Every Friday I post excerpts from my work-in-progress (WIP for those in the know). These will mostly be rough drafts of chapters, but in some cases I’ll drop in a full short story. Once the full story is completed (or the short story published) the draft will go away, so enjoy it while you can!
Life is funny—no matter how bad the situation, it can always get worse. Right until the last vestiges of hope explode in your face.
Megan Lark, face down on her notebook, was so deep in self-pity it took a second for her to recognize Mr. Smith was talking.
“… got something to say. I said listen up!”
She raised her head and grimaced. Not at the sight of her chemistry teacher, although there was a time when his long, unkempt beard, mangled red beret, and silly suspenders elicited that response. But she’d grown used to the odd little man, including his habit of standing on an upended milk crate and making melodramatic pronouncements.
Today he was in rare form. Waving a pudgy arm overhead and flushing with the exertion, he looked like a homeless garden gnome trying to hail a cab. No wonder he had trouble controlling the class.
“Stop talking right now—I mean it!”
No, the source of Megan’s disgust was more prosaic. An invisible cloud of sulfurous fumes wafted past on its way to the intake vent in the ceiling. She glanced toward the adjacent lab table where Phillip worked. From the look on his face, the experiment had failed. For the third time today if the reoccurring smell was any indication.
Guess I don’t need to worry about him. Not that it’ll matter if I can’t get mine to work.
Mr. Smith removed his beret and flailed it about, an eager matador in a room full of indifferent bulls. At last, a nearby student let loose a two-fingered whistle that could pierce eardrums. All conversation stopped, the din of voices replaced by an insistent hum from the overhead fluorescent lights.
“You must learn to pay attention,” Mr. Smith whined. “What if there was an emergency?”
“Is there an emergency?” Phillip looked ready to bolt for the door. “Can we end class early?”
Giggles rippled through the room. Mr. Smith cleared his throat and inadvertently slipping into a smokers hack. It sounded like he was trying to bring up a lung.
“That was just an illustration, as you well know,” he said, regaining his composure. “But I do have something important to say.”
Megan followed his eyes as Mr. Smith scanned the room, pausing to stare at a group of boys near the back of the lab.
Whoever’s guilty has ducked by now and you’re too short to see them.
“I’ve been told…,” Mr. Smith began. “That is, I’ve observed some of you treating the upcoming science fair competition a little too seriously.”
Megan frowned. First prize was a full scholarship to Servetus College. It wasn’t possible to take it too seriously
“Talking smack is one thing, but don’t get carried away.” He jabbed his beret at the air to emphasize the words. “Keep your hands on your own experiments. Anyone caught sabotaging a project is out of the science fair. You can also expect a suspension.”
“Does attempting to burn down the lab count?” Justin Dekker yelled from the back of the room.
The class erupted in laughter. Megan’s face went red.
“Very funny, Mr. Dekker. I’m not referring to that regretable incident. I just want to make it clear that neither I, nor the school, will tolerate cheating in any form.” Mr. Smith, hands on hips, dared another interruption. To Megan’s surprise, none came. “
“Good, I glad we understand each other. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the front office for a few minutes. If I don’t return before the bell, be sure to put a copy of today’s results on my desk. And don’t forget your final reports are due in two weeks—on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Judging takes place over break, so no late submissions and no excuses.”
A collective groan rose in the room as the students imagined the month’s worth of work they’d have to cram into fourteen days. And that included weekends. Who wanted to work on weekends?
Mr. Smith continued talking, but Megan stopped listening. If she couldn’t figure out why the expected chemical reaction failed to materialize, the experiment would be useless. And since it was the last in a long chain of experiments, its failure meant she’d have garbage for a final report. Maybe enough to pass the class. Not good enough to win the competition.
“Earth to Ms. Lark.”
Megan followed the sound of her name back to Mr. Smith. He was balancing on the crate with one foot in the process of stepping off.
“Sorry, Sir. I was thinking about my experiment.”
“At least it wasn’t an idle daydream. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t plan on blowing anything up while I’m gone.”
“I’ll be careful, Sir.”
A second round of laughter. Megan fixed her eyes on the notes in front of her and ignored the snide comments that followed.
The amusement at Megan’s distress faded away as Mr. Smith left the lab. Most students were, at best, reluctant junior scientists who wanted to finish their projects as fast as possible, turn in a report, and forget about chemistry during the holiday weekend. If it was up to them, they’d forget about it forever.
But Megan wasn’t most students. She had plans. First college—as a chemistry major—and escape from the small tourist town of Stratford. Quaint as it was, the nearby beaches of Lake Michigan had little attraction for a sensitive ginger who could burn under a mid-winter sun.
Next came graduate school. At her most optimistic, she dreamed of attending Stanford or Berkeley, but anywhere with a good doctoral program would do. Then, depending on how the breaks fell, a faculty teaching and research appointment or a high-paying job in industry.
Megan looked up from the doodles of molecules she was drawing in her notebook to see who was talking about a vacation to Europe. She immediately dropped her gaze to the floor and sighed. Justin, twirling a stainless steel ruler in one hand and carrying a jar of chemicals from the front cabinet in the other, was taking the long way back to his lab table.
And he was heading straight for her.
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