How to Steal Mason's Heart

SEVEN

Mondays were the worst days of the week paired it up with the monthly cycle every girl would experience. It wasn’t amplifying my mood to be better. Occasionally I would yell at Courtney even though she had done nothing wrong. I apologized after realizing the grave mistake I had committed but she shook her head, understanding filled in her eyes.

Chemistry was after the excruciating History class with Dr Williams. He kept on blabbering about Adolf Hitler and his early childhood. He gave us a homework as well, more like an oral presentation about the Nazis and Jews with insufferable groups, making our lives more miserable that it really was. I went over to my locker and grabbed my laboratory gown only to see Jason standing beside my locker. I jumped at his presence, his blue eyes filled with mischief.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, slinging my brown sling bag as I placed my lab gown inside it. I started walking to the opposite direction to where Jason was standing, turning my back on him as I walked towards the Chemistry lab, my hands itching over to hold the test tubes and different-coloured chemicals.

“We have the same class,” he replied, catching up with my pace. His height towered over me, his long leg striding beside me. “And the professor would let us freely choose our partners.” His voice sounded excited but I rolled my eyes at him, simply uninterested with what he was insinuating.

“You seem to be moody today,” he commented. We entered the room, Jason opening the door. We stepped inside and stood beside the stations—the sinks—that we wanted to use for the whole school year, as I placed my sling bag on it, my eyes peering over to Jason who was following me for the whole time today.

“It’s none of your business Jason,” I snapped, feeling the urge to throttle his throat. He was extremely talkative for my liking and Professor Juliet’s ageing voice wasn’t helping me concentrate today.

“I know you really want to have a partner chosen but I decided not to. I have decided to pair you up with the assigned station,” she said and all of the students groaned except me because I wouldn’t like Jason to be my partner. I would simply be annoyed with his charming smile, his sparkling eyes—wait why was I complimenting that loser?

“We have a slim chance and a small probability if we’re going to be partners,” Jason complained, his eyes shooting looks of concern at me. I waved my hand off him, signalling him to stop prying into what I was doing with myself.

“So Mr. Ward and Ms. Sanchez will be the partner on the first station,” Professor Juliet announced with her shaky voice. Jason just yelled, jumping up and down like a rabbit. I pushed him and he almost tripped on the floor which almost made my lips curve up into a smile. I just groaned when we were done settling our things on the cabinets, grabbing the needed materials for the experiment.

The lab guides—they were the ones who already prepared the apparatus and materials—handed us our tray. Jason held it while I signed our names on the paper and the time it was given: nine-forty five in the morning.

“I am so excited to perform this experiment with you,” Jason giggled, his voice raising a pitch higher as if he was taking drugs. I only rolled my eyes at him in response, our feet heading towards our booth.

We were going to perform the experiment involving calorimeters. A Styrofoam cup was already prepared as an alternative calorimeter with the thermometer on one hole. We measured the initial temperatures of sodium hydroxide and hydrochloric acid in aqueous solutions, their temperatures ranging from thirty-seven degrees Celsius to forty degrees Celsius.

“You are really good in manipulating the thermometer,” Jason complimented while he threw the chemicals on the sink, going to the digital balance, weighing four grams of solid ammonium chloride onto the weighing boat. I trailed behind him, my blood boiling over his sunshine-like expression. If he wouldn’t quit that smile on his face I would not think twice of punching him.

“And I’m Albert Einstein,” I sarcastically replied, writing down the digits of the approximate mass of the said salt.

Jason looked over to my laboratory journal, his eyebrow raised. “Your number four is inverted. You do know that’s not how you write number four, right?” My cheeks suddenly grew warm. I immediately erased the number four in which the slant was going to the right instead of going to the left.

When I was little I struggled writing numbers and letters. I almost did not proceed second grade because I still didn’t know how to read. I immediately learned how to speak and it wasn’t English, rather it was Filipino, my mother tongue.

“It’s fine if you make mistakes Alex,” Jason mumbled to my ear, as he placed the salt inside the calorimeter and mixed it with water. The temperature dropped. I immediately jotted the reaction to be an endothermic reaction.

“But it’s such a shame we’re already in eleventh grade and I still don’t know how to b****y write a simple number,” I replied sadly.

“I didn’t ask you to mix the two chemicals, moron!” There was a shout at the back of our station. It was Michelle shouting, the queen of Chemistry, yelling at our poor classmate who was cowering in fear, her green eyes hidden by her hands.

Michelle frustratingly ran a hand on her red hair. It wasn’t her natural hair colour though. She dyed it during sophomore year after her boyfriend told her he preferred redheads instead of brunettes. Being the bitter girl that she was, the next day her hair was fiery red but trails of brown was already visible on her head.

Jason immediately walked towards her and helped her redo the experiment while I just stood there dumbfounded, realizing that he had bailed on me.

“Jason!” I screamed at him, he immediately dropped the test tube, a large booming sound echoed inside the laboratory. The fire alarm was ringing loudly, the sprinklers immediately spreading water in the air while the students ran outside of the room, leaving me with my feet planted on the tiled floor.

“Alexa,” Jason said exasperatedly, shaking me out of my reverie. I wasn’t paying attention to him but I heard him. He shook me one more time but I didn’t budge. He grabbed my hand with my things slung on his arms, pulling me out of the laboratory with a heavy breath on his face.

“Damn it,” Jason cursed, running a hand on his brown hair. His gelled hair went unsettled, his mouth set into a thin line. “I’m sorry for leaving you behind in that experiment but Michelle clearly needs help most especially her partner is already frightened of her.”

He placed his hands on my cheeks, searching for my face. His eyes were masked with fear—the kind of abnormal fear he had on. He looked absolutely more frightened than he had in his entire life, as if the fire had killed him.

“I’m sorry Alexa for creating that fire. I am so stupid. I should have—“

“What you did is not your fault,” I interrupted, placing both of my hands on his face. I placed a kiss on his cheek and immediately turned around, blaming my raging hormones over my impulsive actions.

I walked fast enough but I was relieved he did not follow me, a heavy weight lifted off of my chest. I held my sling bag but it was not on my shoulder. My heart pulsed out of my ribcage, my eyes filled with panic as I went back to where we were—just a few meters outside of the Chemistry laboratory. Professor Juliet immediately locked the lab, adrenaline rushing for a fifty-year-old. To the relief of the majority, the class would be suspended for the whole week.

At least my Monday wasn’t that bad after all.

I searched for Jason, wondering where he had taken my bag. My phone was inside and probably Courtney was looking for me through contacting my phone.

“That bastard,” I swore heavily, my nails digging into my palms as I clenched my fists. I should have not kissed him on the cheek. Instead, I should’ve flicked his forehead. And of all things, why had I forgotten my bag?

“i***t!” Jason’s voice yelled at me. “Your bag.” I turned around while he was running towards me with a grin on his lips. I punched him on the arm but he did not flinch like the last time, much to my relief.

“Next time, please return my bag Loser,” I reprimanded as he mock saluted me.

“All the time, i***t,” he smiled. “All the time.”