Cupid's Sabotage (COMPLETED)

Chapter 3

Chemistry class is always fun. You get to mix weird liquids together in strangely shaped bottles, then wait for someone to mess up. And someone always messes up. I heard about this one kid who goes to school at Trixton High; he dumped a bag of sodium phosphates into a five-gallon bucket of water. The result: a plume of thick, white smoke that grew to such a proportion, they had to evacuate the entire school for three days!

Sadly, I haven't seen anything near that exciting at my school. I'm pretty sure the teachers here have removed the more volatile chemicals from the equation for our safety. After all, we're a bunch of middle-graders; we can't be trusted with such chemicals. I don't want to imagine how Reggie will react when he's in high school—if he makes it to high school, that is. In chemistry class, he'll have a row of highly flammable liquids in front of him with the task of mixing them appropriately. Twenty bucks says he'll blow up the school.

Forty-five minutes later, chem class ends and second period begins with geometry. This is one of three classes I share with Marcus, and he brings an entirely new meaning to the word "teacher's pet". When Mrs. Brighten asks a math question, his hand is the first to shoot skyward and he always answers correctly. Most of the kids in class hate him for his superior intellect, but I don't mind. Math isn't my strong suit, so it's nice having someone else take the limelight.

The bell shrills throughout the classroom signaling the end of geometry class. Third period doesn't start for another ten minutes, so I have time to find a bathroom. I hope I can salvage my hair. I still haven't seen Gwenevere, which is weird. I usually see her in the morning before first period. Maybe she's sick.

Marcus catches up with me in the hall; his backpack still over both shoulders. "Did you see the new calculator my folks bought me?" He proudly holds up a Casio calculator in display as if he's showcasing the newest iPhone or something. "It can calculate scientific notations, logarithmic equations, and even hyperbolic trigonometry!"

"And I suppose it can split atoms, too?" I say dryly.

Marcus frowns at me as if he's completely offended that I don't equally share his passion for calculators. "What? Don't be foolish, Christian. Just because it's called a scientific calculator, doesn't mean it has anything to do with nuclear fission."

Sometimes I forget we're the same age. More so, I sometimes wonder if he's part alien. I mean, the guy could apply for Harvard next week and likely get accepted. Maybe I'm just jealous of his intellect. If I were the intelligent one, I could figure out where I stand with Gwenevere. Are we over or am I overthinking things? Why do relationships have to be so complicated?

Marcus continues raving about his calculator. "This is strictly for mathematical and engineering purposes only. I'm thinking about starting a collection. I figure if I collect one calculator a month for the next fifteen years, I'll have one hundred and eighty calculators by the time I'm twenty-five. I may even try to break the Guinness World Record!" He fidgets with his glasses excitedly. "Now, if I can only get my dad to give me a raise in my allowance."

"Are you serious, Marcus? Don't you think collecting baseball cards or model trains is a bit more—I don't know—sane?"

"Sane? No, why? Lots of people collect unique items: erasers, beer cans, yo-yos. Tom Hanks is well-known for collecting antique typewriters. And even Reggie collects action figures."

"Which brings us right back to the sane question," I mutter under my breath. Twenty years from now, I expect to see him being featured on an episode of Hoarders. Marcus is still chatting about his future collection when I leave him standing in the hallway.

World history is next, the same class I share with Gwenevere, but there's still no sign of her at all today, which makes me question if she stayed home. Maybe she is sick. Or maybe she had a dentist appointment. I don't know. But in case she's just being creatively elusive, I'm not taking any chances on her seeing me like this. It's imperative I make as good of an impression as possible. It feels like I'm losing her these days.