“Okay, ready?” I cried. “One, two, three, go!”
After I turned on the fan, it powered the pebble, which rolled down the track to knock into the dominoes, which pushed the strawberry off the lunch tray into the cup of water with a satisfying plop. The water overflowed, wetting the piece of tissue paper underneath it.
“Cool!” cried Phoenix.
“Yeah,” admitted Jeremy. “That’s like something you’d see on YouTube.”
“But you didn’t get the calculator to turn on.” Memito shook his head. “Oh, man, that’s not good.”
“It’s fine!” I said. “I haven’t finished building my machine.” I pointed to my bag. “I’ve got more tissue paper in here and a little plastic arm. All I have to do is strap down the arm using tightly pulled tissue paper. When the cup overflows, the tissue paper will get all soggy, releasing the arm, which will spring up to hit the ON button on the calculator. Plus, I’m also going to power up the calculator with these.” I pulled out two more lemons. “Tada!”
“Mmmm, those smell good,” sniffed Phoenix.
“Maybe I could make fruit leather out of them,” said Memito.
“No,” I said. “Like I told you. I need them to make another battery.”
“It’s time for a milk break, everyone.” Jeremy held up a half quart each of chocolate and strawberry milk. On his tray were half quarts of fat-free and low-fat milk.
“Oh, strawberry is my favorite. I’ll take that,” said Memito, grabbing the carton of strawberry milk.
Jeremy yanked it away from Memito. “Dude, that’s part of my experiment. To see what happens when you pour Red Bull in the milk.” He popped open a can of Red Bull. “The acid in this stuff will curdle milk. At least that’s what I’m hoping. And I want to see which kind of milk curdles the most.”
Phoenix made a face. “Think what it will do to your stomach.”
Jeremy poured different kinds of milk in four empty flasks. Then he topped them off with Red Bull.
The strawberry milk immediately separated. On the top it was foaming. With the chocolate milk you couldn’t see the separation as much but you could tell something was going on. After a few more minutes, the low-fat milk and fat-free milk got clumpy.
Meanwhile, Memito was taking photos. Click. Click. Click.
“Okay, you’re going to want to get this!” Jeremy dumped the low-fat milk and the fat-free milk into the sink. There were clumps of curdled milk that looked like cottage cheese. “Say cheese!” cried Jeremy.
Memito held his nose. “Wow, that reeks.”
“Keep taking photos,” said Jeremy. The strawberry milk and the chocolate milk barely came out of the flask. “It’s not budging.” Finally, giant clumps plopped out.
Memito put down the camera.
“Take another photo!” urged Jeremy. “You can’t miss this.”
“Okay, I won’t breathe,” joked Memito, who took a few more shots.
“That was pretty stinky,” I admitted. “But I’ve got to go. Not because of the stink—well, a little bit because of it.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” said Jeremy.
“I’m going to get my poster board,” I said. “To add to the observations section.”
I hurried to the back of the lab. But when I went to look at my poster board, I couldn’t believe what was scribbled right under my drawing of my Rube Goldberg machine.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Starting from Square One
Voltmeter (noun). A special instrument that measures how much electricity is passing between two points. But it sounds like it should be an instrument that measures the badness in the Harry Potter bad guy Volt-emort.
I BLINKED A FEW TIMES to make sure I wasn’t imagining anything.
When I opened my eyes, it was still there. And I was furious.
Someone had taken a pen and written on my poster board. Kate is bad at science.
I started to shake. Immediately, Birdie zipped over to me. “Look,” I said. “See what somebody did!”
“I’m so sorry, Kate. That’s just not right.”
“I can’t believe someone would mess with my project like this. And write something so untrue. First of all, I am NOT bad at science!”
“Kate, science is your life. It’s how your brain operates. This person is living in Opposite Land.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Because lately with my project off to a slow start, I’ve been having doubts.”
“That’s natural. Everyone feels that way. There are days I feel like I can’t draw. At all. Like I should give up.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
“Ditto,” she said. And we both sort of smiled. Because we ditto each other a lot.
“How am I going to redo all the work I did on my poster? It took me hours to draw that lemon using a light board. I can’t do it again.” I looked over at the volunteer moms helping out at the front of the classroom. “Plus, I don’t want to explain to those moms why I need a new piece of poster board. It would be embarrassing.”
“You didn’t do anything. Someone else did.”
“Yeah, but they might think I did something to deserve it.” Tears welled up behind my eyes. My throat puckered like I had just swallowed one of my own lemons. “And what if they tell my mom . . .”
“It’s going to be okay,” said Birdie in a soothing voice.
“I’m not so sure.”
“You can fix this. Just draw a box around the writing and color it in with black marker. You used a voltmeter to test the lemons, right? So you turn the box into a voltmeter. A nice big square. See?” On a piece of paper, she took a pencil and sketched a box.
“Oh, you’re right. That might actually look good.”
I studied her paper. “I wish I had your artistic talent. But since I don’t, I’m glad you’re around to show me how to deal with this. I just want to catch that person messing with me.”
Suddenly Birdie went quiet. “Kate,” she whispered. “I think I know how we can catch them!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Spilled Ink
Chromatography (noun). A way of separating a mixture of molecules. It’s like a bunch of kids racing. At first, they’re all jumbled up but soon they spread out, as faster kids take the lead.
BIRDIE GRABBED MY POSTER BOARD, the one with the writing on it that said: Kate is bad at science.
From her supply box, she snagged scissors.
“What are you doing?” I cried.
“I’m going to cut off a letter.”
“But that’s going to mess it up.” I bit my lip.
“Kate, trust me. In order to get evidence, I need to cut. You can tape a piece of paper underneath and no one will know the difference.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, hiding my eyes. “But I can’t look.”
The scissors went snip snip. And then I peeked. Birdie had cut off a strip of the poster board with the letter K on it. “I’m getting a sample,” she said. “To do some chromatography.”
“Oooooh, now I get it.” When you see blue ink—it’s way more than just blue. It’s got a whole bunch of colors swirled together to make that particular shade. Chromatography gives you a way to separate out all of those colors. And for detective work, it’s awesome since each different kind of ink is going to have a different mix of color.
“Now, we know that the culprit used some kind of blue pen,” said Birdie. “But since Mrs. Eberlin gave out all different kinds of pens, this blue ink is going to be unique. Since no pen was the same, no ink will look the same once we separate it.”
“Just like a fingerprint,” I said with growing excitement.
“Exactly.” Birdie grabbed a beaker and filled it with water. Then she taped the strip with the K to a pencil. It dangled like a little flag. “Watch,” she sai
d. “The water is a solvent. It’s going to dissolve the ink and then it will spread across the paper.” She hung the pencil over the top of the beaker so that the bottom of the strip barely touched the water. As the water soaked up into the paper, the ink spread upward.
Biting my lip, I glanced over at the large strips of tissue paper hanging on Birdie’s poster board.
The blue ink had spread upward but was no longer blue. It was pinkish at the bottom and light blue where ink bloomed upward. “Whoever thought a crime could look so pretty.” I bent to inspect. “Now we need to test our suspects.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were back in Mrs. Eberlin’s room for free read, where Birdie and I usually flop down in the beanbag chairs with our books. Instead, Birdie dragged me to the bulletin board and pointed to four different haiku poems written in blue pen. “I just need to steal those poems off the wall and test them!”
“Keep it down. We’ll get in so much trouble!” I looked for Mrs. Eberlin. She was going over some writing with Avery up at her desk. Today, Avery’s lips were a sparkly lime green.
Birdie shrugged. “We don’t have any other choice. Unless you want to go tell Mrs. Eberlin.”
I shook my head. “No way. If I tell her, she’ll tell Mom. And then it will be a big deal. Everyone will talk about how the principal’s daughter is getting bullied. We’ve got to figure this out ourselves.” Being a principal’s daughter has its perks, but it also has its downsides.
“We’ll just have to figure out some way to get the poems when nobody is looking,” whispered Birdie. “Maybe after school?”
I studied the bylines on the blue poems on the bulletin board: Avery, Jeremy, Elijah, and Rory. “We’ll have to keep our eyes on them,” I said. “Every one of them is a suspect.”
“Even Elijah?” Birdie asked.
I gulped. “Even Elijah,” Even though I didn’t think that Elijah really could have done it. But he was the only one who saw me put the strawberry in my cubby . . . I had to be sure.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Seeking Solutions
Erlenmeyer flask (noun). A container with slanted sides and a narrow neck named after the chemist Emil Erlenmeyer. Since they’re often made of special material that doesn’t break under heat, you could easily make hot chocolate in one over the stove.
IT WAS WEDNESDAY, and a day had passed since Birdie had figured out how to solve the mystery. Now there were more and more volunteer parents helping out in the classroom because STEM Night was just two days away. How could we find an opportunity to test our samples without getting caught?
It seemed impossible.
Inside the classroom, my eyes scanned the poems on the bulletin board for the hundredth time.
Specifically, the poems in blue written by the suspects: Avery, Jeremy, Elijah, and Rory.
“Is everything okay, Kate?” asked Mrs. Eberlin.
“Yes, it’s fine. I’m just thinking.”
“About your STEM project, I bet.”
“I was.” Although more about how to catch a culprit messing up my project.
“Well, I was glad to see that your squashed strawberry got fixed,” she said. “Luckily”—she glanced up at the clock—it’s lunchtime. If you want to get in some extra minutes for your project, you can eat your lunch in the lab. Ms. Daly will be there.”
Normally, I would jump at that offer. But for the first time ever, I didn’t want to go to the lab.
Instead, I wanted to stay behind and test the ink. But for now, that didn’t seem like it was going to happen. Mrs. Eberlin usually ate her lunch at her desk. So I left the room to meet Birdie in the cafeteria.
After I gobbled down my ham sandwich, I headed to the lab with Birdie to work on finishing up my poster. I had all of my materials. And my explanation on how my Rube Goldberg machine worked was almost done. I was proud of the fact that my demonstration would touch on engineering, physics, earth science, geology, botany, and, of course, chemistry. Six sciences total. “Your strawberry makes the machine seem extra yummy,” I said.
“I think Dr. Caroline will love it,” said Birdie.
“She’s going to love yours too.”
“Maybe.” Birdie sighed. “But the tissue paper keeps tearing. It’s not going to look good.”
“Why don’t you use a coffee filter instead?” I pulled out a bunch of filters from my bag. “I tried it out for my Rube Goldberg machine and it was too strong when it got wet. The little arm wouldn’t pop up to hit the calculator. But it would be perfect for you. Filters are pretty tough.” I pulled on one to demonstrate.
Birdie’s eyes brightened. “That’s a great idea, Kate. Thanks so much.”
“No, thank you,” I said.
“No, thank you.”
And then we got into a huge thank-you contest and burst out laughing.
That’s when Memito and Jeremy strolled into the lab. Memito stopped in front of my poster. “Hey, what are you laughing about?” he asked.
Birdie and I looked at each other. “You sort of had to be there,” I said, grabbing the strawberry.
“Hey, that looks so real.” He patted his stomach. “Luckily, I just ate my lunch. Otherwise, I’d be hungry.”
“Luckily, your project happens to be fruit leather,” said Birdie.
Memito smacked his lips. “On STEM Night, a taste of my delicious fruit leather will make people hungry for more. You better hope nobody tries to eat that strawberry.”
Or smashes it, I thought. But I didn’t say anything.
“Kate shouldn’t even be allowed to use that.” Jeremy pointed to my calculator. “Because it’s a teacher’s.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “What about your project? You borrowed flasks from the classroom.”
“That’s different.” Jeremy folded his arms. “Those are classroom ones for the science lab. Yours is Ms. Daly’s personal calculator.”
From halfway across the room, Avery pressed her lips together. Today, they were peach colored. “I saw the calculator come off of Ms. Daly’s desk too,” she said.
“Yes, but a calculator is for educational purposes.” I studied the flasks. “I don’t see the difference between your flasks and my calculator. They’re both being borrowed. Anyway, the point is—I made two actual batteries with lemons!”
Avery waved her little tin of lip gloss. “So far my peach gloss has stayed on for forty-two minutes, just as long as the store-bought one. Can’t wait to see how much longer it lasts. But either way, it looks great.”
Phoenix smiled at Avery. “It really does.”
“And it isn’t made of bad chemicals.” Avery smacked her lips. “I think I’m going to win because Dr. Caroline and Mrs. Eberlin both wear lipstick.”
“Ms. Daly doesn’t,” I pointed out. “Anyway, lip gloss and lipstick aren’t the same.”
Avery shrugged. “I’m sure the other judges will outvote Ms. Daly.” She tilted her neck as if someone were taking a photo of her. “I’m going to use the prize to get new curtains for the theater.” She looked at me expectantly. “What will you do if you win?” She said it like I couldn’t possibly come up with anything good.
“Maybe we should upgrade the science lab?” I realized that my voice lifted in a question. I was still unsure. And that really bugged me.
“Are you saying our lab isn’t good enough?” asked Avery, loud enough for Ms. Daly, who was in the back of the classroom organizing equipment for STEM Night, to hear.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” I could feel my cheeks turning pink. I felt bad about even the possibility of hurting Ms. Daly.
And then it hit me. Avery sounded really upset. Could she be the one who was sabotaging my stuff?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Almost Showtime!
Scientific testing (noun). The process of investigating hypotheses. It is one
of the most important jobs of a scientist. Kind of like the most important job of a professional skateboarder is to practice tricks and stunts.
ANOTHER DAY HAD PASSED without a single opportunity to test the ink. At least nobody had tried to mess with my project again. Which was good since STEM Night was tomorrow. I couldn’t believe it! Yesterday, I had made sure to be the last person out of the science lab before Ms. Daly locked it up. I wasn’t taking any chances.
In class, Mrs. Eberlin had reminded us to finish up our poster boards. When everyone started chatting about STEM Night during free time, I studied Elijah for signs of dishonesty. His arms hung loosely at his sides. His jaw was relaxed. But his eyes focused on his notebook. Not once did he look at me directly.
Did this mean that Elijah was feeling guilty about something? Like, maybe, messing up my project?
It didn’t seem possible.
But in science you can’t close your mind to possibilities. You don’t know unless you test something. I just had to test the ink in those poems.
I headed over to the pencil sharpener in the back of the class. As I did, Rory gave me a strange look. Like he knew I was up to something. I ended up grinding my pencil way too much. I groaned.
The bell blared. Everyone gabbed away as they cleared off their desks to go to recess. “Finally,” said Memito, who was my desk partner.
Kids lined up at the door and then took off.
I was about to zip out the door, too, when Mrs. Eberlin said, “I can’t believe STEM Night is coming right up.”
“Tomorrow,” I said.
Mrs. Eberlin peered up at the calendar on the wall. She wrinkled her freckled nose. “Please tell me how that happened.”
“I don’t know,” Birdie said, walking over to join me. “I guess when you’re working on science, time flies.”
The STEM Night Disaster Page 5
