Science Fair Trouble

Working on a science project with Jamie was nothing like I imagined—and everything I didn’t know I wanted.

At first, it was easy. Jamie knew exactly what we needed: popsicle sticks, rubber bands, glue, and a spoon for the launching arm. I was the organizer. I kept the supplies in a box under my bed and made lists of what we had and what we needed. Every day after school, we worked at the picnic tables behind the library. He did most of the building. I helped hold things in place and tested how far the catapult could launch a gummy bear.

“Try aiming it a little higher,” I said one afternoon, licking cherry-flavored sugar off my fingers.

Jamie tightened the rubber band and adjusted the spoon’s angle. “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

He pulled the spoon back, let go, and the gummy bear shot into the air—landing on top of the library’s roof.

We both gasped, then burst out laughing.

“I think we just created a gummy bear cannon,” I said between giggles.

Jamie leaned back on his hands and looked at me. “I’ll add that to the report.”

Moments like that made the afternoons fly by. But then came the trouble.

The science fair was a week away when disaster struck.

“I think the rubber bands are too old,” Jamie said one day. “They keep snapping.”

He was right. As he spoke, one snapped in his hand and hit him square in the nose.

“Ow!”

I gasped and rushed over. “Are you okay?”

He rubbed his nose, laughing. “I think your catapult’s fighting back.”

“It’s your catapult,” I said, handing him a tissue.

He looked at me and smiled through the tissue. “Our catapult.”

I felt my cheeks get warm.

But as the fair crept closer, things got tense. Jamie started getting quiet again—not the good kind of quiet. The distracted kind.

On Wednesday, he didn’t meet me after school like we planned. I waited by the picnic tables for fifteen minutes before giving up and walking home, my heart sinking with each step.

The next day, I found him in class before the bell. “Hey… what happened yesterday?”

He looked up, startled. “Oh. Sorry. My mom made me go to my uncle’s house.”

“That’s okay. You could’ve texted.”

He hesitated. “I don’t have a phone.”

That surprised me. “Oh. That’s okay, I just… I thought maybe you didn’t want to work on the project anymore.”

His eyes widened. “No. I want to.”

I smiled, but something still felt off.

That weekend, we met one last time to put everything together. The catapult worked, but Jamie didn’t say much. He stared at the table, fiddling with the launch arm.

Finally, I asked, “Are you mad at me or something?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I’m just… nervous.”

“About what?”

He hesitated again. “The fair. Talking to people. Presenting. All of it.”

“Oh,” I said softly. “I didn’t know.”

He glanced up. “I’m not good at that stuff.”

I nodded. “Then I’ll talk. You just have to stand with me.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course. We’re partners.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Thanks.”

And for the first time in days, he smiled again.

Monday came too fast. The gym was transformed into a maze of tables and trifold boards. Students milled around, nervous energy buzzing in the air. Parents with cameras, teachers with clipboards. Our table was near the back, under a basketball hoop.

I adjusted our board, wiped a smudge off the spoon-launcher, and looked at Jamie.

“You ready?”

He nodded slowly. “As I’ll ever be.”

When the judges came around, I did most of the talking. Jamie stood beside me, quiet but steady. When one of the judges asked a tricky question about trajectory, Jamie stepped in with a perfect answer, surprising both of us.

After they left, I looked at him. “See? You were great.”

He gave me a sheepish grin. “You made it easier.”

We didn’t win first place, or even second. But we got an honorable mention ribbon, and Jamie drew a raccoon holding it up like a trophy in his notebook afterward.

“I think we did pretty well,” I said.

He nodded. “The best team.”

And maybe, just maybe, something had changed between us.

Not just classmates. Not just partners.

Something more.

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