menu items to stay away from. No matter how great a restaurant, there’s bound to be a—

  ‘Earth to MJ? You paying attention?’

  I glance up from my notes, straight into Jason’s pinched face.

  ‘Sorry, drifted off for a bit.’

  I didn’t think it possible, but his face pinches even more, not doing those already questionable Zac Efron features any favours.

  ‘I haven’t had lunch yet.’ I glance at his empty plate. Unlike some. He has the grace to flush. It better be in embarrassment and not something else.

  But then there’s that angles and planes smile, and my irritation leaches from me.

  ‘How about we call it quits for today,’ he says, scraping up the mess of papers and notebooks spread across the table. ‘The whole thing’s coming along nicely. We can talk about it some more on Wednesday, over dinner.’ Another smile, and the way he angles his head … okay, okay, I see the whole Zac Efron thing.

  We pack up the rest of our things in noisy cafeteria silence.

  ‘So, Wednesday night.’ Jason hands me my notebook. ‘Is six all right for me to pick you up?’

  ‘Six?’ I guess I’ll need to ask for another evening leave permission. ‘Six should be fine. I can meet you out front of my dorm.’ No need for him to endure a second round of the Boarding House Boy Test. That Lucy girl asks way too curly questions for someone only in Year 7.

  He nods. ‘Six out front of the boarding house.’ For a moment it looks like he’s leaning towards me, but then he straightens up and, backpack over one shoulder, turns for the exit.

  Wednesday. A bite to eat. With Jason. I take a breath and release it slowly, air billowing out my cheeks. This is the start of something. I can feel it in my—

  Messenger bag?

  I rummage arou
nd inside for the vibrating culprit and grin the moment my eyes land on the screen of my phone.

  You were right. I knew it all! Well, most of it anyway. Remind me never to doubt you again ;) So where are we going tonight?

  It’s a surprise!

  I type as I wind my way through the cafeteria.

  Should I be worried?

  I could so make Drummer Boy sweat but, no, tonight is for him, to celebrate his achievement.

  Do you trust me?

  I slow my stride as I wait for his reply. His answer, I realise, is strangely important to me.

  You’re the one who should be worried.

  I stop beside an empty table.

  Why?

  Because I do trust you, I mean. I must be certifiable!

  I stare at the screen, at Luke’s words, acutely aware of the heavy warmth they’ve ignited deep inside.

  See you tonight.

  Forcing my legs into motion, I pass the Italian place, trying to ignore the wet sock smell of parmesan, as well as the buzz building in my veins. I ditch the parmesan quickly enough, but the buzz continues all through my study afternoon, making it hard to concentrate, forcing my mouth into a perpetual smile. And as day trickles into evening, and I pull my coat on before signing out and heading around the corner to the Lebanese restaurant, I recognise it for what it is—overwhelming anticipation. For Wednesday night, I tell myself. Yes, Wednesday night.

  Not tonight.

  Luke

  The Lebanese Place

  I find the restaurant easily enough. Inside, I’m struck by a jumble of sound and colour. The white-washed walls are covered with carpets and rugs. Around the tables, people sit on mismatched chairs and massive cushions, talking and laughing over the hypnotic music playing in the background.

  MJ is already there, dark hair brushing her milky cheeks, tiny lines pulling at the space between her brows as she studies the menu.

  She looks up before I lose my grin. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re all concentration, even deciding what to eat for dinner.’

  She gives me one of her trademark nose twitches as I pull out the chair opposite her. ‘No point in stuffing around.’

  Yeah, straight to it. That’s the MJ I’m fast getting to know. And like.

  I bury my nose in the menu to hide my expanding grin. ‘Found anything you want?’

  ‘Have you ever had Baba Ghanoush?’

  ‘No. What is it?’

  ‘Eggplant dip. Want to try?’

  By the eagerness in MJ’s voice I’m guessing she would. ‘Sure, I’m in. Sounds like the name of a fairy-tale bad guy.’

  She blinks up at me. The tiny lines between her brows are back. ‘A fairy-tale bad guy?’

  It’s stupid but … what the hell, I’ll tell her anyway. ‘It’s a game I used to play when Rosie was little. Whenever we went to a restaurant I’d make up story characters from dishes on the menu. The crazier the better. It kept her entertained while we waited for the food to arrive.’

  ‘And Baba Ghanoush is a bad guy?’

  ‘Yeah, with a name like that it’s got to be a witch or something. Think Hansel and Gretel, all gnarly hands and a taste for lost children.’

  That earns me a smile.

  ‘What about this one?’ She leans closer and points to Falafel on my menu.

  ‘Too easy. The town jester. Loves nothing better than to falafel around.’

  This time I get a cross between a snort and a giggle. I forgot how much fun this can be. And I’m fast realising MJ’s smiles do weird things to my insides.

  ‘Your turn.’

  I point to a fried potato dish on her menu, but she chews on the corner of her bottom lip.

  ‘Stop overthinking, MJ.’ Relax.

  ‘Okay, okay. Batata Kezebra is …’ She’s thinking so hard her face is a comedy of concentration. Man, it’s hard not to laugh. I don’t dare; I don’t want to put her off so she retreats behind her spikes. ‘… a highly dangerous nocturnal bat-zebra hybrid.’

  I lose the battle and bark a laugh. ‘Bat-zebra hybrid?’ Not what I was expecting. ‘What makes it so dangerous?’

  Thinking face back in place, she taps a finger against her cymbal clash lips. ‘It throws fire.’ She points at me so suddenly I startle. ‘From the tips of its wings!’

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t know what you were worried about. You’re a natural.’

  Her eyes light up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’ Yeah, her smile definitely does weird things to my insides. ‘I’m starving. Want to order the Baba Ghanoush and another dip to start while we decide on the rest?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  Ten minutes later our dips arrive and we order a mixed taster plate.

  ‘So, percentage wise, how many questions do you think you nailed on that make-up test?’

  From anyone else, the in-your-face question would have me gnawing on my fingers, but strangely, I’m getting used to MJ’s sledgehammer conversational approach. ‘Maybe eighty per cent?’ I say.

  She nods. Here’s hoping it’s because she’s happy with my answer.

  ‘Now all you need to do is pass your final exam which—with my help—you’ll ace, and you’re set.’ Her face breaks into an infectious smile. Or maybe it’s her confidence in me that’s yanking up the corners of my mouth again.

  ‘You sound so sure.’ I pass her the last of the hummus. She shakes her head and I finish it off with a bite of pita.

  ‘I am. You’re doing great.’

  ‘Great enough to enrol in a Masters?’ I freeze. Why the hell did I ask her that? Other than Zac and Annie, no-one knows about my post-grad pipe dream. The fewer people know, the less chance there is of them laughing their head off at the idea.

  I can’t taste what’s in my mouth, but I force myself to keep chewing so I don’t look like a complete idiot while I wait for MJ’s reply.

  Her face scrunches like balled up paper. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

  The bite of pita lodges half way down my throat and I fumble for my water.

  Why would you want to do that? Not the same as Annie’s: Don’t you think that’s too much for someone like you to take on?, but close.

  ‘Luke? Are you okay?’

  Four mouthfuls of water later I can speak again. ‘Sure. All good.’

  ‘It’s just, you’re only in your first year and a Masters is a lot—’

  ‘Forget I asked. No big deal,’ I say but avoid her eyes.

  ‘I’m just surprised. I thought you were just doing chemistry to prove—I mean, to make you more employable.’

  Chemistry. She’s talking about chemistry, which should make her comment easier to swallow. So why doesn’t it? ‘Not a Masters in Science. In Special Ed.’

  The creases across MJ’s brow iron out. ‘Why didn’t you say so? That’s completely different.’

  ‘Is it? Postgrad study is postgrad study: more commitment and hard work.’ Harder than a make-up test, that’s for sure.

  ‘So?’

  Her question throws me. It must show on my face, because she leans across the table and pokes a finger at the centre of my chest.

  ‘Yes, postgrad is definitely a different playing field, but from what I’ve seen you’re not someone who shies away from commitment and hard work. And the chance to study something you’re passionate about …’ Her eyes fix on the wall over my left shoulder and flare with something like longing.

  They’re still full of faraway possibility when she meets my gaze. ‘You’ve got to do it, Luke. It’s a while away yet, but you should definitely work towards the Masters. The workshops you run at Rosie’s school will more than prove to an interview panel that you’re committed to the subject. And the theory isn’t … well it isn’t chemistry.’

  Still not convinced. ‘Un
like you, study’s damn hard for me.’

  She snorts. ‘It’s not exactly a walk through a field of brain cells for me either.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Eyes cast down on her empty plate, MJ is quiet for a couple of beats. ‘The truth is I have to work hard for my grades. Theo’s the one with the natural talent. Me on the other hand—’ her teeth find the corner of her lip, ‘—it’s all discipline and hours of study.’

  Okay, not what I was expecting.

  ‘I’ve seen what you can do when you put your mind to it, Luke. I’ve seen the passion you have for those kids. If anyone has what it takes to do a Special Ed Masters, it’s you. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  Well I’m not, but damn if her confidence in me doesn’t make me want the dream that little bit more.

  ‘I’ve got another two years before I need to decide. I guess if my grades are okay …’ I shrug, but my foot is tapping away under the table, refusing to listen to all the reasons I shouldn’t look to enrol in subjects that’d pave the way into Special Ed. For the first time, the idea doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

  Our mixed platter arrives. I take my time between bites, not wanting to slow the flow of our conversation.

  ‘What about you?’ I ask. ‘I know you’re headed for a Master of Surgery. What made you want to become a doctor?’

  Her face shutters and the air around her grows heavy with tension. What did I say?

  She takes particular care placing a cabbage roll onto her plate. ‘I’ve just always wanted to be one.’

  The way her jaw juts sideways, just a little—yeah, not buying it. It’s not the first time she’s reacted strangely to the subject of her studying medicine. The car trip home, there was that whole prison sentence feel, the air of resignation.

  Then I remember. ‘Your mum’s a doctor, right?’

  She nods. ‘GP.’

  ‘And Theo was heading that way before he decided to swap the stethoscope for paint brushes?’

  Another nod, but her gaze slips from mine. Too late. I’ve spotted the truth she’s trying to hide.

  ‘You don’t want to study medicine, do you?’