1.1 Amatol, (or, How A Science Teacher Stole My Swag)
 
Amatol is fine on its own, vacuum packed and sealed in sticks of dynamite, or in V2 rocket warheads, or in trace amounts of your favorite soft drink. Unfortunately, when the compound interacts with, well, anything, it explodes. Violently. As in, untold amounts of damage. As in, something that would literally fry a hundred people on a city block without breaking a sweat. Or you know, consuming half of it’s own blast radius.
 
That is what I took away from my first class at Yamaku, Mutou’s Intermediate Chemistry 301.
 
I learned not to fuck with Amatol.
 
I don’t really recall much after that, because most of the lesson consisted of Mutou rambling about Amatol’s use in the Second World War, and how it carved a few big-ben sized holes into London.  It got to a certain point where it was too morbid to pay attention to, and the class wasn’t even really into it, either. The two girls in front of me were already lost in their cellphones. Shizune and Misha managed to sign furiously to each other in what I guess could be interpreted as a side conversation that went on for most of the class.  
 
“Nakai?” Mutou asked, in his cutting voice.
 
I jolted up in my seat. Was class already over? Was I daydreaming? Did I do something wrong?
 
“Nakai.” He repeated, a bit softer than the first time, which bordered on bellowing.
 
My gaze was fixed on the two student council members for a moment, until Misha motioned with her head to look in Mutou's direction, her bouncing drills pointing the way. I craned my neck.
 
Professor Mutou frowned a bit, and then summoned me over with a twitch of his fingers. I was so paranoid that I had done something wrong, the walk up from my desk can only be called a death march.
 
I’m standing at his desk, awaiting the inevitable punishment. The bell rings. Once these kids leave, I’m gonna catch hell. I just wish I knew what I did. I watch Shizune and Misha giggle and leave from the corner of my eye. Thoughts race through my head at the speed of sound. Wait, that’s not particularly fast is it? Fuck. I’m standing up here like a duck at a shooting gallery.
 
Someone traces something pointy across the back of my pants. Was someone poking my ass? I stand up even straighter, catching a wayward glance from Mutou -- he swings his manager’s chair to the right, flags down one of the students and calmly states:
 
“Get it together.”
 
Turning back to me, he repeats my last name for the third time.
 
“Nakai.”
 
I swallow audibly.
 
“I’m pronouncing it correctly?” He inquires casually.
 
“Yes.” I can’t really bring myself to say much else.
 
“Well, I was sent a copy of your examinations, and you’re one of the stand-out students in Yamaku as far as math and science is concerned...”
 
Huh.
 
Mutou takes a moment to put a pair of thin, wood-framed reading glasses on his face and reviews a couple of sheets of paper on his desk.
 
“It’s a shame I couldn’t get you as a freshman. We could’ve started a science club or something.”
 
“Um...” I don’t get a lot of complements on my academics. I’m not sure how I really stack up here.
 
“No, don’t worry about that, it’s neither here nor there. I wouldn’t want to put that kind of responsibility on you, given the circumstances.”
 
“Well, thanks.” I reply, honestly.
 
“But to get to the reason I called you over -- I was wondering -- how do you find yourself acclimating to Yamaku?”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“Have you made any friends, Hisao?”
 
I almost blurted out Kenji's name. Was Kenji even my friend? Was it even a good thing for me to consider Kenji my friend? I’ve got a sinking feeling that if I start spending more time with him, I’ll end up falling off of a roof or something. Using my better judgement, I decide against mentioning him. That leaves Misha and Shizune, who have been nothing but kind to me, I think. But I’d be taking a pretty big leap saying that two girls with outgoing personalities are my friends after a couple of days.
 
“No, not yet. To be honest, I’m not sure where I stand with Misha and Shizune yet.”
 
“Can I offer a suggestion?”
 
“Yeah, why not.” I shrug.
 
“I’m sorry?” He’s looking at me with raised eyebrows.
 
“No, I mean, yes, Professor Mutou.” I’m making an ass out of myself.
 
“Peer tutoring. Consider it an ice-breaker. An antifreeze. Like propylene glycol.”
 
“Like what?”
 
“Get it together, Hisao.” Mutou looked at me expectantly.
 
After a few moments of searching my mind’s intellectual pantry of chemical compound memorizations, I find myself able to recall it.
 
“C3-H8-O2?”
 
“Close enough.” He leans back in his chair and smiles, ever so slightly.
 
“So what did you have in mind exactly?” I ask, starting to get interested.
 
“Well, I have a couple of students who could use... supplementary lessons that I just don’t have the time for. One of whom you already know.”
 
“Misha?”
 
He raises an eyebrow.
 
“How’d you know?”
 
“She just sort of gave that impression.”
 
“Well, don’t judge a book by it’s cover -- but she’s not the one I’d have you tutor. Even without tutoring, she’d probably have a shot at passing, to be honest.”
 
“Who’s the other one?”
 
“Miki Miura, the girl who sits up in front.”
 
“The one who’s missing the hand?” I blurt out, frankly.
 
“Hisao.”
 
“Er, sorry... I did something wrong there, didn’t I?” I’m really making an ass out of myself.
 
“Try to be more sensitive -- but to answer your question, yes. I think she’s a good girl at heart, just... how should I put it... consider her like Amatol.”
 
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, perturbed.
 
“You’ll see, Hisao. I’ve got the utmost faith in you.” He says, smiling.
 
“Why would I want to tutor someone like that?” I ask again, even more pensive.
 
“Because you already agreed to it.” He’s smiling again. I’m starting to be afraid of him smiling.
 
“Wait, no I didn’t.” I realize belatedly, after a find myself nodding for a brief moment.
 
Mutou gets up and ushers me forward, and we walk out of the room together, into the hallway. The next class is probably about to start. The bell rings. It’s started. I’m gonna be late for history. He motions for me to walk with him.
 
“Have you ever read Michio Kaku, Hisao?”
 
“No.” I stated. But, I would have preferred saying, “I don’t have time for this.”
 
“Michio Kaku’s an astrophysicist. A very experimental one at that, and he makes a lot of interesting ripples in the scientific community. A very learned fellow. Anyway, he has a theorem about multiverses. Do you know what multiverse theory is, Hisao?”
 
“No.” I answer honestly. The science buff in me is piqued, to be honest.
 
“Long story short, Multiverse theory basically says that there are an infinite number of universes with you in it, and that you, given that you’re in the correct universe, have already given me the response that I wanted, which is, specifically, ‘Yes, Professor Mutou, I’d be glad to tutor Miki Miura.’”
 
“What?” My bullshit detector is on full alarm.
 
“So in a cosmic sense, you’ve already committed to me, to her, and most importantly, to me. So I’ve already gone ahead and scheduled an appointment with you and Ms. Miura for tomorrow at three in the afternoon. Oh, room two-oh-four”
 
“Wait, you what?” I’m not sure if I’m processing everything right here. Earth to Mutou. Come in, Mutou.
 
Mutou stops at a classroom, ignoring me.
 
“Room 204.”
 
“What?”
 
“Room 204, your history room.”
 
How did he know that?
 
Mutou brazenly walks into the classroom, approaches the teacher, chats with him in hushed tones, turns to me and the ushers me in with an extended arm. He looks over the class and clears his throat.
 
“Class, this is Hisao Nakai. Get it together.”
 
The class starts clapping. It’s like I’m in America or something.
 
Mutou then takes his leave, leaving me standing, completely and utterly stupefied at the brazen and nonchalant way this man interacts with the world. I nod to the teacher, who nods back briskly, and find my seat. While the teacher lectures on about his syllabus, I find myself wondering what I’m about to get into.
 
Miki, according to Mutou, is like Amatol.
 
Amatol left Big-Ben sized holes in London, according to Mutou.
 
I learned not to fuck with Amatol.
 
Why am I fucking with Amatol?