David twirled the pen in his fingers as Betty meticulously scribbled notes for their latest chemistry assignment. They were stationed at one of the classroom’s lab tables after hours, the room bathed in the faint glow of fluorescent lights. Betty was muttering to herself as she read the instructions, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“Step three says to slowly add the sodium bicarbonate,” David read aloud, leaning back in his chair. “You know what slowly means, right?”
Betty shot him a look that could cut glass. “I don’t need commentary, David.”
“Just saying,” he teased, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’d hate to see you blow up the school.”
She rolled her eyes, pouring the chemical into the beaker with what David thought was reckless speed. “I know what I’m doing.”
The next moment proved her wrong. The solution foamed over in an explosion of bubbles, cascading down the sides of the beaker and spreading across the table.
“Betty!” David exclaimed, standing abruptly.
“Relax,” she said, though her face was a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. “It’s just foam.”
“It’s everywhere,” David said with mock horror, scooping up a handful of the frothy bubbles. “And now it’s on you.”
Before Betty could react, he flung the handful of bubbles in her direction, splattering them across her sweater. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief.
“You did not just do that.”
“Oh, I definitely did.” David grinned, already reaching for more foam.
Betty retaliated, scooping bubbles and flinging them back at him. Within seconds, the lab had turned into a battlefield of flying foam. David was laughing harder than he had in months, dodging and throwing bubbles like a kid.
Then it happened. As Betty lunged forward to splash him, she slipped on the slick floor. With a yelp, she grabbed for the nearest thing—David. He tried to catch her, but the momentum sent them both crashing to the ground.
David landed first, Betty falling against him, their faces a mere inch apart. Her fiery red hair spilled over his chest, her green eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, neither of them moved. David’s breath caught as he noticed how soft her features looked up close, the faint freckles on her cheeks, the way her lips parted slightly in shock.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.
“I—I’m fine,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing.
The moment stretched, tension thick in the air. But just as David considered leaning in, Betty scrambled to her feet, brushing foam off her clothes. “I need to go home,” she said quickly, avoiding his gaze.
***
The porch light flickered faintly as David stood there, hands stuffed casually into his jeans pockets. His hair was a little messy, like he’d been running his fingers through it all afternoon, and his shirt hung loose, wrinkled as if he hadn’t bothered with an iron. He glanced at the doorbell, smirked to himself, and pressed it.
A second later, the door swung open, and there was Betty. Her fiery hair was pulled back into a messy bun, loose strands framing her face. Her green eyes scanned him quickly, narrowing as she took in his disheveled appearance.
“You’re late,” she said, crossing her arms, her voice clipped and suspicious.
David leaned casually against the doorframe, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I had to make a dramatic entrance. You know, keep things exciting.”
Betty’s lips twitched, but she caught herself before it could become a smile. “Of course you did,” she muttered, stepping aside to let him in. “Shoes off, Burns. This isn’t a frat house.”
“Yes, ma’am,” David quipped, toeing off his sneakers and kicking them neatly to the side.
Betty led him to the dining room, the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. The table was covered in open notebooks, textbooks, and a calculator. She gestured at the chair across from hers without looking at him. “Let’s just get this over with.”
David flopped into the chair, tipping it back onto two legs. “Always a pleasure, Red.”
She ignored him, grabbing a pencil and flipping open her chemistry book. “We’re working on balancing chemical equations. Think you can manage?”
“Balancing equations?” David scoffed. “Easy. Hit me.”
Betty raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”
They worked in silence for a few minutes, David surprising her with how quickly he grasped the problems. At one point, Betty scribbled an equation, frowned, and tapped the pencil against her chin. David leaned over, his chair creaking as he pointed at her work.
“You’ve got the ratio wrong,” he said, his voice low. “You need two moles of oxygen, not one.”
Betty glanced at the paper, then back at him. “You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure,” David replied, his smirk softer now. “Trust me.”
She hesitated, then made the correction. “Huh. You’re not as dumb as you look,” she said, a faint smirk of her own forming.
“And you’re not as scary as you pretend to be,” David shot back, his tone teasing but his gaze steady.
Betty froze for half a second, her pencil hovering over the paper. Her eyes flicked to his, her expression unreadable. For a moment, David thought he saw something soften—a crack in the armor she wore so well. But just as quickly, she blinked and shook her head, turning her focus back to the book.
“Don’t get used to it,” she muttered.