"None of this make’s any sense," Clark mumbled with his head in his hands, his dark hair falling forward as he slumped over the table.

"Look," you sighed, grabbing a fresh sheet of paper and your favorite mechanical pencil – the one with the rubber grip that was practically worn smooth from all your study sessions. "First, find the number of valence electrons."

You drew little dots around atoms while Clark watched with the defeated expression usually reserved for funeral homes and dentist offices. "Then, determine the central atom," you continued, trying to put some enthusiasm in your voice. "This is usually the atom that makes the most bonds – like the popular kid at school who has tons of friends."

That got a tiny smile out of him. Progress.

"After that, you form the bonds between the atoms - single, double, triple, all that jazz." Your pencil moved across the paper, connecting atoms like a matchmaker on a mission. "Last, move the electrons around depending on the octet rule. Hydrogen is satisfied with only two electrons – that's why there's a single bond connecting it to Beryllium."

"I only got the popular kid part," he admitted, picking up the paper like it was written in ancient hieroglyphics. His blue eyes scanned the page for the hundredth time, searching for understanding that just wouldn't come.

"I'm hopeless."

"Clark Kent, you once memorized the entire starting lineup of the 1985 Royals, including their batting averages. You're not hopeless – you just need to find your way into it." You pulled out another sheet of paper.

"That's different," Clark protested, but he sat up a little straighter, some life returning to his expression. "Brett hit .335 that season, by the way." He paused, a slight blush creeping across his cheeks at proving your point. "But baseball makes sense. It's... real. You can watch it, feel it. Electrons are just floating around doing whatever they want, breaking rules with thousands of exceptions. How am I supposed to keep track of something I can't even see?"