13
The day after the biology exam, I was in the chemistry lab, working on a project that was due in a few days. I didn’t think I’d failed the test, but I was certain I could have done better if Victor hadn’t been taking up ninety-nine percent of my mind. I moved to put away my experiment but bumped the edge of the desk and dropped the beaker. Acrid smoke irritated my eyes, and the scent of burning rubber clawed at my lungs.
I gasped and clutched the lab bench. The antiseptic-white walls of the lab loomed, threatening to close in on me. I gagged, then coughed, then berated myself. I couldn’t let things slip out of control. I had to get good grades—no, perfect grades—if I ever wanted to go to med school and provide a better future for my parents and my siblings.
But I wasn’t able to conce
