All right, whatever. Shake it off, Jack.

I have a pretty good day in school on Wednesday. I mean, I don’t humiliate myself in any major way, and it goes by quickly. Also, I talk to Katie Bowe. Kind of. I guess I’m sort of getting ahead of myself.

First period is blah, second period is bleh, and third period, well, you get the idea. But something cool happens in science class. We come in and take our seats and here comes Mr. Rommet, wearing safety goggles and some kind of heavy apron.

I don’t mean the kind of apron your dad uses to cook at a barbecue with some dumb saying on it. I mean the kind you see in movies when people are messing around with uranium. Or the kind they put over you when you get X-rays at the dentist. Tim is sitting next to me, and I look over at him like, What the heck?

We all follow Rommet with our eyes as he heads up to the front of the room. That’s when I notice the beaker set up on the big table. He’s used it before. It’s made out of that special science-class glass that you can heat up over a flame.

There’s a thin metal strip in it, folded over a few times. It’s like a silvery ribbon, and Mr. Rommet is carrying the sparker that he uses to light the Bunsen burner. I hear that in high school everyone gets their own Bunsen burner, and they do experiments. At Tall Pines Elementary, there is exactly one Bunsen burner, and Mr. Rommet is the only one who gets to use it. I look around at my classmates. That’s probably a good call.

We know what the sparker is for, but we’re wondering what he’s going to light on fire with it. Meanwhile, our science teacher still hasn’t said word one. He knows he has our attention in that get-up. He should have been a drama teacher.

So then he starts in: “Magnesium is a chemical element. Its symbol is Mg on the periodic table.”

He points to the chart on the wall with the sparker, then continues: “It is the ninth most common substance in the universe in terms of mass.” He breaks into a big smile. “And you would not beeeelieeeve how it burns! This is the stuff they use in flares.”

He puts on some kind of heavy-duty glove, stands back the full length of his arm from the beaker, and starts flicking the sparker over the magnesium strip.

“Don’t look directly at it!” he says, which of course makes us all look directly at it. And FOOOOOOOF! A spark lands, and the thing instantly turns to bright white light. It’s super intense and over as soon as it begins: so, so fast.

I blink a bunch of times and then look over at Tim, just to make a “Wow” expression with my face. I can still see the exact shape of the magnesium strip in my eyes. It’s sort of like a bright white half-unfolded paper clip everywhere I look. How cool is that? In a few seconds, it starts to fade away.

Anyway, it’s pretty awesome. It’s definitely one of Mr. Rommet’s finest moments, and he knows it. He stands up there smiling and blinking.

A little while later, I’m pushing my tray along the rails in the cafeteria. I have my chocolate milk, and I’m trying to decide if I really want an apple. I close my eyes to see if I can still see the magnesium strip at all, and someone bumps my tray with theirs.

“Move it along!”

It’s a girl’s voice. This is a little embarrassing, but I have this feeling of — I don’t know what the word is — dread? There’s nothing worse than those mean, popular girls. I figure it’s Trina or Brie or one of them. I open my eyes, exhale, and look over. It’s Katie, and she’s smiling.

“Thank God,” I say. “I thought you were Brie.”

“Are you calling me cheesy?” she says, and I laugh a little.

“Good one,” I say.

“But seriously,” she says, and nods toward the growing gap between me and the next kid.

“Sorry,” I say, and push my tray along. I don’t take an apple, and suddenly, I’m kind of nervous. It’s just Katie, I tell myself, our shortstop. But I don’t fool myself with that.

“That pitcher’s back,” she says after a few seconds.

“For Haven?” I say. “The big one?”

“That’s the one,” she says. “I guess he was only eleven last year!”

She says eleven like it’s the craziest thing in the world, and it sort of is.

“No waaaaaaay!” I say. “That kid was huge. I want to see his birth certificate.”

“Seriously,” she says. “Maybe I’ll bunt.”

It occurs to me as soon as she says bunt that Katie already knows she’s going to start, that she’s going to get at least two at-bats on Saturday. Almost everyone else is sweating it out for the announcements at practice tomorrow, but this cute girl behind me in line is already thinking strategy.

I feel her bump her tray into mine. Again. I’m being a total spaz! I move my tray and try to think of something funny to say, but I’m at the front of the line now. Mrs. Flaneau is asking me which “entrée” I want. I look down at the options. I haven’t even thought about it.

“I’ll have the grilled cheese and Tots while he’s making up his mind,” Katie says from behind me.

“See ya,” she says after she gets them.

“See ya,” I say. Focus, focus, focus, I tell myself. Think of something good to say. But it’s too late, and I only have one thing left to focus on.

“I’ll have the chicken nuggets and some Tots, please.”