But there was one big problem. If liquid nitrogen was used incorrectly, it could burn someone’s throat or mouth. Sort of like frostbite, only without being in the cold. Still, liquid nitrogen was the most awesome thing ever. It was powerful. It made balloons shrink. It could be used to freeze off warts (yuck!). And yes, it would make the absolutely perfect pretend smoke.
Bouncing in my seat, I imagined all of the amazing vapor that formed as the liquid nitrogen became a gas. That always happens at its boiling point. Just like water becomes steam.
But how could I make it safe enough for Mrs. Hansberry to say it would be okay to use?
Maybe we could use sticks to spear the Cheetos. The dragons could blow on them to encourage the nitrogen to evaporate. That way they wouldn’t have any of their skin or body parts touching the liquid nitrogen.
To be extra safe, I would need those special blue cryogenic gloves that Dr. Caroline used. Somehow, I had to convince Mom and Dad to get me gloves as a very, very early birthday present.
As I pushed out of my seat, I stepped on a piece of watermelon-scented chewing gum. “Ugh!” I moaned.
First the blacked-out rehearsal schedule, then messing up stage right and stage left, and now gum! This was not my day.
I would have to de-gum my shoe with some peanut butter (because: chemistry) when I got home. But, more importantly, I was going to figure out who had spit that gum in front of my seat. Was it on purpose? And if it was, was it the same person who scribbled all over my rehearsal schedule? Now I was going to have to be a scientist, an assistant director, and a detective.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SOMETHING STINKS!
Protocol (noun). A set of instructions so you can re-create an experiment or procedure. You can make up ridiculous songs, but you never want to make up ridiculous protocols in science.
AFTER PUTTING A SMALL PIECE OF paper on my shoe so I wouldn’t get gum everywhere, I raced up to Mrs. Hansberry as she left the lighting booth. “I figured it out!” I cried.
“The play?” She glanced up from her clipboard. “Life? What, pray tell?”
I loved how Mrs. Hansberry sounded so old-fashioned and elegant. As if she had stepped out of a Shakespeare play or something.
“How we can get the dragons to breathe out smoke during the finale. So it looks like it’s coming out of their mouths and nostrils.” And then words zipped out of my mouth as I explained my liquid nitrogen Cheeto concept. How we could make it completely safe using every sort of safety protocol. A protocol is a set of instructions that tell you the right way to do something, and with liquid nitrogen you couldn’t afford to do it the wrong way.
“This is most intriguing, Kate,” said Mrs. Hansberry, closing her eyes as if she were imagining the possibilities. “However, this is something I would need to discuss over the phone with Ms. Daly and a few others, such as your wonderful mother. But if we follow the safety protocol and give this privilege to a few dragons who are utterly up for the responsibility, we might be able to give this a green light.”
As I started jumping up and down, Avery shuffled past us loudly chewing gum. She plopped down in a seat on the aisle next to Phoenix.
The minute I ended the conversation with Mrs. Hansberry, I headed over toward Avery. Oh boy, could I smell that gum! It wasn’t just regular old bubble gum flavor. Or sour apple or peppermint.
It was watermelon.
Exactly like the kind of gum I had stepped on by my seat.
“Where did you get that gum?” I demanded.
Her face paled.
I lifted up the back of my running shoe and ripped off the piece of paper so she could see the wad of green gum stuck to the tread. “Look familiar? You really shouldn’t be chewing gum in the theater, Avery.”
Leaning forward in her seat, she sneered, “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I can. I’m the assistant director.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re Mrs. Hansberry.” She shook her head so her braids whipped around. “Just because your mom is principal, you think you can do anything.”
“This has nothing to do with my mom, Avery. This has to do with you leaving gum on the floor so I’d step on it. It was meant for me, wasn’t it?”
Kids stared at us. I didn’t care. I couldn’t let Avery get away with this.
“Well, maybe you should be more careful where you walk. You’re the assistant director. You’re supposed to notice things.”
I took a step closer to Avery. “Why are you so mad at me?”
“Don’t you remember what we just talked about in your mom’s minivan, coming back from that last soccer tournament?”
“Uh, no.”
“That figures. You only listen to yourself, Miss Kate the Great! Think you’re super special? Well, you’re not. I should have been assistant director, not you.” She started to list the reasons on her fingers. “I know dance. You don’t. I know how to sing. You can’t. And I know how to listen.”
“At least everyone listens to me when I talk. And I don’t sabotage people by crossing out their schedules,” I hissed in a voice much louder than I intended. I didn’t know it was her for sure, but I figured if I said it, her response might give something away.
“Well, sorry, but you deserved it,” she huffed.
Phoenix nodded.
“I can’t”—I shook my head so fast the room spun—“I can’t believe you think that.”
“Quiet,” whisper-warned Phoenix, pointing at our teacher. “Mrs. Hansberry.” I could see her hurrying toward us.
Avery made a face. “All you want to do is prove you’re better than me.”
“Not really. I don’t even think about you!”
“That’s the problem. You don’t think about anyone but yourself.”
“That’s so not true!” It wasn’t. I thought about Birdie, I thought about the dragons, I thought about—
Mrs. Hansberry now stood next to us. “I don’t know what’s going on over here, but I’m not pleased.” She pursed her lips tightly. “Not pleased at all. You’re both at risk of losing your positions in this show if you continue this fight.”
“I’m done,” said Avery in a sulky voice.
“Me too,” I said, and watched Avery stalk away.
If I were a dragon, I would be breathing fire right now.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ORANGE YOU HAVING FUN?
Surface Tension (noun). That’s when molecules cling to each other, sometimes pulling inward at the surface and making a bubble.
THE NEXT MORNING, on Wednesday, despite the blow-up with Avery, I couldn’t wait for theater camp to begin. I had on my pink cowboy boots that my grandparents in Texas got me for my last birthday, so I felt more jazzy. But I was mostly jazzed because of a big problem I had to solve. Would my fire breathing plan actually work? The show was Saturday afternoon, only three days away.
It was the tech rehearsal. This meant all of the lighting, the set, and the props had to be in place. It was very busy. Parents lugged in pieces of scenery, including giant fake boulders, a rainbow banner, and dragon treasure. After everything was set up, Mrs. Hansberry gathered us together in front of the stage.
“Though this isn’t a full-dress rehearsal, please put on your costumes so we can make sure everything is working and looks good under the lights.” Mrs. Hansberry pointed to a fake volcano and giant tarp painted to look like a cave. “Didn’t the crew do a marvelous job with our lovely set?”
A bunch of kids clapped, and I thought about how amazing it was that everything was coming together.
“I want to acknowledge our volunteer parents who dragged in all sorts of props today,” continued Mrs. Hansberry. “I’m afraid most of them have left, but we want to offer our heartfelt thanks.”
There were more cheers and hoots, and about fifteen minutes later, everyon
e had on their costumes. The dragons wore bodysuits with their long tails. The unicorns all wore white shirts and their horns. With the house lights down and the spotlight making a large circle of light on center stage, everything did look very different. Almost professional-looking. The volcanos in the set seemed as though they were about to rumble. I thought for a moment about asking if I could make them erupt—Dr. Caroline had a great demo for that—but decided it was more important to focus on the dragons.
Mrs. Hansberry strolled down the aisle and clasped her hands together to greet me. “Kate, I’m quite eager to test out the smoking Cheetos.” Like my mom, she seemed to have mind reading abilities. “I’m particularly pleased that Ms. Daly will be joining us this afternoon to help you out.”
“Me too!” Mrs. Hansberry told me that Ms. Daly was back from her trip to St. Paul. She said Ms. Daly would take care of the liquid nitrogen if I could take care of the rest.
“I’ve brought the Cheetos, like I promised,” I said.
“Excellent. I knew you would. We’ll just roll up our proverbial sleeves and see what sort of dragon magic we can cook up.”
“Awesome!”
“While I tend to some backstage issues,” said Mrs. Hansberry, “can you make sure the unicorns go over their dance finale? I’m especially concerned that the lead roles remember all of their cues. It’s not easy dancing and remembering lines.”
“Sure thing!”
This time I didn’t drop my backpack on a seat in the auditorium. This time I kept my backpack with me. On my shoulders. I wasn’t going to let anyone mess up my stuff.
But instead of heading backstage, Mrs. Hansberry stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “Things got a little heated yesterday between you and Avery. I’m hoping things go much smoother today. It’s not like you to get into any sort of loud argument. But I know nerves are a little frayed as we get so close to performance time. I appreciate you being calm today.”
“No problem,” I said, picturing my nerves fraying during the fight yesterday. I didn’t think that was scientifically possible, but I’d have to look it up. I really couldn’t wait to try the Cheeto experiment. My stomach was bubbling with excitement. Bubbles meant lots of carbon dioxide trying to escape. It was mostly a happy bubbly feeling but also made me feel like I had too much energy inside.
After lunch, we worked on the second half of the show. Up onstage, the unicorns practiced their finale, and I had the script out with all of the cues marked in red. A cue is the last line before someone new speaks or moves. Actors really need to listen well and say their lines right away, so there’s no awkward silence.
Birdie never forgot a cue, and she never forgot any of her lines.
“The dragons are winging overhead. We should hide,” said Mia Wong, who played Birdie’s sister unicorn.
“If we hide, they will find us,” said Steven McFee, a fourth grader, who played their little brother unicorn.
“No hiding!” cried Memito Alvarez, a fifth grader playing the grandfather dragon. “We should fly away.”
“But I’m a unicorn and not Pegasus,” said Birdie, not even once looking down at her script. Which was amazing. Everyone had to be completely off-book by Friday for the dress rehearsal, but she’d done it two days early—and she had the most lines. Off-book doesn’t literally mean off a real book. It just means that the actors need to have memorized all of their lines, and they can’t hold a script in their hands. It was another theater thing I learned from Mrs. Hansberry.
I’m really not sure how Birdie memorized everything so quickly. Of course, it was only a twenty-five-minute musical, but still. Mrs. Hansberry said that most plays take weeks and weeks of rehearsal to get off-book. I was proud of everyone for being willing to learn their lines so fast. Especially my BFF.
Looking up from the script, I was surprised to see that Birdie’s face had turned strawberry red. Was she overheated? Today, for the first time, the spotlight was on, and Elijah and the lighting crew were working on making sure the rest of the lights ran smoothly. No, Birdie couldn’t be hot. I rubbed my arms. That didn’t make any sense. If anything, it was chilly in the theater.
Instead of keeping her eyes looking straight into the audience during the dance number, Birdie continued to glance at the other performers. With her head turned, Birdie bumped into a fellow unicorn.
“Sorry!” Birdie squeaked.
As they started again doing a little leap, Birdie missed her cue and fell with a clunk.
I rushed toward the stage. “Are you okay?” The other unicorns hovered over her.
“No,” said Birdie, her cheeks pink and her eyelashes glistening with tears. “It was my fault. I can’t keep count of the dance steps while I’m also remembering my lines.”
“Let’s take a little five-minute break,” I said. “Why doesn’t everyone stretch and then run some lines? I’ll go over them with Birdie.”
Of course, Birdie didn’t need to run lines at all. “Birdie, are you all right?” I asked, as we stepped to the back of the theater.
“I don’t know what I’m doing up here. Someone else should be in this role. Someone who actually knows how to dance and act at the same time. I’m going to ruin the show.”
“Birdie, you can do it! Trust yourself. Stop looking out of the corner of your eye to see what everyone else is up to. I’ve seen you practice the steps. You’ve got this!”
Birdie’s cheeks turned pink again. One time, I looked up why. Cheeks got pink because of adrenaline, a hormone. It made your veins open so blood could flow through. It was all part of the flight or fight reaction. Right now, Birdie wanted to run away, and I needed to change all of that.
The best tactic? Get her mind off of her dance number. That’s when I told her about the Cheetos demo and how Ms. Daly came back especially to help me.
“I got the really big puffy ones, so they’ll hold a lot of liquid nitrogen.” I dug into my backpack to pull out the bag. But I couldn’t feel them.
Opening my backpack more, I spotted my emergency kit, an extra script, my lunch bag, but no Cheetos! “I’m sure I brought them. I put them right here.”
That’s when Ms. Daly strode into the theater with a huge grin spread across her face. She had on her blue lab coat and goggles perched on her neck. “The liquid nitrogen is ready to go in the lab,” she said. “I can’t wait to get started, Kate!”
Getting started would be impossible. Once again, I rummaged through the backpack, checking every pocket. Every nook and cranny. But nothing! What happened to the Cheetos?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A BAD LUCK STREAK
Cohesion (noun). How well a bunch of molecules stick together. It’s like when a coach calls for a huddle in soccer. Can the team bunch together and listen? Or is everyone doing their own thing?
EVERYTHING WAS FALLING apart. Avery stood in the back row of the auditorium with Phoenix. I could hear Avery whispering and giggling. She was probably laughing at me. That was enough. I marched right up to Avery. “Thanks a lot for stealing my Cheetos!”
“Your Cheetos? What are you talking about?”
“They were there.” I pointed to my backpack. “And now they’re gone. Give them back.”
“I don’t have them!”
On the side of the stage, Mrs. Hansberry stood discussing something with Ms. Daly.
“This isn’t funny, Avery. I need them.”
“Wow. Someone really needs a snack,” said Elijah from the lighting booth.
“The Cheetos aren’t for me to eat. They’re for the special effects for the dragons.” I put out my hand, palm facing up. “Give. Them. To. Me.”
Avery stomped her foot. “I already told you, I don’t have them.”
Phoenix jiggled her charm bracelet. “Avery doesn’t even like Cheetos. She wouldn’t take them.”
“Wouldn’t take what?” a
sked Mrs. Hansberry from the stage. Next to her, Ms. Daly stared at me in surprise.
“Cheetos,” said Avery, rolling her eyes. “Kate thinks I took them. Just because she can’t find them.”
“Well, I don’t know where else they could be.” I once again rummaged through my backpack. “The bag was in here. I promise.” I glanced up apologetically at Ms. Daly, who came in especially to help me out today. “I’m so sorry,” I said, my cheeks heating up. I could practically feel that hormone signaling my veins to open up. My cheeks were probably now phenol red. That’s a special dye that chemists use to see if something is an acid or a base. “I don’t know what happened.” My eyes darted over at Avery. It had to be her.
“I would send someone to the store to buy a bag, but there just isn’t enough time,” said Mrs. Hansberry. “Well, we have plenty of other things to do.”
“I can come back tomorrow,” said Ms. Daly.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, staring at the floor, which was dusty. That was probably my fault, too. I should have noticed and swept it up so that none of the crew slid while they were working in the dark.
“It’s okay,” said Ms. Daly.
But it wasn’t. I could hear the disappointment in her voice.
“I guess we should get back to work, folks,” said Mrs. Hansberry. The cast headed back onstage.
Only as soon as Birdie whinnied and threw back her mane, her unicorn horn slid off her forehead and toppled onto the floor.
“I’ll re-glue. Don’t worry.” I grabbed a bottle of the stage glue donated by Avery’s dads. Then I squirted a blob on the end of the horn and handed it to Birdie. “There. Just hold it in place.”
Kate the Chemist: Dragons vs. Unicorns Page 5
