Professor Collins launches into the lecture, voice clipped and dry as sandpaper. “Recall that nucleophilicity and basicity are not the same property. This is a common point of confusion.” He stalks the front row, eyes sharp behind his glasses.
Aaron leans closer. “Hey. You were at that Pi Omega party last night, right?”
I refrain from looking at him and keep writing. “A lot of people were.”
He ignores the brush-off. “Did you see that girl? The one in the red dress looking like Jessica Rabbit. I swear, she was like… an actual cartoon come to life.”
My pencil falters, just a blip, but I recover by drawing an unnecessary methyl group. “I did not,” I mumble.
Aaron’s gaze doesn’t let up. “You sure? She was, like, kind of impossible to miss.”
I make the mistake of glancing up. His eyes are brown, deep and insistent, and for a second I wonder if he can see through the layers of makeup and bravado that kept him at bay last night. “I mostly kept to dark corners. Searched for signs of intelligent life. Found none.”
Aaron chokes and quickly subdues a laugh.
I look down, adjust my glasses, and push ahead in the notes.
Aaron smirks, like he’s enjoying the chase. “I mean, maybe she left early or something? Nobody seems to know who she is.”
Professor Collins is mid-explanation, drawing aromatic rings on the whiteboard with surgical precision. “Resonance stabilization, ladies and gentlemen. It’s all about the delocalization of electrons.”
I try to anchor myself in the mechanism. Benzene ring. Nitro group. Curved arrows. All simple, predictable, governed by rules. Unlike this conversation, which has gone entirely off-script.
Aaron bumps my elbow, his voice dropping even lower. “You seem like the kind of guy who’d notice stuff. You must’ve seen her.”
Sweat beads at my hairline, a slow tickle behind my right ear. My knuckles whiten around my mechanical pencil. “Honestly, I was kind of hammered,” I say, willing my voice to sound casual. “Don’t remember much.”
He laughs, soft and surprised. “You? Hammered? Come on, man, you’ve got Ely first thing in the morning. That guy is unforgiving.”
“And I’ll pay later for missing that class this morning.”
Aaron grins, exposing perfect teeth. “Fair. But seriously, if you hear anything, let me know. My friend made a bet and now he owes me a 6-pack if I can prove she was real.”
There is a beat where I almost tell him. It’s right there, fluttering at the back of my throat, but then I remember the way he looked through me in the hall, scanning for someone who wasn’t me. I let the silence settle, then nod like I’m making a note to myself.
“Got it,” I say. “If I hear anything.”
Aaron leans back, satisfied, and starts doodling molecular structures in the margin of his own notebook. His handwriting is chaotic—loops, arrows, too many exclamation points—but the drawings are weirdly accurate.
I chance a peek, and he catches me. He lifts an eyebrow, the tiniest invitation.
I look away. Focus. Nitro group. Rate-determining step.
Then, from the front of the room: “Mr. Montgomery, Mr. Thompson—perhaps you’d like to share your insights with the rest of the class?”
It’s a surgical strike. The cold hard glares are immediate, a ripple of ire or maybe exasperation at my expense. My cheeks ignite, blood roaring in my ears. Collins stares, one eyebrow raised, arms folded.
Aaron recovers first. “Just discussing the role of substituent effects, Professor.”
Collins doesn’t buy it. “Perhaps you can demonstrate on the board?”
Aaron shrugs, stands, and strolls down the aisle with all the casual grace of a man who’s never tripped over his own feet in his life. He takes the marker and, without hesitation, sketches the entire mechanism—aromatic ring, nucleophile, curved arrows—then circles the rate-determining step. He even adds a little smiley face.
Collins is not amused, but he nods. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson. Mr. Montgomery, do you concur with your colleague’s analysis?”
I’m so rattled I nearly drop my pen. “Y-yes, sir,” I stammer, voice thin.
“Good.” Collins turns back to the board. “Moving on.”
