THE CHEMISTRY CATASTROPHE

When I first heard we were doing a chemistry practical, I felt… calm.

Chemistry had rules. Measurements. Logical reactions.

I thought, naïvely, that for once, we'd have a class that didn't end in glitter, smoke, or psychological damage.

I was wrong.

Because Blake was my lab partner.

"Don't worry, Peter," he whispered, sliding goggles over his eyes with way too much enthusiasm. "I've been watching chemistry tutorials since Year Seven."

"On what platform?" I asked cautiously.

"None. They just appear in my dreams."

I should've run.

But I didn't. Because I had hope.

The teacher, Mr. Griffins, handed out the instructions in a confident voice that would later haunt me in flashbacks:

"This is a basic reaction," he said. "Follow the steps. Measure your compounds precisely. There is nothing dangerous here."

The instructions were simple:

Mix compound A (a weak acid) with compound B (a base) to observe the neutralization reaction. Nothing fancy. No explosions. No uranium.

But Blake, being Blake, had questions.

"Sir, what if we replaced compound B with… say… compound X-23 from the back cabinet?"

Mr. Griffins blinked. "What compound?"

"The one labeled 'Do Not Use Unsupervised – Property of Head Scientist Vortex'?"

"That's not even ours!"

"But it's got sparkles."

"NO."

Blake pouted. "Fine. I'll behave."

And for a whole four minutes, he did.

He measured the acid correctly. Stirred gently. Didn't even try to name the test tube.

But then I blinked.

Literally. One blink.

And when I opened my eyes, he had dropped a glowing blue crystal into the beaker.

"What did you just do?" I whispered, horrified.

"I upgraded it," he whispered back.

"With what?"

"An experimental stabilizer from Kyle the alien. He said it enhances clarity."

"Blake, clarity isn't a chemical property."

"You say that, but watch this."

The liquid turned green.

Then purple.

Then began to bubble violently.

"That's not supposed to happen," I said, stepping back.

"Science is about possibility, Peter."

The beaker emitted a low hum.

A glow started spreading across our table.

"What is it doing?"

"It's vibrating with truth."

"It's VIBRATING WITH DANGER, BLAKE."

And then, in the space of one heartbeat—

The liquid exploded upward.

Not like a boom.

More like… a majestic column of neon mist, stretching to the ceiling, releasing a loud singing noise and a smell that can only be described as "cursed citrus."

A siren went off.

The emergency sprinklers activated.

The wallpaper changed color.

Mr. Griffins dropped his clipboard.

"EVERYONE OUT!"

Students screamed. Tables overturned.

Kyle, the alien, calmly pulled out a radiation meter and walked away.

Rosaline shouted something about "activating containment protocol Delta-Zebra."

Blake tried to high-five the mist.

As for me.....

I left my body.

---

By the time the building was evacuated, the lab had sealed itself.

Someone in a hazmat suit arrived.

Someone with a megaphone declared:

"Due to unforeseen biochemical irregularities, Greenville will be temporarily closed for decontamination. Thank you for your cooperation. May your eyebrows grow back swiftly."

I sat on the lawn, soaked, stunned, still holding my notebook.

Blake sat beside me, arms crossed, beaming with pride.

"I call that experiment: The Awakening."

"You caused a shutdown, Blake."

"But did you see how luminous it got?"

"The fire alarm started singing Bohemian Rhapsody."

"Unrelated. Probably."

"Do you realize what you've done?"

"Inspired a generation?"

"No, Blake. You've made history. They're calling it 'The Mistake of Monday.' There are T-shirts."

He grinned.

"Do I get royalties?"

I groaned and lay back on the grass.

Somewhere in the distance, a second alarm began ringing.

I didn't even flinch.

"Blake?"

"Yeah?"

"Next practical… can you just… not?"

He looked offended. "Peter. Where's your scientific curiosity?"

"I drowned it in vinegar."

He offered me half a sandwich from his pocket.

I turned it down on instinct.

Because I may have lost hope, but I still had self-preservation.

And if I've learned anything in this school…

It's that science is only safe in theory.

After a while, I was still lying on the grass when Alfred's car came skidding around the corner like a bank robbery was in progress.

He flung the back door open before the tires even fully stopped.

"GET IN, MASTER PETER!"

"I'm wet."

"You'll be wetter if we don't leave in the next thirty seconds."

"That's not how water works."

"JUST GET IN."

I got in after noticing that Blake wasn't there any longer, didn't want to be tainted more with his presence.

The moment I clicked the seatbelt, Alfred floored the gas like we were escaping Area 51.

"How bad was it?" he asked.

"The mist is sentient now."

"Oh no."

"The fire alarm did Freddie Mercury impressions."

"Oh dear."

"And I'm now legally registered as a chemical witness."

"Master Peter, might I suggest applying for homeschooling?"

"And miss this circus?"

He didn't reply.

Just nodded like a man who'd seen too much and driven too fast.

—

When we pulled into the family estate, the front doors opened before I even stepped out.

My mother came speed-walking across the marble entryway in her elegant heels like a heat-seeking missile of concern.

"PETER."

"Mother."

"What happened?"

"A reaction."

"THE SCHOOL'S BEEN SHUT DOWN."

"Temporarily."

Father emerged next, still holding a wine glass and a tablet.

"It's on the news, Peter."

"National?"

"BBC. Headline reads: 'Elite Prep School Accidentally Discovers New Element.'"

"...Cool."

"They're calling it Blakium."

"That's... unfortunate."

"A building vaporized, Peter."

"I wasn't in it."

"They said a student may have tamed plasma."

"It was mostly contained."

"WERE YOU INVOLVED?"

I blinked.

Straightened my damp uniform.

Looked between their deeply furrowed brows.

And said calmly,

"I stirred a beaker. Nothing more."

"So you're not hurt?"

"Only emotionally."

"You didn't breathe in anything?"

"Only crushed dreams and faint lemon gas."

Mother grabbed my face gently, checking my eyes like I was about to grow antlers.

"Sweetheart… are you sure you're okay?"

I nodded.

"I've never been more chemically unstable… and honestly, I'm getting used to it."

She stared at me, clearly unsure whether to call a doctor or a therapist.

Father cleared his throat.

"Perhaps we… overestimated how calm this school would be."

"Perhaps," I said.

"Would you like to transfer again?"

I thought of Blake riding a lab cart through fog. Rosaline sliding me fake mission files. Kyle reading Shakespeare upside down.

And then I gave the only answer I could:

"No, thank you. I think I'm right where I belong."

They didn't say anything.

Just stared as I climbed the stairs, soaked, tired… and mildly radioactive.

But still, strangely, smiling.

Because I know this is exactly what I need to avoid standing out from the crowd.