Disclaimer: Rose is not mine.
I like Spot. I really do. He was just the perfect target, though!
Newsie Notes
Chemistry
Spot is in bold.
Hawkeye is in italics.
Rose is underlined.
GOOD MORNING!
…It's the afternoon, Rose.
Yes, but "Good Morning" sounds more welcoming.
There's nothing welcoming about being in chem.
Exactly. That's why I'm MAKING it welcoming.
…Oh boy.
:D
Well stop. It's disturbing at many levels.
Gee, thanks. I like you too.
Going to the fair with anyone, guys?
Negative. I was hoping good, old Jack Kelly would ask me, but I don't think he's going to.
I'm sorry. What about you, Spot?
Nope. Flying solo.
AGAIN.
Hey!
Whoops, did I write that out loud?
Oh yes, tee hee.
Spottttt…?
Spottttt…?
…What?
Do you WANT to go to the fair with anyone?
Do you want to go to the fair with ANYONE?
Stop doing that! And no. Leave me alone.
Oho, someone's a little snappy today.
Or lovesick.
I am NOT sitting next to you two tomorrow.
We don't have chemistry tomorrow, genius.
You know what I mean!
Or do we…? Perhaps this is all code, and Spot's really writing poetry about his tortured, tormented heart.
Ah, Spot has finally reached deep down into his black abyss of a soul and found something to live for!
I'm going to kill both of you!
What are you going to do? Write us an angry poem?
The second Mr. Thompson turns his back, you are DEAD.
Death. So dark and dead.
How unwelcoming you are.
Just around the bend.
We made a haiku!
Good job team!
I hate you. A lot.
Okay, mister, YOU come up with a better poem about death!
Or you could tell us about your long, lost love.
I have no long, lost love.
Who was that chick you were eyeing during lunch today?
That new girl?
Yeah, he was looking at her the whole time!
I was not!
Do you know her name yet?
No…
So, go introduce yourself! You're THE Spot Conlon.
Yeah, people need to know who you are. The new ones in particular.
You gotta show them who they're gonna be dealing with when they step out of line!
And I can use you two as examples of what I do to people when they get out of line!
That's positive thinking!
Oh, yes, will it be the angry writing or throwing papers covered in poems at us?
YOU LITTLE—
Unfortunately for Rose, Mr. Thompson chose that particular moment to turn his back to the class to write the homework on the board.
Spot leapt out of his desk, causing Rose to do the same. She made a dash for the lab tables in the back of the room, weaving her way in and out of the desks, Spot right of her heels.
Rose scuttled underneath a table, trying to safely get to the other side of the room.
Spot noticed what she was doing. Not quite thinking about what he was doing, he backed up, then ran toward the table, about to jump over it and meet Rose in the space between this table and the next one.
A moment later, he was flying through the air. Rose quickly slid under the second table, then rushed back to her seat.
Hawkeye raised her hand, "Mr. Thompson?"
"Yes, Daphne?" the teacher turned around.
"I think we have a—"
Spot almost made it over the table, but his foot had kicked something holding a bubbling, green liquid. The container tipped over, bumping into a second container, which knocked into a third, and so on. The chemicals flowed out into a big pool of—
BOOM!
"…problem," Hawkeye finished.
"JEREMY CONLON!" Mr. Thompson roared.
Rose and Hawkeye exchanged looks, "Ha-ha, Jeremy. Ha-ha!"
"Playing around at the lab tables without adult supervision is strictly prohibited!"
Spot protested, "But I—"
"You weren't even properly equipped!" Mr. Thompson continued.
"It was her fault!" Spot shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Rose.
"Isabella? I don't think she told you to come back here and blow something up!"
Rose shook her head innocently, "Technically, I didn't tell him to do anything."
Mr. Thompson took Spot out into the hall for a good ten minute lecture. When they returned, Spot slid into his desk, looking absolutely furious.
Heh, uh… Sorry?
Oh, you'll be more than sorry! Hawkeye, what the hell are you laughing at!
Ha-ha, Jeremy! Ha-ha!
…