Chemistry Lessons Read online

  Regan used the moment to reach over and try to steal the pickle garnish from Ky’s plate.

  Without even glancing at her, Ky batted her fingers away but then relented and handed it over.

  Denny’s cheeks reddened, but she gamely added, “Doing the no-pants dance.”

  Regan and Ky shared a why-are-we-friends-with-them-again look.

  “We’re not doing any of that with each other.” Regan spoke slowly, as if explaining thermodynamics to the kids in the last row.

  “Or anyone else,” Heather said. “It’s been ages since either of you went on a date. You even take Kylie as a plus-one to all of your family events and don’t even try to get an actual date.”

  “So what? My family loves Ky. They would disinherit me if I didn’t bring her. That doesn’t mean we’re a couple. Why does everyone keep thinking we are?” Regan shoved most of the pickle into her mouth and chewed vigorously.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Eliza pointed at the pickle Regan was munching on. “Maybe because of the way you’re taking food off each other’s plates.”

  “But—” Regan struggled to speak around the mouthful of pickle.

  “—that’s what friends do,” Ky said for her.

  “Or the way you finish each other’s sentences,” Heather added with a smirk.

  Denny took a swig of her beer. “Or those book club meetings you had last year.”

  “Why can’t two friends have a book club?” Ky asked.

  “It’s not the fact that you had a book club. It’s that it was a two-person book club. It never occurred to you to invite anyone else to join you.”

  Oops. Regan rubbed her earlobe. She looked at Ky, and they both shrugged.

  When they’d been kids, her parents used to worry about them barely having any other close friends and playing only with each other, but Regan had never felt as if she was missing out. And now that she was an adult, she had made this wonderful group of friends—even if they wouldn’t let go of this ridiculous idea of her and Ky as a couple.

  “It’s not because Ky and I wanted to be alone so we could whisper sweet nothings to each other or anything,” Regan told them. “It’s just that…” How could she explain it? Why did she even have to explain it?

  Ky threw the French fry she’d been about to eat back onto her plate. “We—are—not—a—couple. Period.”

  “Too bad,” Eliza said quietly. “You would be perfect for each other.”

  “Come on!” Regan gestured at Eliza and Denny. “Just because you two lovebirds are the poster children for a deliriously happy relationship doesn’t mean everyone else has to pair up. Ky and I are great as friends, but we have no chemistry. None. Zero. Zip. Zilch.”

  “How can you be so sure if you’ve never tried it?” Miranda asked. “Um, I mean, gone on a date. Not…”

  “A carnal embrace,” Heather supplied.

  Ky shook her head at them. “You’re asking Regan of all people if she’s sure about a chemistry thing? Of course she is. If anyone knows about chemistry, it’s her. She teaches chemistry after all and has just won an award for it.” Her fierce look softened into a proud smile. She lifted her wineglass. “Let’s drink to that and stop this fruitless discussion.”

  As they clinked glasses, their gazes met over the rims.

  “To you and your award,” Ky said. “I’m so proud of you.”

  The look in Ky’s eyes filled Regan with warmth. “Not half as proud as I am of you, Ms. Assistant Cafeteria Manager.”

  Ky lowered her head. “Um, about that… I—”

  Heather reached across the table and nudged her. “That’s our Ky! Modest as always.”

  Ky looked up. “Kylie,” she said firmly.

  “But she calls you Ky all the time.” Heather pointed her fork at Regan.

  “Yeah. I don’t know why, but that’s different. It feels wrong if anyone else calls me that.”

  Heather shook her head. “And you wonder why everyone keeps thinking the two of you are a couple…or should be one?”

  “New rule, everyone!” Regan used her teacher voice to get their attention. “The next person to bring it up pays tonight’s bill.”

  As they all hastily found other things to discuss, Regan gave Ky a satisfied nod. It wasn’t that she minded being mistaken for Ky’s girlfriend. In her opinion, the woman who finally took Ky off the market for good should consider herself lucky. But it wouldn’t be her. She and Ky were like two substances that didn’t react with each other, at least not in a romantic way. You could mix them together, but there would be no chemical reaction whatsoever.

  Now the question was just: How could she teach their stubborn friends this simple chemistry lesson?

  Chapter 2

  Shit, shit, shit. Regan’s flats squeaked on the linoleum floor as she rushed down the hallway connecting the school’s main building and the west wing, where her chemistry classroom was located.

  God, she hated mornings—especially Monday mornings. Not the best trait for a teacher to have, but even after teaching for six years, she hadn’t learned to embrace getting up at five thirty. Once she got to school, she was fine. Preparing for the day ahead and seeing the kids come in always gave her a jolt of energy.

  Usually, she arrived at school at least an hour before the students did so she could get the materials together for class, but today, she had hit the snooze button one too many times. Okay, a few too many times.

  Now she didn’t even have time to stop at the teachers’ lounge for a cup of coffee.

  She skidded into her classroom. The bright fluorescent lights flared on as she hit the switch in passing. She didn’t take the time to nod a good morning to Marie, Alice, Rosalind, and the other famous female chemists whose posters hung on the walls.

  She forced herself to slow down as she gathered up the equipment—beakers, test tubes, and microspatulas—and then got the chemicals she would need for today’s lessons from the locked cabinets in the prep room.

  It only took her a few minutes to set up five stations in the lab area of the classroom.

  A grin tugged on her lips as she cut a section of magnesium ribbon into pieces. She couldn’t wait to see the kids’ faces when the magnesium reacted with the hydrochloric acid.

  They loved that kind of hands-on chemistry. Of course, their enthusiasm would fade quickly once they began the daunting task of writing down the chemical equations for the reactions they had observed. Regan chuckled.

  Her stomach gave a loud growl as she set down packages of sugar on the last lab station. She’d rushed out of the house without breakfast. It’s not a snack, she told her digestive system. Dissolving sugar in water was the experiment she used to show her students that not every two substances you put together had a chemical reaction.

  Kinda like Ky and me.

  If only there was an experiment as simple as the one she would show her students today that would convince their friends there really was no chemistry between them.

  Regan finished her lab prep with five minutes to spare. Damn. Not enough time to get a coffee.

  She walked over to her desk to turn on her laptop—then paused mid-step.

  A gleaming silver travel mug sat in the middle of her desk, next to a cinnamon almond granola bar and a note.

  Regan knew without reading it who’d left her this emergency breakfast. Aww. Ky was the best. She always had Regan’s back, even if it meant she had to get to school earlier than her six-thirty start time.

  With a groan of appreciation, Regan perched on her desk and reached for the note.

  You stayed up too late and overslept, didn’t you? it said in Ky’s messy handwriting that only she could read.

  Even though Ky couldn’t see it, Regan nodded ruefully. She’d been up late, putting together a practice exam for her AP students and tweaking the worksheets for today’s labs in an attempt to make the lesson more interesting for the kids. Over the past few years, she’d gotten better about carving out time for herself and not letting her
job take over her life, but it still happened every now and then, and Ky seemed to have a sixth sense for when she needed coffee or a snack.

  On paper, the rule about not eating in the chemistry classroom was pretty strict, and Regan always avoided doing it near her desk, which doubled as a demonstration table, so she took her bounty over to the bookshelf.

  Eagerly, she ripped open the wrapper, devoured the granola bar in three bites, and washed it down with a big gulp of coffee. Yum. Ky had made the coffee exactly the way Regan liked it, strong and sweet.

  Another sip of the lifesaving beverage, then she put it on the bookshelf and pulled her laptop and the stack of worksheets from her briefcase.

  The top sheet fluttered to the floor.

  As she bent and picked it up, her gaze landed on one of the questions the kids would need to answer.

  Is there any evidence that indicates a chemical reaction?

  Hmm. Evidence. Maybe that—or rather the lack thereof—was what their friends needed to finally believe there was no chemistry between her and Ky.

  Grinning, she opened her laptop just as the first students filed into the room.

  Yep. A little experiment might be in order…even though the results would be much less spectacular than those of today’s lab experiments.

  * * *

  Steam rose as Ky stirred the marinara sauce in the forty-gallon tilt skillet with a huge stainless-steel paddle. She lifted her nose and deeply inhaled the aroma of tomatoes and basil.

  Pasta day in the school cafeteria always took her back to her childhood, when she had spent more time at Regan’s house than her own, fleeing her parents’ constant arguing. Every Sunday, she had helped Anonn and later Regan’s father prepare Neapolitan ragù.

  Of course, the simple pasta dishes on the school’s menu couldn’t compare to the wonderful recipes Regan’s grandmother had brought with her from Italy.

  Ky often wondered what Anonn would think of her job as a cafeteria worker. Would she have been proud, or would she have crossed herself and been horrified at the paint-by-numbers cooking?

  For sure she would have declared the canned tomato purée and the dried spices a heresy.

  District, state, and federal rules and regulations limited what ingredients Ky could use, and she certainly didn’t have the time to let the sauce simmer for six hours, as Anonn’s recipe called for. But at least Hamilton High School’s cafeteria made some of their dishes from scratch or semi-scratch instead of just reheating pre-cooked frozen meals, like many other school cafeterias.

  Ky dipped a spoon into the sauce to try it. The sweet-and-sour flavors mingled on her tongue, making her hum.

  While being on the cafeteria staff wasn’t her dream job, it was decent work, and the team was great. Dream jobs were overrated anyway. Her father had constantly strived for more money, more accolades, more luxuries, and in the end, it had cost him everything. Ky wouldn’t make the same mistake.

  Fran, the cafeteria manager, squeezed past her with a baking sheet of hot rolls, startling Ky out of her thoughts. “Is the sauce ready to go on the line?”

  “Yeah.” Ky held out a clean spoon. “Do you want to taste it?”

  “No. You haven’t poisoned anyone yet. Get it out there.”

  That was the biggest compliment she’d get from her no-nonsense boss. Ky checked the sauce’s temperature, then turned the skillet off and hit the tilt button.

  The back of the rectangular skillet lifted up toward her, emptying the sauce into a large container Ky had placed beneath it.

  Lilia Fernandez, her roommate and colleague, came over with the pasta, and they mixed it with the sauce in several big hotel pans, then put the lids on. Together, they slid the pans into the serving counter.

  Moments later, the lunch bell rang. The cafeteria’s double doors crashed open, and a wave of chatter, shouts, and laughter swept over them.

  Ky straightened her apron and school polo. “Here they come.” She took her position at the serving station and braced for the onslaught of hungry teenagers.

  Her lunch lady autopilot kicked in as she dished pasta onto trays, urged the kids to take some steamed veggies or a fruit cup, and kept an eye on the students with known allergies.

  As one teen paused before her, trying to decide whether a scoop of broccoli would kill him, something made Ky look up and toward the end of the line, where Regan was just picking up a tray.

  She was one of few teachers who occasionally braved the lunchroom, while most of her colleagues preferred to eat in their classrooms or the teachers’ lounge. Ky couldn’t blame them. Chairs scraped the floor, trays clattered onto tables, and the kids created a noise level that rivaled an airplane during takeoff.

  Having Regan come through her line was always special. If it had been up to Ky, she would have gotten to cook for her every day.

  Regan laughed at something the kid ahead of her said. Her signature laugh boomed through the cafeteria, making Ky smile. She wasn’t wearing anything special, just a pair of olive skinny jeans with her long-sleeved Let’s get chemical T-shirt and what Ky called her teacher cardigan draped across her shoulders. The students surrounding her topped her height, but somehow, Regan still stood out.

  When they made eye contact, a big grin spread across Regan’s face. She mimed drinking, then bowed as if worshipping a goddess and mouthed, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Ky mouthed back. When they’d exchanged a few texts last night, Regan had still been up to her neck in lessons prep, so Ky had known she would stay up late, oversleep, and rush to school without having time for coffee.

  The teenager in front of Ky cleared his throat. “Apple?” He drew out the word slowly, as if she otherwise wouldn’t grasp its meaning—probably because he’d repeated it several times already.

  Oops. Ky quickly put one of the shiny apples on his tray and returned her attention to the lunch line. While she served pasta and sauce, Regan’s laughter drifted over a couple of times as she chatted with students.

  Finally, Regan reached her station. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a lifesaver?”

  “Yeah, I think the quarterback mumbled something like that.” Ky pointed a gloved finger at one of the round tables in the middle of the lunchroom, where some players of the high school’s football team sat.

  “Oh, did he get coffee and a granola bar delivered to his classroom too?”

  “Nope. We reserve that kind of service for our Teacher of the Year.”

  “We, huh?” Regan’s snub nose scrunched up as she grinned, making the smattering of freckles across it stand out even more. “Does that mean Lilia is going to start bringing me coffee too?”

  “Only if you pay me,” Lilia called from where she was refilling the fruit cups.

  The kids in line behind Regan began to shuffle their feet and inch their trays forward.

  Damn. Time to move on. “So, pasta?”

  “What else?” Regan held out her tray, and Ky deposited a generous serving of spaghetti and sauce onto it, then spooned parmesan on top.

  “Roll?” She held out one of the dinner rolls with a pair of tongs.

  “Of course.” Regan gave her a playful wink and leaned across the counter to whisper, “You know I can never resist your buns.”

  Jesus. Heat rose up Ky’s chest. Why did her best friend have to be such a flirt? The kids couldn’t know she was only joking around and had managed to resist Ky’s “buns” just fine all these years. She tugged on the collar of her school polo and peered at the students, who, luckily, were engrossed in their phone screens. As a punishment, she heaped green beans onto Regan’s tray, knowing she hated them, and handed it back with a grin. “Enjoy your meal.”

  Regan wrinkled her nose. “Thanks. See you tonight.”

  “Oh?” Monday wasn’t their Netflix night, and neither was it their usual time to play The Last of Us.

  “Yeah,” Regan said while already walking away. “You’re coming over so I can make you dinner and tell you about an ide
a I had.”

  A groan escaped Ky. She wasn’t sure what was more dangerous: Regan making dinner or having one of her infamous ideas.

  Regan’s unruly locks bounced with every step as she marched toward the checkout, practically vibrating with excitement. Once she had punched her four-digit number into the keypad, she threw one last glance back at Ky and flashed her familiar troublemaker grin—the one that had gotten Ky grounded a time or two as a kid.

  Oh shit. Ky had a feeling Regan’s idea would turn out to be more dangerous than her cooking.

  * * *

  If only dating had been more like hanging out with her best friend, Regan might have done it more often. There was no panicked last-minute cleaning and no need to dress up when Ky came over. They could just sprawl on the couch side by side like two sloths, sometimes even in baggy sweatpants and no bras. Plus she didn’t have to try to impress Ky by preparing a lavish meal.

  Her movements had none of Ky’s practiced elegance as she sliced the tomatoes, but thankfully, Ky never tried to chef-splain. After being on her feet all day, Ky seemed content to crash on the couch and wiggle her feet on the coffee table.

  Regan peeked around the fridge and stuck her head out of her small kitchen so she could get a glimpse of her in the living area. The sight of Ky made her smile. She was the only person Regan knew who still wore boot-cut jeans, but she had to admit Ky wore them well. They emphasized her slim waist, broad hips, and sturdy thighs.

  “What?” Ky asked without opening her eyes. “Want me to help?”

  “No, I’ve got it.” Regan slathered red pepper spread on two ciabatta buns and piled slices of ham on top. “I might not have inherited my family’s cooking gene, but I can make sandwiches with the best of them.”

  Ky let out a grunt of agreement. “True. I never got why you can be a chemistry genius but have no talent for cooking. Our jobs are not that different from each other, you know?”

  Regan chuckled and peered past the fridge again. “You mean they both pay like shit?”

  Ky’s angular face softened as she laughed. “That too. But I meant mixing chemicals together is a lot like following the steps of a recipe, right?”