“I want to be a harvest kid,” exclaimed Liam.
“You can!” Mom hung her gloves under the sink. “Kate, you know that leather backpack you borrowed? I’d like it back for the meeting tomorrow. It’d be perfect to load up with the scrapbooks.”
“Sure,” I said, hoping my warm face wasn’t giving away my inner panic. What should I do? Tell her the truth? Her happiness would shrivel up faster than the liquid nitrogen balloon. Plus, she would think I was irresponsible. “Um, it’s in my room. The bag, I mean. I’ll get it for you in a sec.”
My throat swelled with worry.
Normally, my mom thought I was pretty responsible, which is why she let me do lots of stuff on my own. But after last week’s glass bowl explosion in the kitchen and now the glue in the backpack, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe she would tell Mrs. Hansberry I shouldn’t be the assistant director. Then I couldn’t be with Birdie or Elijah.
“I’m sorry to snatch that bag back.” Mom strolled over to the couch. “I feel terrible.”
“Oh, don’t. Seriously.” I rubbed my chin. “But . . . maybe you could use a more official-looking bag. Like a briefcase?”
“Hmmm. I thought about that, but it’d look too corporate. Like the school doesn’t need the money. A nice backpack is perfect.”
Actually, her backpack was the opposite of perfect right now.
“Thanks, honey.” Mom kissed my forehead and then Liam’s cheek. “You guys are the best—just sitting there watching a science show.” She clasped her hands, beaming down at us. “How did I ever get so lucky?”
I opened my mouth to tell her that she didn’t get that lucky, but my lips stuck together as if they’d been glued.
As soon as Mom left, I barreled into the kitchen.
“Hey,” said Liam. “Can we do that Dr. Caroline spearmint together?”
“It’s called an experiment. And no, it’s too dangerous without a grown-up around and the proper gear. But I have another experiment, and it’s called cleaning. Want to try?”
“No way!”
That’s exactly what I thought, and what I was counting on.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ONE STEP CLOSER
Solutes (noun). Substances that dissolve. Like what happens to cocoa powder when you pour steaming milk (called a solvent) to make hot cocoa.
MAYBE I COULD PLOP the backpack into the freezer. If the glue froze, I might be able to break it off the fabric lining with my hands. Or I could use a knife to peel it away.
When I opened the freezer, I saw ice cream, frozen peas, burritos, and Popsicles. Unfortunately, Dad had just gone shopping at Costco. The freezer was jam-packed and there wasn’t enough room for the bag.
As my grandma Dort would say, now it was time for me to face the music. Or rather the glue.
I yanked out the bottle of Elmer’s from the bag and read the label. It said it was water soluble.
The glue would soften like butter if I got it wet.
After filling our kettle with water, I set the bag on the counter. A bit later, I poured warm water onto a rag, and then attacked a glob of glue.
Total fail.
Disgusted, I slammed the wet rag into the perfect, shiny, Mom-cleaned sink.
Then I realized something. In science, when you eliminate one thing, you are one step closer to the solution.
A fail was a win.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ACCIDENTS HAPPEN
Solution (noun). When a solvent (milk) dissolves a solute (cocoa powder), you create a solution. In this case, a solution is something you drink, not an answer to a math problem.
THE WARM WATER DIDN’T DO THE TRICK.
I paced. I tapped my head. Think, Kate. Think. Think!
Wait a minute. Instead of just thinking, I needed to gather evidence. Make observations. This time I opened the bag all the way and set it under the bright lights on the kitchen counter. I could see that some of the glue had softened. But not enough.
Maybe I just needed to keep the hot rag on the glue longer.
This time, I let the glue soften with the rag for a long time. A while later, it was time to test out my hypothesis. When I checked the bag, I was able to rinse it all off!
Yes. Yes. Yes. My hunch had been right. But now the fabric was all wet.
Racing upstairs to the bathroom, I grabbed a hair dryer from the cabinet. Liam knocked around in his bedroom. After I had mentioned cleaning earlier, he had escaped upstairs.
“What are you doing?” he called out.
“Nothing,” I lied as I hustled back downstairs. Well, not exactly a lie. Because after my cleaning and drying, I would be doing nothing.
As the hair dryer roared on, Mom stepped into the kitchen. “What’s going on in here?” Her eyes lasered on her bag spread open on the kitchen counter. And the hair dryer.
I turned off the dryer. “Your bag got a little wet. And gluey. But I took care of it.”
“Oh, Kate.” Her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “I had hoped you’d be more responsible. That you were old enough to take care of the bag.”
“Mom, I’m super sorry! It was an accident.”
“You have to think. You can’t always be in such a rush.”
I was going to protest. But I was the one who didn’t check to see if the bottle of glue in my emergency kit had been closed tightly.
“I’d like an explanation,” Mom said in her firm principal voice. It was too eerily calm. Her dark brown eyes bored into mine, like she could read my thoughts. If Mom had a superpower, it would definitely be mind reading.
I blurted out everything that had happened. How I had discovered the gluey mess in her backpack. How upset I had been. How much I had wanted to tell her, but she had seemed so happy about the grant. “Don’t worry,” I said, trying to sound 100 percent more confident than I felt. “It’ll be fine.”
Her eyes took in the darkened spots on the lining. “Really?”
“Okay, maybe not perfect. But almost.”
Mom combed her fingers through her hair. It was super short with blonde highlights. Once she became principal last year, she said she didn’t want to fuss with her long hair. That meant she didn’t want any extra problems.
Right now, I was her problem. I hated disappointing her in any way. I blinked back tears. “I’m so sorry, Mom. Really. I hope this doesn’t hurt your chances.”
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out. It’s just that I counted on you being careful. Oh, honey.” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “It’s always something, isn’t it? Thanks for making such an effort to clean it up. I’m sure it’ll be dry by the morning.” Furrowing her brow, she inspected the lining. “The grant committee won’t be inspecting the inside of the bag anyway. In the future, just try to keep things safer.”
“I will. You can count on it!”
Mom pulled me in for a hug. She smelled like coffee and sweet cream. She always knew how to make me feel better.
Soon after project bag cleanup, Birdie came over and asked if I wanted to ride bikes.
Of course I did!
After I caught her up on the conversation with Mom, we rode over to Oak Bend Pond. It was the perfect antidote to what happened. Being outside in nature always calms me down. Setting our bikes against a large oak tree, I noticed that the trees had changed colors. When I squinted my eyes, the gold, red, and orange leaves looked like dancing flames in the wind. As the branches swayed, I heard blue jays chittering.
The breeze picked up and blew ripples across the pond.
When you think pond, you might get the wrong idea. It was actually a medium-sized lake—forty-two feet deep and over three hundred acres. There were deer, fox and herons, owls and muskrats. Tall silvery cattails framed the shoreline.
“I love this place,” I said, picking up a speckled rock to skip
. It felt smooth and cool in my hand.
“Me too,” said Birdie, sighing happily. “Didn’t you think the play read-through went well?”
“Yes, definitely.”
“Good. I just wish Avery wasn’t so cranky about being dragon dance captain. It makes no sense. It’s a good part. Two songs and two dances. Plus, she’s doing the choreography.”
“Maybe she’s in a bad mood because her braces got tightened,” I said. “In soccer practice, she was complaining about it.”
“Yeah, could be.”
“I know Avery’s parents have that fog smoke machine thingy, but I’m going to figure out how to make dragons breathe smoke. So it looks like it’s spurting out of their mouths.”
“You could really do that?” asked Birdie, her eyes wide.
“I think so.”
“That would be so cool.” Birdie picked up a flat gray pebble, perfect for skipping.
“Thanks for forcing me to do the play. I think it’s going to be fun. Even if it meant I got my mom’s bag full of glue.”
“You’re welcome,” said Birdie, who skipped her rock so it zigzagged across the lake. “Now, that’s a good sign,” she said with a wink.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALWAYS BREAK A LEG
Probability (noun). The likelihood that something will happen. It’s the odds that when you flip a coin it will be heads or tails. Or the chances of you winning in rock, paper, scissors.
FIRST THING IN THE MORNING on Tuesday, I pulled out the rehearsal schedule and stuffed my backpack under a seat.
“I put my glue in a sealed bag today,” I said to Birdie. “Wish me luck!”
“No, Kate! Take that back!”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s bad luck to say”—she lowered her voice—“good luck in a theater. You’re supposed to say break a leg.”
“Oh, c’mon. That’s silly. There’s no such thing as luck. It’s all probability. If you roll two dice, there’s a higher chance you’ll get a seven than a two. Superstitions are plain weird. They make people do weird stuff like hate on black cats or run into a busy street to get away from a ladder.” I grabbed Birdie’s arm. “So, I’m going to say good luck, just to myself—since you’re so against it.”
Birdie clapped her hands over her ears. “Please. Stop. Now something bad is definitely going to happen. I’m really afraid.”
For a moment, I thought she was joking. But judging from her quivery bottom lip, she wasn’t.
“Look, the only bad thing that’s going to happen is we’re going to be late to start rehearsal.” I was supposed to go over the schedule with the cast, while Mrs. Hansberry organized the backstage crew. It was part of my job.
In the back of the theater, Mrs. Hansberry motioned me over. Today, she was dressed in a longish skirt and Birkenstocks with rainbow socks. Immediately, I felt too plain in my jeans and pink T-shirt. Tomorrow, I decided, I was going to dress with more flair. That would be fun. Putting my schedule on the seat, I hurried toward Mrs. Hansberry while Birdie headed to sit with the rest of the cast in the first two rows of the theater.
“Here’s the prop list,” said Mrs. Hansberry, handing me a paper. “It’s good to have props as early as possible so actors can rehearse with them.”
“That makes sense.” It was a long list with items like a crystal orb, an oversize dragon sandwich, blankets, and a long jump rope to tie up the unicorns.
“I’m going to be at least thirty minutes with the crew. We’ll be with Mr. Caldera, the facility manager, discussing some basic safety procedures. I trust that you can take care of the cast rehearsal schedule. Who needs to be where and when.”
“Of course! I’ve got it under control.”
Mrs. Hansberry glanced over at the first two rows where all the actors were in the process of sitting down and nodded. “Splendid. This is the only time that Mr. Caldera can meet, and I want to be respectful of his schedule.”
I took that as Mrs. Hansberry’s polite hint that she needed to go.
When I turned around, Birdie was still walking toward the first two rows of seats. That was so Birdie. She acted as if she had all day to do everything.
I hurried back to my seat where I had placed the schedule. When I peered down at the sheet, I let out a small squeal. Black streaks of ink blotted out all the information. What was going on here?! Someone had used a Sharpie to cross out everything I needed to know.
This definitely wasn’t some sort of dumb accident. This was on purpose.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SLIP SLIDING AWAY
Vapor (noun). A gas formed by boiling a liquid. Like if you boil water and watch the steam hover above the pot.
THE ACTORS SAT IN THE FIRST two rows of the auditorium waiting for me to tell them the schedule.
Only I couldn’t help them. Not when all the information had been crossed out! I didn’t have time to figure out who had played this joke on me. The neurons in my brain had to fire speedy quick to find a solution.
“Kate!” said Avery. “Everyone’s ready.”
“Hold on one second!” I called out. “Just have to get something!”
Mrs. Hansberry had written the schedule with a ballpoint pen in her elegant cursive handwriting. As quickly as possible, I ran a pencil over the back of the page to get the raised letters to appear.
Then I pulled out a little mirror that I had in my bag. When I looked in the mirror, the letters faced in the right direction.
Yes, I could read the schedule now! Victory!
Sprinting up front, I began explaining what was happening when. “The main dragon roles should go over their lines in the green room.” I paused, searching around the auditorium for a green room. The seats were brown. The walls were beige. There was nothing green in sight. “Um, what’s the green room?”
“You don’t know what a green room is?” asked Jeremy in a shocked voice.
I bit my lip. Everyone could definitely tell I didn’t know what I was doing.
“A green room is where actors hang out before a show,” explained Avery. “At my dads’ theater, it’s large with a snack machine.”
“Um, okay.” My stomach twisted. How could I help direct if I didn’t even know the basics? “So the main unicorns should go over their lines in the back rows, while the dragon and the unicorn dance teams will work on their choreography onstage. And if you’re playing a bunch of smaller roles, go meet in the prop room.”
As everyone started to leave, Avery held up her hand. “There’s something important I’ve got to do.” She opened her bag and rummaged around inside. Then she grabbed a bottle of glue with one hand and lifted it out so she could get to something underneath. A bag of Starbursts. “Catch!” she said, tossing out dozens of candies.
“You can do that anytime,” said Jeremy, snagging four or five fruit chews, and Avery smiled widely.
Some of the actors who didn’t get any looked bummed. Especially Birdie.
“Next time, maybe you should hand them out,” I said. “So everyone gets one.” My eyes met Birdie’s.
“It was just for fun,” said Phoenix. “Why are you making such a big deal about it?”
“It’s good to be fair,” said Birdie quietly.
Wow. I never thought being assistant director would be this hard.
While dragons and unicorns ran through dance steps, I sat in the front row, figuring out how to get the dragons to breathe smoke. I wanted it to look as if the smoke curled right out the dragons’ mouths. But how?
Up onstage, thumping feet echoed through the theater.
“Shake your foot in the air,” said Avery who was taking her role as dance captain seriously. Maybe a little too seriously. Her voice sounded irritated. “And now slap your foot on the floor even harder. That’s the first part of the box step.”
A f
ew of the boys stomped so hard, some kids jumped back in surprise.
Groaning dramatically, Avery threw up her hands in exasperation. “The dancing shouldn’t scare people.”
Hmm, the fake smoke should at least be a little scary and surprising, but not dangerous.
Jogging up and down the aisle, I pretended to dribble a soccer ball. Somehow I needed to jumpstart my brain.
Avery continued with her directions. “Remember the weight is on the right leg,” she said. “Shake the left foot.”
Jeremy started singing “The Hokey Pokey” and some of the kids giggled.
“That’s not such a bad idea,” said Julia, who was one of the lead dragons.
“It’s not part of the choreography,” said Avery in a tight voice.
A group of boys wiggled their arms Hokey Pokey–style, and Avery frowned.
“Save the Hokey Pokey. Otherwise, exit stage right,” I called out.
“It’s stage left,” said Avery. I suddenly remembered just now that stage directions were from the actors’ point of view. Not the audience’s. Mrs. Hansberry had explained this to us yesterday. “And I’ve got it under control.” Avery put her hands on her hips. “I don’t need your help.”
“Of course,” I said, trying to sound like Mrs. Hansberry.
After a few more tries, Avery was finally able to show everyone how to cross over their right foot. Which didn’t seem that hard but was very challenging to Rory and Jeremy, who kept messing up and crossing their left.
After I came back from checking on how the actors were doing in the green room (better than the dance team), I sat down in the back of the auditorium to do some thinking. I was itching for my dad’s phone so I could watch Dr. Caroline and get some ideas for dragon smoke.
The shriveled balloon demo came to mind. Then I remembered Dr. Caroline’s special smoking Cheetos that had been dipped in liquid nitrogen. When she chomped on one, it looked like smoke shot right out of her mouth and nose. Only it was just a cloud of the water vaporizing.
Kate the Chemist: Dragons vs. Unicorns Page 4
