Shade the Baddie

Chapter 3- Lab partner

The ink on Damian’s shirt spread like a bruise.

He didn’t wipe it. Didn’t move. Just stared at me across the lab table with eyes that weren’t smug anymore. They were calculating. Like he was seeing me for the first time and didn’t like the math.

Mrs. Patterson dropped a packet between us. “Acid-base titration. You’ll share equipment. You’ll share data. You’ll share a grade.”

Share. The word sat there, ugly and forced.

Damian finally spoke. “I don’t do group work.”

“Now you do,” I said, flipping open the packet. My hand was steady. My voice was steady. Heartless Scorpios don’t shake when the game starts. “Page one. Purpose of the lab. Read it out loud, partner.”

His jaw worked. He looked at Mrs. Patterson for help. She was already at the next table, explaining burettes to Chloe and some sophomore who looked terrified.

No backup. No hyenas. Just him and me and a beaker of 0.1 M HCl.

“Read,” I repeated. Softer. Like a dare.

He picked up the packet. Knuckles white. Ink still staining his fingers blue. “The purpose of this lab is to determine the concentration of an unknown acid using a standardized base.”

“Good boy,” I said.

His head snapped up. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing.” I smiled. Not the creepy-pretty one. The nerd one. The one that made teachers call me a pleasure to have in class. “Keep going. Procedure.”

He read. Stiff. Mechanical. Every word dragged out like it cost him something.

I took notes. Neat. Precise. The kind of handwriting that got me a scholarship to Westridge. The kind that made everyone think I was harmless.

“Step four,” I said when he finished. “Rinse the burette with the base. I’ll do it.”

I stood. Walked to the sink. Felt his eyes on my back. Felt the whole class watching from the corners of their eyes, pretending to measure their own chemicals.

Chloe made a gagging noise. Loud. “Ugh, can we open a window? It smells like try-hard in here.”

A few people laughed. Nervous. Quick.

I didn’t turn around. Just rinsed the burette. Three times. Like the procedure said. Like a good student.

When I came back, Damian had his phone out under the table. Typing.

I set the burette in the clamp. Leaned across the table. Close enough that only he could hear me.

“Tell Jake he dropped something yesterday,” I whispered. “Behind the gym.”

Damian’s thumbs stopped. “What?”

“His nerve.” I pulled back. Picked up the pipette. “He left it on the floor when I said my name.”

Damian’s phone screen went black. He set it face down. Slow.

“Step five,” I said, louder, for the class. “Add three drops of phenolphthalein to the unknown acid. Damian, do you want to do the honors?”

He didn’t answer. He was looking at me like he was trying to solve a problem that didn’t have a formula.

I added the drops myself. The solution stayed clear. Colorless. Like water. Like innocence.

“Now we titrate,” I said. “You control the stopcock. I’ll watch for the endpoint.”

He didn’t move.

I reached across him, grabbed his wrist, and placed his hand on the stopcock. His skin was cold. Ink-smeared.

“Open it,” I said. “Drop by drop.”

His eyes met mine. There was something there. Under the anger. Under the crown. Fear. Real fear. Not of me. Not yet.

Of what I knew.

He opened the stopcock.

One drop. Two. Three.

The solution in the flask stayed clear.

“Your brother,” he said. It wasn’t a question. It was a test.

My hand didn’t shake on the flask. “What about him?”

“Ethan Vale. Freshman. Soccer.” He said the name like he was reading it off a roster. Like it didn’t mean anything. “Heard he transferred out. Medical reasons.”

Four drops. Five.

“He didn’t transfer,” I said. “He was carried.”

Six drops.

Damian’s hand tightened on the stopcock. “It was an accident.”

“Seven,” I counted, instead of answering. “Eight.”

The solution was still clear.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he said. Voice low. Dangerous. The voice he used on freshmen before they ended up in the ER.

I looked up. Met his eyes. Let him see all of it. The creepy. The pretty. The heartless Scorpio that had been planning this since the day I got the call from the hospital.

“Nine,” I said.

“Stop.”

“Ten.”

The solution turned pink.

Endpoint.

I pulled the flask away. Swirled it once. The pink held. Permanent. Like a stain. Like a bruise.

“Perfect,” I said. Set the flask down. Wrote the volume in my notebook. 10.2 mL. “We got it on the first try. Good team work, partner.”

The bell rang.

Nobody moved.

Mrs. Patterson clapped her hands. “Okay, clean up! Data tables due tomorrow!”

Chairs scraped. Beakers clinked. The noise rushed back in.

I started breaking down our station. Rinsed the burette. Dumped the pink solution. It swirled down the drain, bright and artificial and gone.

Damian stood. Still watching me.

“You’re not gonna win,” he said.

I didn’t look up from the sink. “I already did.”

“What?”

I turned off the water. Dried my hands. Finally met his eyes.

“You just spent twenty minutes following my orders in front of the whole class.” I nodded at his shirt. “Wearing my color.”

He looked down. The blue ink had spread across his chest. It looked like a heart. A broken one.

“You think this is over because you got one lab done?” He stepped around the table. Into my space. “You think you can just transfer here and take me down with science homework and scary smiles?”

“No,” I said. “I think I can take you down because you still don’t know who I am.”

I picked up my bag. My new textbook. Slung it over my shoulder. The chocolate milk stain was still there. I wasn’t hiding it.

“Ethan was my brother,” I said. “But Shade is me.”

I walked past him. Toward the door. Toward Chloe, who was waiting with her phone up, recording. Toward Jake, who wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Hey, Vale,” Damian called.

I stopped. Didn’t turn around.

“You better be careful,” he said. “Accidents happen at Westridge.”

I smiled. I could feel it. The real one. The one that got me expelled. The one that made my last principal say “disturbed” and “dangerous” in the same sentence.

“I’m counting on it,” I said.

I walked out.

And behind me, I heard Chloe whisper, “What is wrong with her?”

Jake answered. His voice shook.

“I think she’s the accident.”