The Pipette Ghost

After finishing their last class of the day, a weary Stuy senior rushes down the half floor stairs onto the chilly marble of the first floor. Eager to buy a pepperoni pizza bagel on their way home, they rush to their locker in the first floor atrium. But something about the vibes were different; the first floor smelled more of rubbing alcohol than the swimming pool. It seemed that the blood drive from earlier that day was still set up, but there was no one to be seen. No fellow students in sight either. Instead, there was a singular pizza slice glinting in a wondrously greasy box hidden in between two portable curtains. 

Well, if no one else is around, I might as well treat myself to my first meal of the day, thought the student. 

As the student reached for the slice, a ghastly figure in the shape of... a PIPETTE! shot through the table from underneath!

The ghost boomed,"Whooo goes here?" 

"What oh m-me? Don’t hurt me, I’m just a humble— wait why are you shaped like.. that?" remarked the disgusted student that had taken multiple steps backwards.

It had been years since they had taken AP Chem in sophomore year. But that 70 average was in the past and they were planning on majoring in business, so it didn't really matter to them anyways.

"Ahh you want to hear my lore! Fantastic! You see, I'm on a journey to learn more about chemistry!”

“Oh, ew, no thanks. I’m just going to take this slice and leave. Can’t finish my college supps if I’m out here talking to spirits!! Mine left as soon as I walked into this building. Ok bye!!” 

“Wait but what about acids and bases-”

The student grabbed the pizza and quickly walked away from the awkward encounter, leaving the pipette-shaped ghost to their own resources. They hadn’t walked that fast since freshman year when they were only 40 minutes early to Art App, instead of their usual 41 minutes. Nevertheless, the student forgot about the ghost until they fell asleep at dawn.

Somehow, in the 30 minutes of sleep they averaged each night, they started having haunting nightmares of calculating titration equations, creating base solutions and other chemically bone-chilling things.

The student cried to themselves: How am I supposed to enjoy my 30 minutes of sleep if this oblong ghoul keeps bothering me?? I need to confront them and put a stop to this nonsense.

The next day, the student spent all of their frees trying to search for the ghost. They nearly lost all hope, but by their last free, they had heard wails coming from the first floor bathroom. The door had been left slightly ajar.

Upon seeing the ghost mid-mental breakdown in the last stall, the student said,“What are you, the Walmart version of Moaning Myrtle?”

The ghost responded, “I don’t want your quips. I want to learn how to be spooky. I can’t help it if I was created accidentally from the lingering souls of drained chemistry students instead of souls of the dead.”

“Okay so have you considered haunting a chemistry teacher instead of a chemistry flunk? Did you want a one on the what, AP Ghost exam?”

“Well, I got sentenced to the first floor by the Stuy Ghost Council for leaving slime trails on the faucets for some… personal reasons. Please you’re the only one that can help. I need to be freed with knowledge of hydrogen bonds and arrhenius acids.”

Suddenly, the bathroom stall door swung open and a voice was heard. “Hello? Is somebody in here?” The teacher cautiously peered into the stall.

The student, who hadn’t participated in class since freshman year, panicked at the sight of a teacher and accidentally pressed the flush lever. The poor pipette shaped ghost that was hovering over the toilet had no time to react before it was too late.

“Noo don't leave me… I could provide you with good tips for your personal essay… I just wanted to learn chemistry,” cried the ghost as it got sucked into the toilet.

“WAIT. I NEED COLLEGE TIPS! COME BACK NOOOO!” desperately screamed the student who had started clawing at the water. They had spent a total of three hours on their college list, and just flushed down their only hope of getting into college down the toilet.

The emotions were too overwhelming and the student suddenly collapsed on the floor with thoughts of college rejection letters and such. They were only found three hours later by the janitors as the teacher had fainted as well from hearing the student’s way above classroom-discussion-volume pleads.

After that traumatic day the student vowed to never step foot in Stuyvesant High School again and promptly transferred into Brooklyn Tech. At least there they wouldn’t have to worry about chemistry, only the mismatched floor tiling.