I was never any good at science. But chemistry was the next step after physical earth and the last one before I never had to think about atoms or layers of standstone ever again, so chemistry came.
On the first day of school, I entered the classroom unenthusiastically, only anticipating the dreadful information I knew would soon pour upon my unwilling mind in a torrent of test tubes and bunsen burners. The solemn rows of slate tables gleamed under the glare of the flourescent lightbulbs in the ceiling. I plopped noncholantly into a sleek chair with wheels, inevitably rolling backward a few inches.
My classmates chattered animatedly around me. Relieved to know someone was excited about handling chemical equations in the world so i wouldn't have to, I wheeled toward the desk and started tracing shapes on the surface with the worn eraser on the end of my Ticonderoga.
The door opened again and a tall, slender blond bounded into the room. Under his arm was a stack of papers and books, threatening to fly and nowhere and everywhere all at once. His bright blue eyes took a quick and methodical inventory of the fresh new brains lined up before him like elements on the Periodic table, and a clever grin broke out across his pointed face.
"Welcome, class!!" It was a statement that merited two exclamation points and a round of applause, but we only fudged him for some raised eyebrows and a few mumbled greetings. "Welcome to Honors Chemistry! I hope you are ready to do some serious learning!"
His eyebrows dancing on a forehead that faded smoothly into a close-cut hairline of see-through blond hair, he turned and scribbled his name on the board. "My name is Mr. McIntyre. You can call me Mr. Mac, Mr. McIntyre, or Teacher. Please, however, don't call me Mac. I am your teacher and I want to be your friend, but I do demand a level of respect in our relationship."
I was impressed. He was young. I knew a lot of young teachers at our high school who even let their students call them their first name to ensure a friendship. The fact that Mr. Mac wouldn't allow it made me want to be his friend even more. I was even starting to think I might acquaint myself with some chemicals here and there.
- - -
Weeks had passed since the first day when Mr. Mac exploded his excitement on us. I was now an olympic gymnast on the balance beam of chemical equations, and I had bonded with the elements faster than you could say covalent. I came to class early and raised my hand with answers. Geology class had turned me to stone and biology wasn't in my genes, but I participated in chemistry even more than I did in English.
Tuesday Mr. Mac stood up and shifted his weight to his left foot, sticking the end of his dry erase marker in his mouth and waiting for us to quiet ourselves.
"I know it was mean of me to schedule a test on a Monday, but the grades have come back and now it's time to announce the high scores. The person who killed the curve and wins the prize this time is Krista!"
Krista! That was me! I had never scored the highest grade in any science class, but I felt myself moving toward the front of the class to receive my prize. I took the wallet-sized Periodic Table with pride and walked out of the class with my head held a little higher.
I still have the card. It is tucked neatly inside my well-loved and tattered pocket-sized dictionary, and they sit together, always ready to remind me of all the things I can learn.
Great! And congrats!
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