Marcy waited for the waitress to leave before continuing her story. “There are flames—flames!—rising from his beaker. And the guy just stood there. Thank god, it didn’t explode!”

“Freshmen,” Alex muttered, taking a drink from his beer. His eyes fell on Anne, who was picking lint off her sweater. “Care for a swig, Annie?”

She looked up to find Alex’s beer in her face. “No, thank you.”

“Come on, Alex,” Mark said, “you know that Anne doesn’t imbibe.”

“Never hurts to ask,” Alex replied, giving Anne a wink. She rolled her eyes.

“So, anyway,” Marcy continued, “they’re already igniting things in the second week of lab. What are the chances of me living to receive my diploma?”

“Slim to none,” Mark stated.

“They could get better,” Anne protested.

“Nope, you’re doomed,” the boys chorused.

“Jerks,” Marcy muttered and signaled for the waitress to bring another round.