Page 6 of Call It Chemistry

She looks at me for a moment, her expression inscrutable, and then says, “Depends what you want out of it.”

Before I can answer, Hunter bangs on the door. “Come on, man. Let’s see it!”

I step into the hallway, heart pounding, and try to do the walk the way Sara showed me. The sequins catch the overhead light in epileptic bursts. I keep my arms glued to my sides, terrified of tripping or worse, exposing something indecent.

Hunter stops mid-cheer, eyes wide. “Holy shit, Monty.”

He circles around me, mouth open in admiration. “That’s… insane. You could rob a bank like that. No one would ever catch you.”

Sara grins, adjusting the neckline a fraction. “See? I told you.”

Hunter whistles. “Do the voice.”

I scowl. “No.”

He pouts. “Come on. You have to.”

“Ugh.” I close my eyes, recall the YouTube video Hunter made me watch, and summon the nerve. “I’m not bad,” I say, pitching my voice low and sultry, “I’m just drawn that way.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence, then Hunter whoops and doubles over laughing. “Perfect!” he says. “You are going to own this party.”

Sara laughs, but there’s something else in her eyes—a kind of pride, but also a warning. “Ok, outta the dress before you ruin it.”

I waddle back into the bathroom to collect myself. I stare at the stranger in the mirror—her, me—and feel something unexpected. Not just dread. Not just embarrassment. There’s a flicker of thrill, an electric charge at the sight of my own transformation.

Maybe the party won’t be so bad after all.

—ΠΩ—

The chemistry building after dark is all echo and stale coffee, a mausoleum of bad lighting and overachievers. I know the corridors by heart—the stains on the floor tiles, the way the vending machine flickers sporadically, the burned-out EXIT sign above the men’s room. I cut through the main hallway and hear Aaron Thompson before I see him.

His usual flock of physics majors surround him just outside Lab 207. Exuding more confidence than should be legal after sunset, Aaron’s voice reverberates louder than a glass beaker crashing on tile through the otherwise empty corridor.

“So she stands up,” Aaron says, “and she’s shaking so hard, I think the Bunsen burner’s gonna fall off the table. Collins goes, ‘Ms. Greene, would you care to explain?’ and she just—” He pantomimes someone getting whiplash, jerking his head left, then right. “—she’s like, ‘I… um… it’s… uh…’ and then silence. You could hear the electrons screaming.”

The crowd loses it. There’s a brittle, predatory quality to their laughter, the kind that feeds on shared superiority.

I speed up, pulling my backpack tighter to my chest, praying that my footsteps don’t echo too loud. Aaron’s eyes catchmine for a microsecond, but I look away, focusing on the railing for the stairwell.

Behind me, he keeps going. “Seriously, does she even have a nervous system? It’s like watching a jellyfish try to do calculus.”

My teeth clench. Natalie Greene is in two of my discussion sections. She’s not a genius, but she tries harder than anyone in that room, and even I know she’s terrified of public speaking. For once, I wish I was the kind of person who could say something—who could stop and, I don’t know, call out the social-Darwinist bullshit. But instead, I keep moving, letting the hallway swallow me.

At the bottom of the stairs, Hunter’s already waiting, leaning against the wall with a cup of coffee that’s probably half whiskey.

He sizes me up, then glances over my shoulder at the commotion upstairs. “What’d I miss?”

I shake my head. “Just Thompson being a dick.”

Hunter’s jaw tightens behind his smile, his eyes flat, glacial. “Anyone ever tell you that guy peaked in high school?”

“He still thinks he’s peaking,” I say, managing a weak laugh.

Hunter downs his coffee and tosses the cup in a trash bin as he pushes off the wall. Falling into step beside me, we head toward the quad. He’s unusually silent, hands jammed in his pockets, his gait rigid. Usually, he fills the air with plans or pranks or unsolicited advice on my love life. Tonight, he just simmers.

We cross the moonlit quad, and he finally breaks the silence. “You know what?” he says, voice lower than usual. “I think our little Jessica Rabbit stunt is about to get way more interesting.”

I side-eye him. “How? I thought the whole point was to humiliate me.”