DISCLAIMER: I don’t own: the companies that make highlighters; The Devil Wears Prada, if you caught the reference; Who Has Seen the Wind; or Harry Potter. (I wish!)

Of Alkali Metals, Highlighter Wars and Everything in Between

Forcing me to sit anywhere near him in one class was a small, unfortunate, yet amusing misstep, one that, though begrudgingly, I could forgive the cosmos; my needing to sit near him in two classes, however, was a colossal mistake and a recipe for disaster.

The problem with us is we tend to disrupt class, or just not pay attention. We like to argue, you see. A lot. Our feuding was almost constant, and though the arguments were normally good-natured, they could still get pretty heated – not to mention odd.

Take, for example, the day we studied alkali metals in eleventh-grade chemistry. We all knew that alkali metals were the elements in the first column of the periodic table (minus hydrogen, we were repeatedly reminded) that, when tossed into water, would explode. The further down the column, the more explosive the metal.

The teacher listed some of them off for us, along with atomic masses and numbers learned by heart:

Lithium. Symbol: Li. Atomic number: 3. Atomic mass: 6.9. Very mild explosive.

Sodium. Symbol: Na. Atomic number: 11. Atomic mass: 23. Fairly mild explosive.

Potassium. Symbol: K. Atomic number: 19. Atomic mass: 40. Mild explosive.

These three, the mildest of the six alkali metals, were considered safe enough for classroom use, and we would be using them ourselves in a class lab activity. The others – rubidium, cesium, and finally francium – were off-limits. You needed a government grant to obtain the stuff, for crying out loud.

I knew he’d be thinking about alternate ways to get his hands on some of it; thankfully, while his intelligence was something I constantly (and teasingly) questioned, I knew he had the brains not to carry the schemes out. Thank God for that: I was an adventurous person myself, but I didn’t like to think what would become of the world if that boy got his hands on a few chunks of francium.

I shuddered.

Across the aisle at his lab bench he grinned impishly at me, as though he knew what I was thinking, while we all dispersed into groups to start “chucking metals into water to see them go BOOM,” as I so eloquently put it (I was clapping my hands in excitement at the time).

Fortunately I avoided being in a group with him, and a good thing too, because I didn’t like the size of the chunks of metal he carried back to his lab desk, and even his group members cast him doubtful looks when he only grinned. I made sure my group was well away from his; our teacher had told us the story of the group of students who decided to get rid of bricks of sodium by throwing them into a nearby river, only to have the blocks shoot sixty feet into the air, emitting sparks – a scaled-way-up version of the reaction we were looking to produce.

We passed each other continually as we collected the necessary materials. Occasionally he’d make one of his usual raunchy (and sometimes rhyming) comments, designed purposely to disgust me, and I would wrinkle my nose in distaste and swat him on the arm while he only laughed.

Before long there were small pops to be heard everywhere in the class as pieces of metal met water, and I grinned widely at the sight of our little, two-centimetre wide piece of potassium jumping along the water’s surface, on fire (what’s so exciting about that, you say? Um, the fire was purple), and hitting the sides of the glass beaker like some sort of spazzed-out water-bug.

I avoided him throughout lunch – our arguments rarely reached outside the classroom, particularly our English one, where I sat directly behind him and could annoy him at will. I had to admit I was unsurprised to reach my English class after lunch to find he was still stuck on the topic of alkali metals – particularly francium.

Remember, francium is the most volatile alkali metal.

Well, he was discussing (for “purely hypothetical reasons,” I was assured later) the best way to blow a person’s head off with the stuff when I arrived and slid into my seat.

“So, if you just took a really big chunk of the stuff and shoved it in someone’s mouth, then close their mouths...” he grinned excitedly at his friend, sitting beside him and looking disinterestedly at his desk, “you let the spit and the metal react and then... BOOM!”

I blinked, frowned worriedly, and turned to his friend. “What’s he going on about?” I asked, hooking a thumb in his direction.

He answered before his friend could. “Best way to blow someone’s head off with a chunk of francium.”

My eyes widened. “And you call me crazy? Jeez, what’s your idea of sanity?”

He ignored the jibe and launched into his explanation again. I held up a hand to silence him, not wanting to hear it again. “I heard you. You’re just wrong.”

He frowned, the excitement gone from his face but a challenge dancing in his eyes. Yup, here it was, another argument opportunity.

“No I’m not.”

What’d I tell you? We may have made it through one class without argument, but that class only fuelled the argument to come. Photographers, tabloid journalists and the like have photo opps; we have argument opps.

“Yes, you are,” I sighed, my voice patient, though I sat a little straighter in my chair in anticipation of the debate that was sure to come. “Francium is an alkali metal; it reacts with water. You need more water to get a reaction strong enough to blow someone’s head off.”

I couldn’t believe I was actually explaining this to him. If I’d ever even considered it, it would have been on my Top Ten list of Things I Never Thought I’d See Myself Discussing, but this was so far from normality that I’d never thought of it.

“No,” he protested as he turned in his seat to face me. “No, because more water will choke off the reaction and stop it.”

I shook my head violently and leaned in closer, determined to make my point. “No, no, no!” I said quickly, abandoning my pretense of patience. “The reaction won’t go without the water. Besides, gas is produced during the reaction – if confined to a smaller space, it’s likelier to blow up!”

He paused with his mouth slightly open, momentarily stymied; his friend, who’d been watching us as you would watch a game of tennis, took advantage of the silence to point out with a little bit of customary dry humour, “I can’t believe you guys are actually arguing about this.”

We glanced at each other, amused surprise in our eyes, and both shrugged; but it was me who said mildly, “So? We argue about everything.”

His friend hadn’t even really been looking at us – he was the moody, brooding type of guy, and I made a fool of myself in French class just to get him to laugh – but now he cast me a smug look. “Uh-huh,” he drawled lazily. I frowned, not at all liking the expression on his face.

Class began then, and the argument was ended. Frowning, he turned back towards the front of the classroom; I grinned self-righteously and sat back with my arms folded, happy to have the last word.

That argument ended, but we found plenty more to argue about. Some arguments were serious; some were fanciful, humourous, and, I’ll admit, childish.

I enjoyed every one. So, I think, did he.

— — — —

“Look, the devil doesn’t wear Prada after all – he wears red tights! Or are they footie pajamas?”

His friend let out his breath on a short bark of laughter and shook his head. I grinned, spurred on by the reaction.

He, on the other hand, frowned. “Har, har, har,” he muttered dryly, making a face at me.

We were in English class, some time after the great francium debate. We’d been set into groups and given a task – creating mind-maps that linked the themes of the novel we were reading. The novel was Who Has Seen the Wind, by Canadian author W. O. Mitchell; the themes were the prairie, God, death, the “feeling,” and the wind.

The three of us – me, my “arch-nemesis,” and his friend – had finished our illustrated mind-map already, with his drawn replica of “death” looking a little odd – a tall, cloaked figure that would have been ominous, had it not been wearing what looked like tight red footie pajamas, a purple shirt and a child’s plastic sword. It also had no face.

I was enjoying poking fun at it.

I only grinned. “Well, no offense, but it looks retarded.”

“So do you,” he retorted, and I snorted and tossed my head.

“You basically just proved my point!”

“Did not! You said it looked retarded. That meant it just looks retarded to you. I said that you look retarded to me.”

“Yeah right,” I scoffed, though I knew my eyes had to be glinting in amusement.

“You do,” he insisted, and I laughed.

“You have the lamest arguments ever.”

“Shut up.” He made another face at me, grabbed my blue highlighter from where it lay on my desk – we’d shoved our three desks together at the start of class – and left a small line on my arm.

I gave a dramatic gasp and snatched up my green highlighter again. “Oh, it’s on, buddy,” I warned menacingly, grinning devilishly as I dabbed his arm in green.

Soon we were in a full-out highlighter war – not just a fight, a war – with my right arm and his left covered in blue and green highlighter, respectively. We shifted and jumped in our seats, trying to block ourselves from being inked again, dodged in close to mark each other, laughed triumphantly when we left our mark and swore furiously when we were hit.

“Stop it, you two,” said his friend from beside us, and my arch-nemesis, momentarily deterred, turned and left a blue dot on his friend’s jaw. I laughed, then took advantage of the opportunity to run my highlighter over his arm.

“You little–!” he half-shouted, looking at his arm. I threw my head back and crowed with victorious laughter.

“That’s rich – you calling me little? I’m taller than you!”

He glowered at me. I only grinned, undaunted.

The highlighter war resumed, and this time his friend made no attempt to stop us.

The teacher, however, did. “Excuse me, you two,” he pointed out, sounding vaguely amused – no doubt he’d never had to reprimand grade eleven students for a highlighter fight before – “but isn’t that the sort of stuff you should have outgrown in kindergarten?”

We stopped abruptly, but I was still grinning as I capped the highlighter once more and set it down, just as he did the same. “Sorry, sir. But he started it,” I added. The teacher laughed; he started to agree, then whipped around to look at me.

“Hey!”

“Shh,” I said quickly. “We’re starting the class discussion.”

He glowered at me again. My only reply was to grin brightly and stick my tongue out at him.

— — — —

“Holy hell!” exclaimed my best friend as she grabbed my blue arm. “What the...?”

I grinned as I deftly spun the combination to my locker. “Highlighter war in English class.”

She looked up, mildly amused, mildly exasperated. “With...”

I nodded, knowing who she was thinking of. “Yep. He started it,” I added, as though that would help.

“Oh, really?” My other best friend sounded suspicious, and if the grin on my face was any indication, she was right to be so.

“Well... I might’ve got him once,” I confessed, unabashed. “But he continued it, just because I told him his idea of death looked like it was wearing red tights. Well,” I added a moment later in musing contemplation, “it could’ve been footie pajamas too. He didn’t say.”

For a moment my friends were speechless, looking at me in a way that said they didn’t want to know what had gone on in my English class. Then they laughed.

“Man, you two are never gonna grow up.”

I grinned. “Nope. Adults are just kids who owe money, after all. I’d rather avoid the ‘owing money’ part.”

Still laughing, they shook their heads. “What I wouldn’t give to see you two dating.”

I made a face and jumped about a foot in the air. “What? No! Yuck! Are you serious?”

They nodded, grinning.

“Yuck,” I repeated in disgust, adding scornfully, “Like that’d ever work. We’d argue about what movie to see on a date and would end up seeing different ones. Then he’d leave me on the side of the road and make me walk home because I’d mouth off at him.”

They laughed as we set off for our last class, mercifully empty of him. “Don’t you get it? That’s why it’d be so funny.”

I still didn’t see the humour in the situation.

— — — —

“Whatcha doin’?” I asked eagerly, jabbing him in the back for the umpteenth time that day.

He whipped around in his seat and glared at me. Ignoring my question, he said vehemently, “I swear, you are the most annoying—”

“Don’t swear, it’s not polite.”

He frowned more deeply. “You do all the time.”

“The hell I do. I don’t damn well swear, goddamn it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Someday, when I rule the world, you’ll be my slave.”

“You have a cowlick there.” I informed him cheerfully, and pointed at the protruding piece of hair in question.

“Then you’ll understand what it’s like to be in my position—”

“And there.” I pointed again.

“With someone who constantly annoys the hell out of you.”

“And there.” I pointed yet again.

“Argh!” He said furiously, throwing his hands up in the air and looking upwards as though to ask God – if there was one; I wasn’t sure – what he’d done to deserve this. “God, you’re a pain in the ass!”

“Are you saying I annoy you?” I asked sweetly.

“Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying. You’re the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met.”

I grinned and sat back in my seat. “Then my work is done. Oh, and by the way?”

He eyed me warily, his body twisted towards the front of the class and his head turned towards me. “What?”

“You’ve got a cowlick right... there, too.”

And I indicated the offending spot with my pen.

— — — —

Chemistry class again. This time the teacher was telling us about an incident that had taken place when she was seven years old. I wasn’t really paying attention until she said that she ended up with a punctured trachea.

Across the aisle from me, he raised his hand and asked, “Did your parents find out?”

The class was silent, muffling giggles. The teacher gave him an odd look, then said sarcastically, “Uh, considering I was seven years old and spent two weeks in the hospital, yeah, they found out.”

Now the class did laugh, a great eruption of it. I wiped tears from my eyes and grinned at him.

“Real nice, genius.”

“Shut up,” he answered with a grin, colour in his cheeks because of the teasing of the older students.

Shaking my head and still grinning broadly, I turned back to my work.

— — — —

“Okay, guys! Your problems on Boyle’s Law should be done by now; you can put them in the little drawer up on top of the bookcase. I hope you managed to finish the last problem, the percent composition one. That should have been review.”

I moved to the front of the classroom as he did, stapling my sheet with my answers on it to the one with the problems. “Did you do them all?” I asked as he did the same.

“Except for the last one.”

“Why? That was percent comp, an easy one. You heard her – it was review.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t remember how.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not hard. You know she’s marking this, right?” When he nodded, I added, “You can copy mine if you like. I’m pretty sure it’s right.”

He shrugged again. “It’s okay.”

I was the one shrugging now as I turned to grin at one of my friends, now approaching with her own work. “Okay.”

She playfully shoved me out of the way, towards him. I regained my balance and glared at her for putting me in such close proximity to him.

“Hurry it up, couple,” she teased. “Other people need to get through too.”

I dropped my work into the little plastic chest of drawers on top of the bookcase and whirled around to look at her. He did the same beside me. “WHAT?!”We exclaimed together, loudly.

“GROSS!” I said in disgust, moving back, shaking my head and making a face as though I’d just swallowed a bottle full of Buckley’s cough syrup. (Buckley’s – it tastes awful, but it works.)

“Fuck, no,” he added forcefully, waving his hands in front of himself and moving away, staring at my friend as though she had two heads.

To be honest, I was kind of expecting another head to appear from amidst her blond curls, sort of like in Harry Potter. Nothing.

So how did I explain this?

“Well, sorry,” she said defensively, wide-eyed at out violent and horrified reaction to her tease. “But you guys argue all the time, and you know what they say...” She grinned, and, knowing what she would say next, I silently prayed for her silence.

Alas, no such luck. She grinned more broadly and said brightly, “You know what they say. Opposites attract.”

We glanced at each other, appalled. “No way,” we said firmly in one voice.

She rolled her eyes and started to move back to her seat. “Fine, fine,” she said dismissively. Then she looked at me. “You coming?”

“Yeah.” I hurried after her, adding, “Don’t you ever say anything like that again.”

“Well, it’s true!” she protested, on guard now that she knew my opinion on that matter. “You guys argue all the time, so I just thought...”

“No,” I put in quickly. “Don’t even go there. Please.” I shuddered at the thought.

“Okay..”

— — — —

Chemistry class, yet again. This time we were studying the laws of gases – how temperature, pressure, and the like were all affected by each other.

We’d been told to bring in aluminum soda cans, and we were going to make them implode.

This time we were in a group together – me, my always debate-worthy foe, and his friend. They’d each scrounged up two pop cans.

“Only two?” I scoffed as I lifted a plastic bag from my feet and withdrew from it not one, not two, but eleven pop cans. They stared at me in open-mouthed shock; I only grinned. “Well, what are you waiting for, Christmas? Let’s get a move on!”

The procedure was simple enough: put a small amount of water in the bottom of the can, heat it to boiling on a hot plate, and then, using tongs, set it upside-down in a beaker of cold water. The sudden change from hot to cold caused the pressure inside the can to get so intense that the can inverted into itself, and the result was a loud, satisfying sound of metal crushing inwards and a twisted, mangled aluminum wreck.

Damn, was it fun.

“My turn,” I said excitedly as one of the cans began to dance on the hot plate, the water inside it bubbling and boiling. I snatched the tongs from his outstretched hand, lifted the can, and plunged into the cold water.

I grinned as I examined the ruin, lifted it out, and dropped it into the sink. “Sweet.”

They gave me a frightened look, but I only laughed and held out the tongs for the next person to try.

For once, we managed not to argue. At least, until it came time to clean up.

— — — —

The school year ended with no special mark. Summer vacation began, and contact between the two of us was cut off. I stayed at home for the first part of my vacation, reading, writing, and lounging around; then my parents began pushing for me to get a job and that took up my time instead.

I still managed to see my friends, luckily, and avoided losing my mind completely. Before I knew it, school was starting again, and I had to admit, I was eager to unleash a summer’s worth of arguments on my favourite victim.

— — — —

We had no classes together that semester, not after I dropped the writer’s craft class to obtain a spare. We stayed in touch and in argument through the school e-mail system.

From: “170642”
To: “186028”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
so what’d you do all summer?

From: “186028”
To: “170642”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
think of ways to annoy you. :D

From: “170642”
To: “186028”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
you annoy me by existing.

From: “186028”
To: “170642”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
so it’s working, then?

From: “170642”
To: “186028”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
YES.

From: “186028”
To: “170642”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
awesome.

From: “170642”
To: “186028”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
I hate you.

From: “186028”
To: “170642”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
awesome.

From: “170642”
To: “186028”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
why do I even talk to you?

From: “186028”
To: “170642”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
awesome.

— — — —

My friend and I were languishing about, enjoying our spare, sitting against the wall in the hall where our grade’s lockers were located.

The bell shrilled, signalling the end of class, and before our eyes, the hall filled with loud, happy-to-be-free students – including him.

We grinned brightly; she enjoyed teasing him too, though not as much as I did.

“Hey, genius!”

He turned and pretended to bow, stopping in front of us. “So you recognize my intelligence?”

I grinned. “No. I was being sarcastic.”

He frowned. “Hey, I’m plenty smart. I get by in school, and I don’t do stuff I shouldn’t—”

As he spoke his friend’s girlfriend walked by, snatching his books from him with no trouble and walking off briskly. My friend and I collapsed each other, laughing hysterically. Our laughter only doubled when he said sheepishly, “Hold that thought,” and darted around the corner to go after her.

When he returned, panting, it was to find us slumped against each other, still giggling weakly.

“As I was saying—”

“Save it,” I panted, clutching my stomach while tears streamed down my cheeks. “You’re wasting your time.”

He frowned while I struggled to my feet. This was the first time we’d really been close since school started, and I saw to my horror that he’d grown taller than me over the summer.

NO!

“Wow, you guys look tall from down here,” said my friend, who was normally taller than both of us, from where she sat on the ground. I grinned and helped her up.

“Hey, he’s taller than you.”

He grinned proudly; I frowned at her. “Shut up.”

Just as the words left my lips someone we both knew rounded the corner. “Hey, guys.” I gave him a warning look, as though to say Don’t you even—

Sadly, it was too late. He looked at the two of us standing side by side and remarked, “Hey, he’s taller than you!”

He laughed, happy to hear this twice; I glared furiously. “Shut. Up.”

“You’re just jealous,” he laughed, nudging me in the side. “Now you don’t have anything against me.”

I beamed brightly. “Sure I do.”

“Oh yeah? What?” he taunted, challenging me.

I grinned broadly. “Intelligence.”

His friend laughed; mine slapped me lightly on the arm. “That’s mean.”

“That’s the truth,” I replied just as another of our friends walked up.

“He’s taller than you! When did that happen?”

I narrowed my eyes at both the laughing buffoon beside me and the friends standing all around me. “Shut up, shut up, shut UP!”

“Aw...” the tallest of us all said sympathetically as she slung an arm around my shoulders. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m still taller than he is.”

I pretended to sniffle as though holding back tears, and examined the height difference between the two. “Well... even though that means you’re also taller than me, I suppose that does make me feel a little bit better.”

He made a face as he took note of the two inches of extra height my friend had; I grinned widely, happy once again.

— — — —

From: “170642”
To: “186028”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
so why’d you drop the writer’s craft class?

From: “186028”
To: “170642”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
didn’t have the time for it. I’ll take it next year.

From: “170642”
To: “186028”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
so you’re coming back for another year, then?

From: “186028”
To: “170642”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
yup.

From: “170642”
To: “186028”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
that sucks.

From: “186028”
To: “170642”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
it’s not so bad. one of my friends is coming back too, so at least i’ll have someone I know around.

From: “170642”
To: “186028”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
oh. I still say it sucks though.

From: “186028”
To: “170642”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
well, you have your opinions and I have mine. Let’s agree to disagree, all right?

From: “170642”
To: “186028”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
so we have an understanding, then.

From: “186028”
To: “170642”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
I guess so... why is that a good thing?

From: “170642”
To: “186028”
Subject: ‹Re: none›
—————
because it means we can be friends.

— — — —
— — — —

A/N: So, this is actually all based on real events that have taken place over recent years. More specifically, it all took place between me and a sort-of friend who I really like arguing with. (Grins) I ended this where I did because, to be honest, I have no idea where this strange friendship of ours will lead. I kinda wanted to write this to get an opinion, and also because it was just plain fun. It’s almost a memoir, if you will. And just about every event in this story HAS actually happened. (Yes, everything. Even the highlighter fight, and the totally pointless arguments.)

So, review, and let me know what you think could be in store.

- ML