Getting Physical
Perfect. . .
Mrs. Guillford walked in and smiled her brace-face smile at all of us. She understood us.
She had been one of us.
And probably always would be.
"Okay, everybody! I need my joke of the day. Chrysanthemum, show me whatcha got!" she exclaimed as she sat down on the top of her desk, flung her purse at the wall, and crossed her ankles. "By the way, Alyssa, nice shoes." she smiled and I knew that she meant it.
Lilypad looked nervous and flipped through a few pages. "I worked on these ALL last night! The statistical probability of you calling on me was running high so--"
Bernard jumped in. "Statistical probability has nothing to do with it, Lilypad! It's a momentary thought, completely random."
Mrs. Guillford held up her hands, a small white flag in her left and a green one in her right. "To the victor goes the spoils." she said as she pulled out a new Bohr model and started to hand it to Lilypad.
She stopped.
"But, this isn't war, it's chemistry. Therefore, you both get nothing besides a smile and these handkerchiefs. Really you two, it would be so much easier if you could be a normal couple."
Berny and Lilypad had been dating for three years and were quite the hot commodity.
In OUR circle.
Lilypad smiled. "Normal? That would be like mixing potassium permanganate and glycerol together. Dangerous and more than a little moronic."
Everyone laughed because we all understood this.
See, these two chemicals, when mixed together, heat up, and eventually catch fire.
Therefore, she's saying that--
Well, you get the joke.
Mrs. Guillford laughed and gave Lilypad a high-five. "Okay, kiddo. Gimme the joke."
Lilypad smiled and looked down as she adjusted her wire-frame glasses. "How did the football cheerleader define hydrophobic on her chemistry exam?"
Mrs. Guillford shrugged. "I don't know. How?"
"Fear of utility bills."
Everybody bust out laughing, offering Lilypad the customary Chemical handshake.
Just so you know, our handshakes aren't JUST hand-shakes. In-fact, they're quite complicated.
Here's the rundown.
You take hold of their hand, shake three times, the person that grabbed on releases, slaps the back of the hand, and everyone yells, "Chemical reaction!", because your skin turns red.
Once you've been introduced to this magic-test, you're in.
Well, you're pretty much in BEFORE that, because we'll take anybody who isn't out to smash our faces.
But we still don't get many friends. . .
"Alright you guys, take out your Chemistry books and--" Mrs. Guillford stopped, an impish smile on her face, "You know what? No books today. Who wants to use chemicals? Burn some colors and make some gas?!" she exclaimed and the class laughed.
We are nerds.
We live for 'smog', as we call it. Because, come on, it just sounds way more cool than 'smoke'.
^.^
The chemistry class was short lived and so my day ended. It always made me feel better to end on a lighter note. To end with the laughter and the jokes and the smog.
And I would take those minutes over a black eye and a busted lip any day.
"Hey, 'Lyssa!"
I heard Archie yell from behind me.
"Wait up!"
I stopped and pushed up my glasses.
Is it just me, or is there some kind of weird rule that all nerds have to wear glasses?
Hell, maybe it WAS just me.
"Whatcha need, Arch?" I asked as I pushed back a piece of his blonde hair.
Archie had been a football boy before he was one of us. He was daddy's little pro-ball player. But one year, his freshman year in high-school, he was the first freshman on the Varsity team, he was leading the team in the state championship.
All of us nerds had loaded up in Lilypad's mother's van and endured four hours of "Gitchy-Gitchy-Ya-Ya-Baby!" Just to see him play.
Because we all knew that he was smart.
Problem?
We were the ONLY ones who knew.
And we had been swore to secrecy.
Right in the middle of the biggest play, a player from Wilson High stepped on his knee. God, it was a sight. His leg bent like that, his knee caved in and the blood--
That was what had turned me off the color red for the rest of my life. The bone had gone through the skin and was sticking out the back.
He didn't scream.
He laid there.
Silent.
While they carried him off the field and into an ambulance.
They put in metal bolts in his knee to hold it together and now he walks with a little bit of a limp, but he's still pretty "buff", as the pom-pom squad would say. He still works out, keeping himself in shape for something that none of us know.
"Want a--a--wrsnide hmome--" he mumbled.
"Okay, I have no idea what you just said." I said with a laugh as I pushed his arm as he walked along the path to the school parking lot.
I knew what he was saying, I just wanted him to actually SAY it.
Archie pushed his right hand through his hair. "Do you want a ride home?"
I nodded. "Sure."
He turned bright red and made me wonder how he used to get senior girls.
His car wasn't anything special. A tiny red coop with a beat up rear end and a busted out headlight. By the way, this Coop is from like. . .1983 or something. It's got more rust than it has red.
I climbed in, throwing my bag into the backseat and adjusted my legs around the McDonald wrappers and Dairy Queen paper in the floor.
"Hungry much?" I asked with a laugh.
He turned red again. "You'll never starve when you're in here. Lets see, we've got--nope, that's empty. Here we go, a McDonald's--nope, that's empty, also. Okay, so you can eat the paper."
"Sure that's safe?"
"Knowing the chemicals used in producing this stuff, I wouldn't think so."
"Chemicals in the paper are--"
"No, I meant the food residue." he exclaimed as they both burst out laughing.
"Good point." I said as I dumped a watered-down coke out the window.
I smiled as I rolled the window down more, feeling the wind pushing through my hair. I pulled the ponytail holder out and smiled as the cold wind flashed across my hot face.
Sometimes the day could end. . .perfect.
She had been one of us.
And probably always would be.
"Okay, everybody! I need my joke of the day. Chrysanthemum, show me whatcha got!" she exclaimed as she sat down on the top of her desk, flung her purse at the wall, and crossed her ankles. "By the way, Alyssa, nice shoes." she smiled and I knew that she meant it.
Lilypad looked nervous and flipped through a few pages. "I worked on these ALL last night! The statistical probability of you calling on me was running high so--"
Bernard jumped in. "Statistical probability has nothing to do with it, Lilypad! It's a momentary thought, completely random."
Mrs. Guillford held up her hands, a small white flag in her left and a green one in her right. "To the victor goes the spoils." she said as she pulled out a new Bohr model and started to hand it to Lilypad.
She stopped.
"But, this isn't war, it's chemistry. Therefore, you both get nothing besides a smile and these handkerchiefs. Really you two, it would be so much easier if you could be a normal couple."
Berny and Lilypad had been dating for three years and were quite the hot commodity.
In OUR circle.
Lilypad smiled. "Normal? That would be like mixing potassium permanganate and glycerol together. Dangerous and more than a little moronic."
Everyone laughed because we all understood this.
See, these two chemicals, when mixed together, heat up, and eventually catch fire.
Therefore, she's saying that--
Well, you get the joke.
Mrs. Guillford laughed and gave Lilypad a high-five. "Okay, kiddo. Gimme the joke."
Lilypad smiled and looked down as she adjusted her wire-frame glasses. "How did the football cheerleader define hydrophobic on her chemistry exam?"
Mrs. Guillford shrugged. "I don't know. How?"
"Fear of utility bills."
Everybody bust out laughing, offering Lilypad the customary Chemical handshake.
Just so you know, our handshakes aren't JUST hand-shakes. In-fact, they're quite complicated.
Here's the rundown.
You take hold of their hand, shake three times, the person that grabbed on releases, slaps the back of the hand, and everyone yells, "Chemical reaction!", because your skin turns red.
Once you've been introduced to this magic-test, you're in.
Well, you're pretty much in BEFORE that, because we'll take anybody who isn't out to smash our faces.
But we still don't get many friends. . .
"Alright you guys, take out your Chemistry books and--" Mrs. Guillford stopped, an impish smile on her face, "You know what? No books today. Who wants to use chemicals? Burn some colors and make some gas?!" she exclaimed and the class laughed.
We are nerds.
We live for 'smog', as we call it. Because, come on, it just sounds way more cool than 'smoke'.
^.^
The chemistry class was short lived and so my day ended. It always made me feel better to end on a lighter note. To end with the laughter and the jokes and the smog.
And I would take those minutes over a black eye and a busted lip any day.
"Hey, 'Lyssa!"
I heard Archie yell from behind me.
"Wait up!"
I stopped and pushed up my glasses.
Is it just me, or is there some kind of weird rule that all nerds have to wear glasses?
Hell, maybe it WAS just me.
"Whatcha need, Arch?" I asked as I pushed back a piece of his blonde hair.
Archie had been a football boy before he was one of us. He was daddy's little pro-ball player. But one year, his freshman year in high-school, he was the first freshman on the Varsity team, he was leading the team in the state championship.
All of us nerds had loaded up in Lilypad's mother's van and endured four hours of "Gitchy-Gitchy-Ya-Ya-Baby!" Just to see him play.
Because we all knew that he was smart.
Problem?
We were the ONLY ones who knew.
And we had been swore to secrecy.
Right in the middle of the biggest play, a player from Wilson High stepped on his knee. God, it was a sight. His leg bent like that, his knee caved in and the blood--
That was what had turned me off the color red for the rest of my life. The bone had gone through the skin and was sticking out the back.
He didn't scream.
He laid there.
Silent.
While they carried him off the field and into an ambulance.
They put in metal bolts in his knee to hold it together and now he walks with a little bit of a limp, but he's still pretty "buff", as the pom-pom squad would say. He still works out, keeping himself in shape for something that none of us know.
"Want a--a--wrsnide hmome--" he mumbled.
"Okay, I have no idea what you just said." I said with a laugh as I pushed his arm as he walked along the path to the school parking lot.
I knew what he was saying, I just wanted him to actually SAY it.
Archie pushed his right hand through his hair. "Do you want a ride home?"
I nodded. "Sure."
He turned bright red and made me wonder how he used to get senior girls.
His car wasn't anything special. A tiny red coop with a beat up rear end and a busted out headlight. By the way, this Coop is from like. . .1983 or something. It's got more rust than it has red.
I climbed in, throwing my bag into the backseat and adjusted my legs around the McDonald wrappers and Dairy Queen paper in the floor.
"Hungry much?" I asked with a laugh.
He turned red again. "You'll never starve when you're in here. Lets see, we've got--nope, that's empty. Here we go, a McDonald's--nope, that's empty, also. Okay, so you can eat the paper."
"Sure that's safe?"
"Knowing the chemicals used in producing this stuff, I wouldn't think so."
"Chemicals in the paper are--"
"No, I meant the food residue." he exclaimed as they both burst out laughing.
"Good point." I said as I dumped a watered-down coke out the window.
I smiled as I rolled the window down more, feeling the wind pushing through my hair. I pulled the ponytail holder out and smiled as the cold wind flashed across my hot face.
Sometimes the day could end. . .perfect.