The Formula for Romance

The Pursuit

"Jessica, pay attention!" snapped Miss Jonson, her voice filled with impatience. Rolling my eyes, I muttered under my breath, "I'm paying attention." I can't stand this teacher. It's as if she believes chemistry requires the existence of actual brain cells for me. Little does she know that this is, by far, my easiest class this year. I had prepared myself well in advance upon receiving confirmation from my advisor that I was assigned to this class. Not that I need any additional knowledge on the subject; I've already mastered everything there is to know about chemistry. In fact, my passion for genetics, dating back to my childhood, has fueled my desire to pursue a college education in genetics for medicinal research. With my solid foundation in chemistry, I'm confident this class will be a breeze, earning me an easy A.

"I'm paying attention, Miss Jonson," I retorted, maintaining a calm demeanor despite her condescending tone. Yet, she persisted, testing my knowledge by pointing to a random equation on the board and challenging me to answer it. Without hesitation, I confidently supplied the correct answer, leaving her visibly surprised. If her eye roll and dismissive attitude weren't proof enough of her low expectations for me, the chuckles from my classmates certainly affirmed it. After two months of trying to catch me off guard, one would think she would have learned her lesson by now.

But why waste my attention on this class? If there's anything worthy of my focus, it's my college application to the esteemed University of California, the epitome of excellence in genetics education. Since childhood, I've harbored dreams of attending this prestigious institution, knowing that it holds the key to my future success. Everything else pales in comparison. College is my sole priority at the moment, and I'm determined to make it a reality.

"Alright, class, make sure to complete the assigned readings for next week's exam," Miss Jonson announced, her voice dripping with a hint of importance. "Remember, this exam is worth 10 percent of your grade, equivalent to a whole letter grade. I strongly advise those who need it to dedicate time to studying."

As I gathered my belongings, ready to escape the confines of this uninspiring classroom, a familiar voice called out to me. "Hey, hey, girly pop!" Sage, my lifelong best friend and the one person who truly understands my ambitions. Our friendship had blossomed over the years, growing stronger as we shared dreams and experiences, living side by side as neighbors since childhood. I would have never reached out to her myself to be friends; honestly, I've never cared much about having friends. They've always seemed like mere distractions. However, back in fourth grade, when she moved into the neighborhood, Sage kept pestering me relentlessly until I eventually caved and allowed her to become my friend. Since then, we've been inseparable, attached at the hip. There's no one who knows me as well as she does, despite our glaring differences.

Physically, Sage is a striking contrast to me. Standing at five foot seven with long, graceful legs, she could easily be mistaken for a supermodel. She is the epitome of beauty, the most stunning person I've ever known. Her hair always looks effortlessly perfect, even when she rolls out of bed. She opts for natural and light makeup, although truth be told, she doesn't even need it. However, it's her eyes that truly captivate everyone's attention. They're large, round, and the most mesmerizing shade of blue, enhanced by her insanely long eyelashes. Whenever we stand side by side, I can't help but feel like an insignificant troll in comparison.

Ironically, despite her undeniable beauty, Sage has never been able to maintain a long-term relationship. As soon as things start to get serious, she ends it, fearing the inevitable boredom that may ensue. Instead, she prefers to have a new "boy toy" every couple of months. This trend began during our freshman year of high school when her sudden physical development attracted the attention of every guy in school. Nearly four years later, one might assume she would grow weary of this lifestyle, but she seems perfectly content with it. Personally, I couldn't care less about her dating choices; I know she can take care of herself, so I only intervene when she explicitly asks for my input.