Teusday - January 9, 2018 - 10:25 a.m.

Sam's parents dropped Axel and I off at school, where we headed straight to the guidance office to retrieve our late passes for third period. As I approached my locker, I tried to clear my muddled mind just enough to remember my combination.

I kept thinking about something Sam had said back at the hospital, four words that gave me chills every time I replayed them in my head.

There's always next time...

I flinched in terror as the image of Sam's body, cold and immobile on the bathroom floor, seeped back into my mind. I faintly recalled the glimmer of hope in his eyes as we'd left the hospital, though I didn't know whether this was enough to assure me he wouldn't make another attempt at his life.

Periods three, four and five dragged slower than ever before. The distractions of the past week were starting to take a toll on my grades, and I desperately hoped that a couple of failed quizzes and missed assignments wouldn't be enough to demolish the two-point-five GPA I was required to maintain for Mizzou's athletic scholarship.

"How can they just throw him in some insane asylum without his permission?"

"He's still a minor," I reminded Axel as we left the cafeteria. "Maybe this is for the best. He does need help right now."

"Brandon, this is bullshit! He's just going through a hard time. He doesn't belong in a fucking mental ward. Can't they just give him some pills or something?"

"I don't think they want him anywhere near pills after yesterday. Besides, if they release him now, he's bound to try this shit again. It's not like we can babysit him twenty-four hours a day. I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't walk back into that house and find him sprawled out on the ground like roadkill. I know this whole situation is fucked up, but he needs some time to get his head straight. There could have been a much worse ending to this, and we should thank our lucky stars he's gonna be in a secure facility instead of a casket."

"I guess you're right," Axel admitted before trailing off to his locker.

Mr. Gattozzi was already distributing the safety goggles throughout the room when I walked into Chemistry.

"In addition to today's lab," he announced, "there will be a corresponding analysis of six pages—single-spaced, twelve-point Times New Roman—due by the end of class next Wednesday. It would be less than wise to begin the night before. This report is worth twenty percent of your quarter grade."

I let out a reluctant groan under my breath. My usual procrastination tactics were never feasible in Mr. Gattozzi's class. Tight deadlines mixed with tough grading was never an optimal combination.

"Alright, everyone. Let's pair up and get started."

I soon realized I was in a bit of a bind, seeing as my usual lab partner was stuck in a hospital bed at the moment. I briefly considered slipping away to the bathroom to spend the rest of the period in the sanctity of a quiet stall, though I decided to stick around for the sake of my grade.

I cast a tentative stare around the room, searching for a willing alternative to Sam to no avail.

"Need a partner?" came a soft, unfamiliar voice from behind me.

I jerked around in shock, wondering if it had been directed at me. Much to my surprise, a girl holding a small black binder stood before me, her glistening green eyes dead set on mine.

This wasn't just any girl, but the same one I'd seen at the diner a couple months back—the one Axel had charmed into coming to Cassie's surprise party after I'd chickened out. She must have been a transfer student or something, seeing as she'd popped up out of nowhere back in November. This was the only class we had together, and I'd never managed to get her name. Her usual seat was in the far right-hand corner next to the emergency eyewash station, and although we found ourselves locked in mutual stares from time to time, we'd never spoken one syllable to each other.

It took my brain a moment to process the fact that she was still standing in front of me, and after gawking for much longer than socially acceptable, I figured I should respond before she lost interest.

"Sure!" I blurted sheepishly, motioning to the empty seat beside me.

She smiled gracefully, inching her stool closer to mine before sitting down. The heavenly scent of her perfume flooded my nostrils—coconut, or maybe lavender.

I was so accustomed to examining this girl from across the room. The pesky shade from the colossal elm tree outside often prevented me from getting a good look at her face. Her features were even more breathtaking up close. Her shimmering hair—which had undergone numerous transformations throughout the past months—had returned to its original platinum blond with wavy pink tips.

"Brandon, right?"

I managed a baffled nod.

Holy fuck. She knows my name.

I guess it shouldn't have come as such a surprise. Being the quarterback and homecoming King had made me a household name around school. Still, hearing it from her mouth, in her angelic voice, sent goosebumps racing up my arms. Long sleeves were a good choice for today.

"I'm Zara," she said. Her frosty white teeth sparkled in her smile.

"Nice to meet you," I managed once again.

I couldn't get over how unspeakably beautiful she was in this more direct line of vision. It was the kind of beauty from which your eyes couldn't disengage, no matter how hard they tried to break free.

"I'll go get the materials," she offered, heading over to the supply closet.

I swiftly grabbed the packets Mr. Gattozzi had left on our table, eager to start on the lab in the hopes that it would distract me from her overwhelming presence.

She returned a moment later with a small jar of pennies and a beaker filled a third of the way with water. She balanced two Petri dishes on her arm, one with a sandy brown powder labeled Zn, the other a grainy substance labeled NaOH that slightly resembled cocaine—at least from what I'd seen in The Wolf of Wall Street.

About five minutes had passed before the ill-fated hiccups began. Ever since I was a kid, it was an involuntary tendency of mine that erupted whenever I found myself in a nerve-racking situation. During the third-grade geography bee, it got so bad that I was ushered from the stage and forced to forfeit the sudden death round on European capitals.

"Excuse me," I said, trying to pass them of as coughs.

Despite my best efforts to suppress them, the hiccups refused to let up. I knew the catalyst was sitting right beside me.

"Pull your tongue," she said.

"What?"

She clipped her fingers to her tongue and pulled gently. "It's a trick my mom taught me, a surefire remedy for hiccups. Never failed me once."

I couldn't tell if she was busting my balls, or if this was genuine advice. I tentatively raised my fingers to my mouth and clenched them between my tongue, pulling lightly a few times. To my astonishment, the hiccups vanished as quickly as they'd arrived. I stared at her in amazement.

"Pretty neat, right?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "I'll have to remember that one."

"If moms are good for anything, it's life hacks."

"I guess I owe you one in return," I said with a grin. "You know, if you throw some ice cubes into the dryer with your clothes, you can kiss your wrinkles goodbye. The steam from the melted water works wonders on the fabric."

Her laugh was as light and pleasant as she was. "Good one, although yours sounded more like a cheesy infomercial."

I chuckled and gave an agreeing nod.

For a brief moment, I'd somehow forgotten the assignment at hand. I would've gladly spent the rest of the period just talking to her.

With silent reluctance, I directed my focus back to the instructions in front of me, skimming them just enough to get an idea of the procedure.

"We'd better get this underway," she suggested, rolling up the sleeves of her burgundy cardigan and slipping on a pair of blue latex gloves.

Before I'd even glanced at the first step, she was already spooning the white powder into the water, lightly swiveling the beaker until any remnants had dissolved. Then she placed the beaker onto the hot plate and, with extreme caution, lowered one of the pennies into the murky liquid.

"I think it's ready for the Zinc." She motioned to the brown powder sitting before me. "Care to do the honors?"

I promptly followed her direction, though I still had no idea what the hell I was doing.

"All of it?" I asked warily.

She nodded, letting out another one of her endearing giggles. I was glad she was getting some amusement out of my incompetence.

I took a crack at the lab questions as we waited for the zinc and sodium hydroxide to work their magic. Every so often, my eyes would roam as stealthily as possible to her paper, which resulted in a series of awkward side-eye glances. Her eyes were always accompanied by a suggestive smile that sent my stomach bursting into backflips. I was still struggling to get over the fact that I was only inches away from her months after admiring her from across the room, without so much as a name to match to her beautiful face.

Are the changes in the penny categorized as chemical or physical? Explain your answer.

I flipped endlessly through the chapter to no avail.

"Chemical."

I glanced up at the sound of her melodic voice. She was smiling at me.

"The zinc and the copper combine to form brass, which is a metallic alloy."

I quickly scribbled my answer—her answer—onto my paper.

"Thanks," I said. I could feel a grateful smile beaming across my face.

When the timer finally buzzed, she carefully dipped the tongs into the beaker and removed the penny, whose color had transformed from its usual bleak copper into a dazzling silver.

She glanced down at the worksheet. "Step two: submerge penny in flame for thirty seconds, rotating frequently." She switched on the burner, which ignited a sharp, neon blue flame. "You wanna give it a go?"

I nodded hesitantly as she handed me the tongs, sticking the silver penny into the crisp flame. At first, it didn't appear to have any effect, and I prayed my faulty technique wasn't to blame. Thankfully, as I removed the coin from the flame thirty seconds later, its silver surface had transitioned yet again, this time into a shimmering gold. I had to admit, science was pretty cool sometimes.

"You're a regular Bill Nye," she teased.

"Thanks," I chuckled, jotting down my observations.

As I reached for the empty beaker beside me, an earsplitting crash filled the classroom as it shattered on the ground. Apparently the impeccable hand-eye coordination I'd developed from years of football had chosen today of all days to act up.

"Shit," I muttered, rushing to do damage control.

Zara immediately shot out of her seat and grabbed the waste bin from the corner. I cast her an appreciatory glance as we picked up the countless shards scattered around our station.

"Sorry about that," I said, scooping the final pieces into the trash. "You know, it's not too late to back out of this partnership."

"Are you kidding? This is nothing. At my old school back in L.A., my textbook caught fire on the Bunsen burner while I was posting a story to SnapChat. Someone in the hall was gracious enough to pull the fire alarm and cause a schoolwide evacuation, complete with a riveting visit from the fire marshal. Needless to say, I was the main attraction for the rest of the week. And not in the good way."

An odd wave of relief washed over me as we sat back down.

"I guess we're even. You're from L.A., then?"

She nodded. "Fresh out of Orange County. I just transferred here in November."

"Orange County, huh? What's it like there?"

I just referred to it by its initials.

"I can tell you now, it's nothing like the Jack Black movie, or that cringy TV show from the 2000s."

"Well, on behalf of the entire town of Chamberlain, I sincerely apologize."

She giggled, and her eyes turned incredulous. "What are you talking about? I love it here! It's so quaint and peaceful." She stared longingly out the window. "I really like the serenity of small-town life. The fact that I can walk outside without being bombarded by joggers and taxi horns is a surprisingly nice touch."

"Oh, come on. Los Angeles has to be better than this crapshoot."

She shrugged. "I don't know. The beaches and boardwalks and are cool and all, especially when you're growing up, but the colorful west side can get pretty gray after you've been there for so long. Besides, I was nowhere near the real action."

"So you're telling me you haven't hung out with any celebrities?"

"I wish. Hollywood was at least an hour drive away, with light traffic. Although I did see Jennifer Aniston outside a T.J. Maxx in Burbank once. I got her to sign my Chic-Fil-A cup."

It was hard to believe that living in one of the biggest hotspots in the world was truly as bland as she described it. Who knows, maybe the thrill did wear off after a while.

"So, how long have you lived in Chamberlain?" she asked as she extinguished the flame.

"My whole life. My mom grew up in St. Louis, and she met my dad during undergrad after he was transferred to his company's headquarters in St. Joseph. After a few weekends of Moscow mules and eighties karaoke night, they were already engaged. They'd never planned to settle down out here in the middle of nowhere. After I was born, I guess life got in the way of their plans."

"Damn," she said. "That sounds like something straight out of a Nicholas Sparks book."

I'd managed to bullshit a good half of the lab questions before the dreaded two p.m. drowsiness began its takeover. I glanced in agony at the clock above me, mentally preparing for the next fifty-six minutes.

It took me a second to notice the mischievous look flashing in Zara's eyes.

"Follow my lead," she said.

Before I could ask any questions, she was already making her way over to Mr. Gattozzi's desk. They were too far away for me to hear anything. All I could see was Zara clutching her stomach, along with the pained expression on her face. Mr. Gattozzi pulled out a green slip from his desk drawer, scribbled something down and handed it to her.

"Brandon!" he shouted, his eyes darting to me. "Would you be so kind as to walk Zara down to the nurse's office? I don't want her getting lost."

I hesitated briefly, my eyes shifting back and forth from him to the incomplete lab packet in front of me.

Thankfully he sensed my internal conflict. "I'll mark you both down as exempt for this lab. You can complete a makeup assignment on Monday."

"Okay," I said with relief, grabbing my bookbag and hurrying out the door with Zara.