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Graham says, “Discovered in the debris of the first hydrogen bomb explosion.”
“Atomic number ninety-nine,” Foster offers.
“Symbol is E-S,” Peter adds.
It’s my turn, so I say, “The geekiest and smartest element of them all, complete with a pocket protector.”
Foster slides my beer closer to me. “That’s a really good guess, but you should prepare to drink.”
“You think?” I ask, dripping with sarcasm.
Graham lifts his head from his phone. “Surprisingly, the einsteinium element does not have a pocket protector. Time to drink, EJ.”
“Nobody saw that coming,” I snark. I lift my glass, drinking close to half the pint. “I guess this means I get to choose next?”
“That’s right,” Peter confirms.
“Well then, you are all completely out of luck because I’m still convinced that an actinide is a pimple potion.”
Everyone laughs at me, beside me—and soon, I realize, with me.
“I can pick one for you,” Foster offers. “Since your chemistry knowledge is a little remedial.”
“You’re being a little generous by even saying it’s remedial. So, yeah, go for it. Your pick.”
“Very well. Let’s go with californium.”
“I’m guessing that being named after California won’t be sufficient?” I mumble.
“Is that your input?” asks James.
“No. I’m still formulating my Nobel Prize winning answer.” I dramatically rub my temples, like massaging my brain will relax it into geeky submission. “Why don’t you brainiacs free your cerebellums of analytic thoughts first?”
Graham guffaws. “Sure, EJ. I’ll go first. Slowly tarnishes in air at room temperature.”
“Can disrupt the formation of red blood cells,” James offers.
“Heaviest naturally occurring element on earth,” Peter follows.
“Atomic number ninety-eight,” Foster finishes.
They all turn their expectant faces toward me.
“And the smart table award goes to all of you,” I say playfully, spreading my arms wide like a game show hostess. “Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.” I grab my beer, prepared to drink.
“Aren’t you even going to take a guess?” Foster inquires.
“Oh, sure.” I set my drink back down. “Why the hell not? Californium. The tannest and most valley girl element at the party just below the Sunset Strip.” I raise my glass. “Cheers, gentlemen.” Then, I take another swig of my beer.
“I don’t think we need to verify that one,” Peter says, shaking his head. “Everyone knows that elements don’t have melanin, and therefore, can’t tan.”
“Of course they don’t,” I tease. “Everyone knows that.”
“Shut up, Peter.” Foster laughs, flicking a cardboard coaster at him. “No need to kick her while she’s down.”
“It’s okay.” I giggle with them. “It’s pretty obvious that I know jack dick when it comes to the acne cream elements. Talk about taking advantage of a gal and her tiny brain.”
Drinking games have always been a forte of mine, and admittedly, so far, this is one that I’m failing at miserably. Sitting back, I search through my head for a way to get a leg up on these guys. They all have more knowledge than fourteen-year-old boys have hormones, but there has to be something. I hate losing.
