Page 2 of Advanced Chemistry

Everett: Let’s make it a real picnic and eat on the grass. I have a blanket in my car.

Amos: Here for it! It’s so nice out! I swapped lunch periods with Mr. Selner this week, so I’m available.

Everett: Meet you on the soccer field in five?

Julian: Done.

Amos: Yep!

Everett: Chase?

I stared at the quiet, empty teacher’s lounge, realizing I was in the minority of people wishing to stay inside.

Everett: Earth to Chase?

Chase: Wouldn’t it be more comfortable to sit at a table and eat?

A few minutes later, I joined my friends on a blanket in the middle of the soccer field. Groups of students were sprawled on the grass around us, enjoying lunch and the fresh air. There were only a few weeks of the school year when it was possible to enjoy being outside without it being too cold or too hot. I supposed I might as well enjoy the low humidity, sunshine, and warm breeze.

Amos, Everett, and Julian, and I were all gay teachers at South Rock High School. Amos taught history, Everett drama, and Julian French. We started around the same time and quickly bonded. It was one of those odd chemical reactions considering how different we are. Julian and I were on the quieter side, Amos was bubbly, and Everett was…volatile.

“I can’t believe Principal Aguilar won’t let me use live explosives on stage. That man has no appreciation for the arts.” Everett picked at his salad, his pale skin turning as red as his hair.

“Actual explosives?” Amos asked, his eyes bugging out. With his mop of tight, curly hair and lanky body, he sometimes reminded me of a puppet off his string, but in a good way. I once told him this, mistakenly thinking he would take it as a compliment.

“Yeah. But not a lot.” Everett rolled his eyes at the question. “It’s for this play I’m circling to direct for the fall show. There’s a flashback scene that takes place during war. How much more realistic and heart-pounding would it be for actual explosions to be going on in the background?”

“Heart-pounding for the wrong reasons,” Julian said.

“I’m with J. That sounds like twelve lawsuits waiting to happen.” Amos lay back and put on sunglasses for maximum outdoor enjoyment.

“I would have full control over the explosives. They’re fake explosives anyway.”

“Fake explosives how?” I asked. “What is the chemical incendiary element? If something is built to combust, then it can’t be fake.”

“I saw it on the internet.” Everett waved away my line of questioning.

“Even if the chemicals aren’t flammable, the act of explosion could cause particulates to fly into the air, compromising your actors. I don’t want to sacrifice your artistic vision, but wouldn’t it be easier to use sound effects?” I stared at Everett while chomping into my sandwich.

“That would be half-assing it,” Everett said.

“Better than half a student’s face getting blown off.” I shrugged. My friends cracked surprised smiles.

“I believe what you just experienced was Chase sassing you,” Amos said.

I had never considered myself funny. Sarcasm wasn’t my default mode. In Star Trek parlance, I was more Spock than Kirk. But being friends with these guys had brought out my humorous side over time. At first, it wasn’t intentional. I would state factual observations, and they somehow found them hilarious. Then I eventually discovered my sassy gay side. It had been stuffed deep down like layers of igneous rock in the earth’s core, only coming to the surface thanks to erosion and the determined drills of oil companies.

“Fine. I won’t blow anything up on stage. You’re all killjoys.” Everett sighed. “If audience members call the play a snoozefest, it’ll be your fault.”

“Okay. I can live with that,” Julian said. He turned to Amos and me. “Can you guys live with that?”

We nodded yes.

Amos perked up. “Are we good here, or did you need to sulk more, Everett?”

“Let me have one more histrionic sigh.” He cleared his throat, then released a very pronounced, loud sigh. “Okay, I’m done.”

“Good! Because I have news.” Amos rubbed his hands together. “Someone’s getting married.”

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