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“Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan,” says Cote.

“What?” says Ballard. “You think that’s chemistry?”

“They’ve got it.” Cote slurps Slushee. “They’re like iconic for it.”

“That’s not chemistry! That’s the farthest thing from chemistry!” Ballard presses his face in his hands. “Everybody thinks that because everybody else says it, but it’s just two attractive people taking turns with–with jokes written by lonely women.”

“Lonely women can’t make jokes?” she asks.

“There’s no mmph! No chutzpah, no danger, no blood in the water!” Ballard’s getting louder. “Chemistry is about shit blowing up!”

“I wish you wouldn’t yell.”

“I’m not yelling!” he yells.