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Just a Coincidence

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Dear Deedee,

Hi, it's me Hillary. I bought you from the local bookstore because I thought you were very pretty, and as advised by my English teacher, I needed something to keep track of my thoughts. I have always loved writing, but I have some difficulty expressing myself in words, which is odd because I somehow won as the junior class representative using my rusty speaking skills. :|

Maybe through this exercise, I can improve my verbal skills. And who knows, I may enjoy talking to you. After all, you won't judge me for what I say or do. My best friend Betsy will never judge me either, but I feel that there are things that I cannot share with her, but I can with you. I hope you understand, Deedee.

I guess this is it for now. I have nothing much to share with you, actually, except that airhead Bill "Pretty Boy" Clinton bullied me again in front of the everybody at school. He loudly proclaimed that Vince Foster was blind to ask me at the prom. That jerk. I wish I could dump his huge head on the garbage can, because that's where he belongs. Him, and his band of jocks who thinks they own the school. Urgh.

Oh well. He'll get his karma. Probably not today but in the future.

Talk to you later, Deedee.

Hillary

Hillary quietly locked her newly-bought journal and stuffed it gently inside her back. She could hear Betsy calling her from the door of the library. Apparently, lunch break was already over and they should be heading towards the chemistry lab.

"Come on, Hill. Mrs. Merkel wants to start early because we're having an experiment today," Betsy told her best friend.

Hillary racked her brain for that small detail as she quickened her pace. "Oh yeah. She did say that."

"I hope we're early. I wanna sit next to you," Betsy panted as they walked briskly towards the chemistry lab, passing several hallways.

"Me too. I don't wanna sit next to Dan. He picks his nose everywhere."

"He's already in high school but he's still as disgusting as he was in grade school," Hillary rolled her eyes.

"There are some things people can't grow out of," Betsy agreed.

"Yeah, like Pretty Boy and jerk-ism."

"Oh come on, Hillary," said Betsy, exasperated. "Him again?"

"I'll stop when he does. I didn't fire the first cannon," Hillary said irritably as she held the doorknob of the chemistry lab. "If he could just let me live in peace, then that would be great."

Besty simply shrugged. Hillary did have a point. The verbal bullying started back during her freshman year, when she was a transferee. Pretty Boy was a sophomore then. One day, Hillary tripped in front of the everyone in the cafeteria and it was Bill who let out a loud, hearty laugh from his table with the other jocks. Hillary, flustered and embarassed, got up and threw her milk all over his face. That was the beginning of the Rodham-Clinton feud that transcended through the years. They were verbally attacking each other whenever and wherever the opportunity presented itself. At first, it was just words, but later on, it escalated to nasty pranks. Their feud had gotten so bad that Bill ended up with a broken arm and was prevented from playing football for three months. Their principal, Mrs. Pelosi, finally intervened.  The feud was still there, but it wasn't as nasty as it was a few years back.

Hillary opened the door, and the two girls found the classroom almost full, except for two empty seats situated far apart from each other. Betsy and Hillary masked their disappointment. At least, Dan was sitting next to Claire, the new girl from Missouri (she was just too polite to tell him off). The two empty seats were next to Model UN Club Vice President, John Kerry and, to Hillary's horror, Pretty Boy, who was stuffing something in the pocket of his varsity jacket.

Hillary walked her way next to John's seat, Betsy got to it first. She could not believe her best friend would leave her out to dry like that. Betsy mouthed an apologetic "Sorry". She too disliked Bill, and she secretly liked John. (She wouldn't admit it to Hillary though the latter figured it out a while ago). Fuming, Hillary quietly walked towards the seat next to Bill's.

"So, it's Little Miss Future President. Are you going to make fun illegal? Because you seem to suck the fun out wherever you go," Bill whispered the moment Hillary took her seat.

"No, but I will outlaw jerkishness. See you in jail, Clinton. I do hope they have striped jerseys there," she quietly fired back.

Hillary could see that she did a good job of pissing him off, as his cheeks were red as beets. Before he could say another word, Mrs. Merkel had entered the classroom and the students settled.

"Good afternoon, class."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Merkel."

"For today, we will be discussing types of mixtures. I want you all to grab your aprons, gloves and get three beakers and stirring rods per table. Some of you come here and get these items," Mrs. Merkel said, pointing at the bottles of ink, oil and suspension medicine in front of her.

The class did as they were told. From the other side of the lab, Hillary could see that Betsy's eyes were still sparkling as she followed John to the equipment cabinet. Hillary could bet that her best friend would walk away from this class learning nothing. Because she was looking somewhere else, she didn't see the person in front of her, and she suddenly found herself bumping into another body.

"Ouch!"

"Ow! Watch it!"

To her horror and dismay, Hillary had bumped into Pretty Boy, who was gingerly rubbing his chest. Hillary, meanwhile, was nursing her forehead, which hit his chin.

"Watch where you're going, you klutz!" Bill winced in pain.

"You can't blame me if you're all over the place!" she retorted, the pain in her forehead still pounding.

"It's not my fault if you're blind as a bat!" Bill pointed at Hillary's glasses.

"It's not my fault if you're a pompuous ass!"

Hillary was a little too loud on that last retort, and it caught the attention of their teacher and fellow classmates, who simultaneously looked at their direction.

"Language, Ms. Rodham," Mrs. Merkel warned.

"Sorry," Hillary apolpgized sheepishly. She then turned her attention back to Bill. "Move, Clinton. You're standing in my way."

Bill rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. Shall I roll the red carpet for you?"

Hillary was about to respond but she chose not to when Bill left. She then took an apron from the cabinet and three beakers as Mrs. Merkel instructed. She returned to her seat with Bill giving a very bored look at the chalkboard.

"Alright. Now, I want you to fill your beakers with water," said Mrs. Merkel. The students did as they were told.

"Once you have filled it with water," the chemistry teacher continued, "I want you to dip your stirring rods in the ink and stir the ink into the water."

Hillary and Bill both reached for the singular stirring rod, and the to immediately recoiled when their hands touched.

"Jesus, Rodham," Bill whispered angrily.

"You heard, Mrs. Merkel! Dip the rod in the ink!" Hillary muttered furiously to her lab partner.

"Alright, alright, Miss Bossypantsuits..."

Bill dipped the rod in the ink bottle and stirred the blue liquid in the water. Like clockwork, the water turned blue.

"So, what have you noticed with the water?" asked Mrs. Merkel.

"It's blue," the class murmured lazily.

"Correct. What else?"

"It's perfectly mixed," said John.

"Yes, it is," Mrs. Merkel replied. "Furthermore, neither of you can properly identify which part of the new substance is water or ink, right?"

The class collectively shook their heads.

"These type of mixtures are called homogeneous mixtures or simply, solutions. Other examples are coffee and juices for liquids, air for gases and metal alloys for solids," their teacher explained.

Hillary was listening intensely to Mrs. Merkel while Bill had his chin propped up in his hand, looking extremely bored. Hillary couldn't roll her eyes hard enough. How could this guy pass his classes?

Unbeknownst to her, Bill was looking at her intently when she had her head down as she was writing her notes.

"Now, for our next experiment, I want you to pour the oil in the water and mix it with the rod," said Mrs. Merkel.

"You heard Mrs. Merkel, pour the oil!" Bill pushed Hillary.

"I am, I am! Geez, do you have somewhere you need to be right now?" said Hillary, pointing at the oil she poured. Hillary stirred it, and the oil kept settling on top of the water.

"Now class, what do you notice?"

"It's not mixing at all," Betsy said, which Hillary was sure was an effort to impress John.

"Well, try stirring it a little more," Mrs. Merkel suggested.

The class stirred their oil again, and again, and again, but the oil as too stubborn not to mix with the water. In time, Bill was finding this exercise quite pointless.

"Uhm, Mrs. Merkel," Bill raised his hand, "What's the point of this? The oil won't mix and no matter what we do, it doesn't. And besides, isn't there a saying that does 'Oil and water don't mix'?"

"Precisely, Bill. Oil and water don't mix. You figured it out!" Mrs. Merkel applauded Bill. "This type of mixture is called a heterogenous mixture. Unlike the first type, the components of this type can easily be distinguished. Look at your beakers. The oil is clearly visible from the water. You can even scoop the oil out so you'll be left with water. That's how heterogenous mixtures work."

Hillary wasn't a class showoff, but it pissed her that their teacher found favor in her archnemesis. Sersiously, how could anyone see anything good in him?!

Her eyes darted to the oil and water mixture. She couldn't resist the temptation of comparing the mixture to her current lab partner and herself. Heterogeneous, huh. No water how hard they were stirred, they would never mix, they would never get along. Only Jesus Christ could make oil and water mix.

Unlike back then when she thought they were ink and water.

Hillary shook her head. Was the ton of schoolwork beginning to addle her brains? For a moment, she thought she was fondly reminiscing the time when Pretty Boy wasn't a jerk, and her experiences with him taught her never to trust that handsome, breathtaking face, because that was all it was: a face. A cover. A façade. Behind it was a cold, callous person who didn't deserve an iota of her sympathy. But there she was, feeling the teensiest amount of affection for the guy.

Focus, Hillary. Pretty Boy is a master of deceipt. You fell for his false charms and that ain't happening again.

Hillary shifted in her seat and refocused her attention back to Mrs. Merkel, who was already discussing colloids ("Colloids are mixtures that are intermediate of homogeneous and heterogeneous mixtures"). Looking through her peripheral vision, she could see Pretty Boy absentmindedly spinning his pen. Typical airhead, Hillary thought. 

While Bill didn't bug her for the rest of the class, the sound of the bell couldn't come sooner. She wanted to get away from Pretty Boy as far away as she could, as only distance from him could give her peace of mind. 

After their chemistry class, Betsy seemed to be floating in cloud nine. Hillary swore she saw stars in her best friend's eyes.

"Isn't he dreamy?" Betsy mused.

"Does he even know you exist?" Hillary raised an eyebrow.

"He does! He invited me to a meeting of the Model UN!" Betsy insisted.

"Maybe he needs more members?" Hillary asked.

"Either way, I'm going."

"Betsy, you need to lower your expectations. You might be in for a disappointment if he doesn't ask you out."

"I am sure he will!" Betsy said giddily.

"That's...that's exactly what I am warning against."

"Oh stop it, you party pooper," Betsy swatted Hillary's arm affectionately. "You have Vince going with you to the prom. Why can't I have a date too?"

Hillary sighed, stopping dead in her tracks, "I think Vince is already regretting he asked me out."

"Why? Pretty Boy again?" Betsy asked with genuine concern. "He shamed him for asking you out?"

"Yes. I said hi to Vince earlier but he won't answer back," Hillary replied sadly.

Betsy patted her best friend's back in support. "Chin up, girl. I know you'll be with someone at prom. Maybe someone will get to third base with you."

"Betsy!"

Betsy giggled. "No, seriously. Once the boys see you in that dress you bought? They'll be battling it out to be with you alone."

"Awww, Betsy, you're so sweet."

"Yes, I am, and so are milkshakes. The Chocolair after school?"

Hillary was breathless when she replied, "Yes!"

And so, the thought of milkshakes after school erased the worried off Hillary's mind, including that of Pretty Boy Bill Clinton.