by Christina Li
I yanked my hands away from my ears.
That’s what we forgot to calculate.
“Are you okay?” Benji asked. “You have this crazy look on your face.”
“Hold on.” I redrew the entire diagram of the rocket. I rewrote every equation, jotting down the approximate numbers my dad and I had used. I went line by line and recalculated everything, until I finally reached the final answer and leaned back with a sigh of relief.
It all made sense, finally.
It finally all added up.
I grinned and turned to Benji. “Only seventy feet,” I said.
“What?”
“We weren’t hundreds of feet off,” I said, pointing to the numbers. “I forgot to count the wind resistance that would slow the rocket down. The final rocket launch was only seventy feet off.”
His eyes widened. “Does that mean—”
“We did it,” I said, almost laughing from the sheer relief. We had been working on this for months and months, racking our brains, only to have finally figured it out while redoing the poster board, with Dad’s favorite rock music on full blast and just hours to spare before the science fair. “Our rocket didn’t fail after all.”
“Ro! Get up, baobao.”
Mom was standing over me.
“It’s nine thirty. We have to go. Science fair starts at ten.”
I jolted awake. For a moment I looked around wildly. What day was it? And what time?
Science fair. Benji.
I leapt to my feet. “Benji—”
“Is going to meet you there,” Mom said. “I drove him home just two hours ago. Talked to his mom for a little bit. She’d been worried sick.”
It was all coming back to me. Benji and I frantically reworking the equations and the conclusion to include the wind resistance. Benji putting the finishing touches on the new poster and poking me awake. By the time we were done, it was nearly seven in the morning.
My heart raced. But what if his mom was so mad she didn’t let him come to science fair? What if—
There was no use thinking about it now.
I got dressed in two minutes and took another to rummage through the pantry until I found the box of strawberry Pop-Tarts. Mom didn’t even change—she just drove me in her robe and slippers, her hair up in a bun. She drove at exactly seven miles per hour above the speed limit. I held our poster board the entire time.
We screeched up to the parking lot of the high school hosting the regional science fair. Mom leaned over the passenger’s seat to give me a kiss. “Pick you up at three?”
I nodded.
“Good luck, baobao.”
I sprinted into the school, clutching the poster board awkwardly to my chest.
It was the biggest gym I’d ever seen, with high ceilings and shiny wood floors and lights so bright they were disorienting. Rows and rows of tables were lined with colorful posters. There were projects on everything from earthworms to lemon-powered clocks. I checked the time on my watch and looked around frantically.
It was 9:50.
The schools had to be in alphabetical order. Carmichael, Hoover, Lowell—
“Ro!”
Mr. Devlin hurried down the row. He was wearing his smiley-face tie today, but his face was all red and he looked flustered. “Where have you been? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago! We’re nowhere near ready.”
Oh no. Did Benji also—
He was standing at the edge of the table, dressed up in a shirt and tie. He grinned when he saw me.
“Ro Geraghty, finally late to something?”
“Overslept,” I muttered.
“Okay, listen,” Mr. Devlin said. I could see his eye start to twitch. He started circling things on his clipboard. “We’re running behind.” He glanced at me. “And that is—?”
“The new poster board,” I said. “Since our old one got ruined. And it has some new info on it, too.”
Mr. Devlin stared at us. “But your poster board was cleaned up this week. Did you not—?” He pulled it up and opened it. “I mean, that’s why I thought you guys were still coming today.”
I glanced over at the old poster board.
It was spotless. Well, almost. I could still see a tiny bit of green slime at the bottom right corner, but all the rest of the slime was gone. The parts of the poster that had been covered were carefully colored over, so that it matched the surroundings. The graphs that were once ruined had been carefully traced and redone.
It was as if nothing had happened.
It was incredible.
Benji and I looked at each other. “Did you—”
“Nope.”
“Wasn’t me,” he said.
I turned to Mr. Devlin. “I think we’re still going with this new poster board. We updated our results a little.”
His brow furrowed. “Are you sure? I’m a little worried about this new material, since we didn’t rehearse—”
“We’ll be fine, Mr. Devlin,” I said.
He looked up in surprise.
“I promise,” I said.
He nodded. “Just don’t forget to introduce yourselves,” he said. Just then, someone called his name and he hurried over, but not before giving us a big thumbs-up.
Benji glanced at the cleaned-up poster in disbelief and then looked at me. But we didn’t have time to figure out what had happened, because right then the clock ticked to ten. And the old poster didn’t matter anymore—we had our new poster. With the carefully recopied charts and the rewritten equations, with numbers that worked out. With Benji’s drawings of spinning galaxies and clouds of spacedust.
I set the new poster up and placed the rocket on the stand.
Judges made their way over to us.
Benji turned to me and grinned.
T minus zero.
I turned and took a deep breath. I smiled. “I’m Ro Geraghty and this is Benji Burns. In our science experiment, we tested the effect of a rocket’s structural changes on its flight path.”
I led them through each re-pasted picture and each graph. Benji nailed his lines. We were halfway through our presentation when I realized: They didn’t know that I’d once thought my science experiment was a failure. They didn’t know that just a few days ago, we had a faulty presentation board that was dripping with slime. They didn’t know that last night, we were in the middle of Los Angeles and weren’t even sure if we’d make it here. They didn’t know that everything fell into place just a few hours ago.
Instead, this is what they saw: a carefully built science fair project. Meticulously constructed model rockets. Rocket launches that had shaky starts but ultimately landed one last successful trial.
I thought about eating Cocoa Puffs in front of the TV with Dad, watching the Columbia launch. I thought about Dad telling me about each of the space launches he’d seen as a kid, the ones that started with just sending a steel box into space and then got more and more elaborate until he finally saw Neil Armstrong step on the moon.
Those were just the successes. But how many failures did the scientists have to see? How many times did their rockets not orbit the planet, or not take off at all? How many times had they dreamed about landing on the moon, only to realize that they couldn’t make it happen, not yet?
Scientists are detectives. They go into deep oceans and to the ends of thick jungles to find the clues to the universe. They stare at things under a microscope and crane their necks at the stars, always hoping to find something new.
But scientists are also detectives who go on missions that don’t work. Who climb to the edges of jungles that yield nothing. Who hunch over a microscope looking at things that don’t make sense. Who stare at the universe and recalculate the entire system of gravity and space and time until everything finally matches up. Sometimes, science means looking at the cards ten times before you finally catch the trick. It means failing, and trying, and failing again, all in hopes of making things better the next time around.
Chapter Thirty-Fou
r
Benji
WE ACED IT.
Ro didn’t stumble one bit. She talked like she’d known this stuff for her entire life, which probably wasn’t much of an exaggeration. Over and over again, as different judges wandered over, Ro explained the angles and the settings of the rockets, and I explained the graphs. At some point, more and more judges kept coming over to our poster, until there was a small crowd around our table. Every time someone asked us a question, her face lit up. The judges practically spent hours looking over her radio transmission system, saying they’d never seen middle schoolers with the likes of this project.
Get this: I liked talking. My face and hands didn’t turn all red and itchy like they used to. My words didn’t close up before I spoke them. Each time we finished, the judges’ eyebrows went up and they scribbled something on their clipboards. Each time, one of them was grinning ear to ear.
During one of our breaks, a judge who taught physics at a college asked Ro a question. They started talking about dark matter and stuff I didn’t have a single clue about, so I wandered off to look at some of the other projects. I saw Ping-Pong catapults and balloon-powered soda bottle cars and clocks that were powered by potatoes.
It was actually way cool.
After our last presentation, Ro and I just leaned against our table and sat in silence, because we’d done hours of talking. She put her windbreaker back on and took off her name tag. She pulled her hair back with her white hair tie. “So, where’s your mom?”
“Home,” I said.
“How did she . . .” Ro wouldn’t quite look me in the eye. “You know. React?”
I looked down and shook my head. All last night, I’d been dreading the moment I’d face Mom. When I walked through the door Mom stared at me for a moment, as if she didn’t recognize me. And then she sprinted across the hall and threw her arms around me, clutching me in a death grip and burying her face in my shoulder. “Oh, you’re here,” she said, her voice shaking, over and over again. “Thank God you’re here.”
And then after she’d taken a moment to collect herself, she sat me down at the table and wouldn’t let me leave until I told her every last thing; about how I’d found my dad through his comics and how I’d found out about his movie premiere. She interrogated me on how exactly I’d ridden my bike to the Greyhound station and then bought a one-way ticket to Los Angeles with my birthday money. And then when I told her about how I’d met Dad, her face paled and her lips pressed into a thin, flat line. I pulled out the napkin with his phone number on it, but she didn’t even glance at it. And after I finally finished telling her everything, she was quiet. I noticed how dark her eye circles were. Her hair puffed out around her face; I could tell she’d spent the night nearly pulling it out.
The silence stretched on between us until Mom rose from the table, and, without speaking to me, turned and left.
Danny was the one who drove me to the science fair this morning. “How is Mom?” I asked.
Danny’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. He let out a long sigh through his nose. “You shook her pretty bad. Running off like that. She was worried, Benji.”
And that was all. I almost wished he would say something more—that he would yell at me, or ask about Dad, or say I told you so, or tell me something, anything, that I could do to make this right, but he fell silent. I’d felt so awful that I practically wanted to evaporate.
But I totally, completely, one million percent deserved it.
And now here I was at the science fair, and with every passing minute I felt more and more guilty about what I’d done. “She’s still a little mad. Okay, really mad.” I shrugged. “I mean, I did run out on her. She’ll talk to me sometime in the next decade or so, probably.”
“I’m sorry,” Ro said. “I’m so, so sorry I made you do this.”
I glanced up. “Hey, fifty-fifty, remember? It’s just as much my fault.” I squared my shoulders. “Besides, we’ve got a science fair to focus on.” I stood up. “Wanna see a Ping-Pong catapult?”
And so we went and looked at all the projects, wandering through the endless rows of poster boards before returning to our spot. At some point in the afternoon all the sleep we didn’t get last night finally hit us. Ro got tired first and then I did. We almost fell asleep, leaning against our tables.
Until we were woken up by Ro’s mom.
“Congrats!”
I bolted up. “Mmm-what? Did we miss something?”
“No,” she said. “They’re just starting awards right now. But you’re done with science fair! I brought donuts.” She waved a paper bag in front of our faces and looked around. “Aiyah, this place is huge.”
Mr. Devlin hurried over. “They’re announcing our categories now!”
“In third place is . . . Michael Banks and Lenny Goldstein from Buena Vista!”
“Want to go over?” Mrs. Geraghty asked.
“Hold on,” Ro said through a mouthful of chocolate sprinkled donut. “Wanna finish this first.”
“And in first place of the Northern California Regional Middle School Science Fair . . . Rosalind Geraghty and Benjamin Burns!”
Wait.
Hold up.
What?
Did they just—
“It’s you!” Mr. Devlin shouted. “Go, go, go!”
We stayed frozen until Ro’s mom said, “What are you waiting for?” We put down our half-eaten donuts and hurried toward the stage. Cameras flashed.
I really, really hope I didn’t get chocolate frosting on my face.
They first placed the medal around my neck. As Ro walked up to the podium, her blue-and-white windbreaker billowed out behind her like a cape, and I swear, with the red medal ribbon around her neck, she kind of looked like Gemma Harris right then and there.
We turned. Cameras flashed, and the crowd burst into applause.
When I came home, Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, phone in hand.
“Hi, Mom,” I said in a small voice. She glanced up but didn’t reply. I was about to turn and head up the stairs when she said, “Benji.”
I turned back.
“Come here.”
I padded over and sank into the chair next to her.
“I just got off the phone with your father.”
I froze. “I’m so, so sorry,” I burst out. “I know you probably never wanted to talk to him again and you’re still probably mad at me for doing the whole running-away thing—”
“It’s okay,” she said. “He called for you, but you were still at the science fair, and then . . . he and I had a talk. A long talk, but a necessary one.” She looked up. “Listen, Benji. I’m not saying that it was okay to do what you did. But you wanted to know who your dad was, and I never gave you the chance. And that was my fault.”
She clasped her hands together. “Separating from your dad wasn’t easy. I think about it all the time, you know. What things would have been like otherwise. I tried to raise you two just like every other kid on the block. But I know I couldn’t make it the same. I know how much it affected you and Danny.”
Mom used to joke to other people that she lived in scrubs. She’d always show up to Danny’s games in them, because she’d rushed from her shift. How many times had she worked extra hours at the hospital just so she could afford a new mitt for Danny? Or my allowance?
She sighed. “I knew that questions about your dad and I would come up. I’d have to talk about it someday, but I always just got so upset thinking about it that I never wanted to. But you’re growing up, Benji. Danny too. And I wanted to let you know that if you want to talk to your dad, I’m okay with that.”
I nodded in relief.
“There . . . were a lot of good parts to your dad. He was a really talented artist. I see that in you. You should show me more of your art sometime.”
She’d never said that to me before. I swallowed. “Yeah. I will.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.” She sighed. “I think I forgive him a l
ittle more now. And guess what?”
I looked up. Mom looked like she was trying to hold back a smile. “What?”
She burst out, “He’s paying for Danny’s college!”
I stood up. “He is?”
“He better, now that he’s making the big bucks!” She laughed. “But yes, he promised. And I’m supposed to get the first check by the end of next week.” She grinned. “Now Danny can apply wherever he wants without having to get a baseball scholarship.”
Mom had absolutely, positively never been happier.
I smiled. “Glad he’s trying to keep his promises.”
“Things are changing, for sure,” she said. She leaned over. “But hey.” She jabbed a finger in my face. “Next time you want to see your dad, give us all a heads-up instead of running off to the nearest Greyhound bus, will you?”
She held me at arm’s length with a smile in her eyes. “Because if you ever pull this again, I swear, you’ll be grounded until you’re fifty years old.”
I laughed. “I promise I won’t.” Mom grinned and pulled me into a tight hug, still laughing. And crying a little, but mostly happy crying, I think.
Why had I ever thought my dad would be the superhero? Mom had been standing in front of me all along, holding our world up on her shoulders.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ro
AFTER THE SCIENCE fair, I went home and slept for twenty-two hours straight.
When I woke up the next day, it was late afternoon. I stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes with the palm of my hand. Mom was making tea and reading the mail. She looked up with an amused smile. “You don’t normally sleep in so late. Tea?”
“Well,” I said. “Things haven’t quite been normal around here.”
“You could say that again.” Mom leaned forward, tucking her short black hair behind her ears. For once, she wasn’t wearing makeup. “How are you feeling, baobao?”
She slid a mug over and I took it. I settled into a chair. The sunlight filtered through Mom’s plants, casting ivy-shaped shadows on the counter. The chrysanthemum tea reminded me of my grandmother’s apartment in San Francisco. “I’m all right,” I said finally.
