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Anthy shuffled his notes and looked around the room uncomfortably. He could remember a time back in middle school when he actively enjoyed doing labs, back when he was friends with practically everyone in his class and they all sat around making jokes and trying stupidly to set things on fire. Since he'd arrived at Meadowview, though, a much larger school than he was used to, it tended to involve people who already knew each other talking over him and handing him all the work. He didn't much care for being talked over.

Just then a girl came up to him, carrying her notes. She seemed nice enough, he supposed. "Hi, just call me Anthy," he replied. "I wouldn't say this is my best class, either." He set down his notes, which did not appear to be written in any recognizable script; distorted characters ran about the page, crowded the margin, turned into eyes and candles. "Science is interesting, but it's not my thing." He didn't quite make eye contact, and started fiddling with his pencil. "Say, do you know what we're supposed to be doing?"

Anthy smiled at the girl. "Alright," he replied. She seemed a decent sort, better than his usual lot for a lab partner. He shuffled his papers until he found his "annotated" instructions and read them over again. He hadn't been entirely honest--he knew exactly what they were going to be doing, he just didn't want to get stuck with all the work as "the one who knows what's going on" as he had been the past few times.

When Ashley returned, carefully carrying a tray full of small samples of liquid, he rose to take it from her and set it on the table, but as he reached out to take it accidentally spilled some of whatever-it-was, acid or base, all over his bare arms. "Ack!" He set the tray down on the table as best he could, then noticed a stinging sensation on his skin. That's not good, he thought, poking his arm. The teacher had been very emphatic about safety in the chem lab at the beginning of the year, and Anthy was liable to worry about such things, having a rather vivid imagination.

He was overreacting and he knew it, but Anthy wanted to make the most out of any bad experience to come his way. "Ow," he said, faintly, as Ashley pulled him towards the sink. As the water splashed onto his arms, the tingling sensation subsided. Despite this, he stared at his arms gravely, almost willing the flesh to start dissolving under the water.

"Are you alright?" asked the teacher, an older woman, bemusedly, seeing the absurdly serious expression on Anthy's face.

Refusing to break his concentration on his dissolving arms, Anthy replied grimly, "I spilled something on myself, and I don't know what it was."

"Well, you're doing the right thing," said the teacher, "flushing it with water." "Right," said Anthy, and pulled them out, noticing at last that he couldn't feel his arms dissolving anymore. He then remembered Ashley's existence. "Thank you for bringing me over here. My arms might have been lost forever but for your quick thinking." He didn't quite sound serious anymore, but it was hard to tell.

"It wasn't your fault," said Anthy, smiling at the girl. "At least we know something over there--" he pointed at the lower right corner of the tray--"was basic. Or acidic. But probably basic." He dusted off his arms a few times, now feeling a little foolish. He hoped the girl wouldn't think he was a complete weirdo for flipping out as he had. "So now we need some of those little papers," he said, "the ones that change color, yes? I'll go get them." And he did.