I am aware that tons of stuff can go wrong during a record attempt. So I study all the failures and know what I need to do differently.

Mr. Amondo gave me permission to use the parking lot of the school. All the teachers in the science department said they’d help too. I posted the future attempt to the online board. So far, we’ve gotten fifty-four RSVPs, and it’s only been up for eight hours.

Brandon and Jesse help me make a spreadsheet. We list everything we need to make a liquid nitrogen volcano. Before dinner, I print the list and bring it downstairs. My parents are on the couch in our completely normal and totally uninteresting house.

“Mom. Dad. I need to talk to you.” I stand where the coffee table used to be. “I need your help.”

Dad looks up from his book. Mom closes her laptop.

“I know that you know what I did,” I say.

Mom nods.

“Why am I not in trouble?”

Dad smiles. “Do you want to be? We can ground you if you want.”

“No. But I do want help getting everything out of the garage.”

“It’s okay, Milo,” Mom says. She stands up and hugs me.

I pull away from her. My nose burns. I rub it. “I want to tell you some stuff.”

Mom pushes my hair off my forehead. “Okay.”

“I thought a record-breaking win would show that I was somebody important. That it would make us—make me—matter.”

“Milo,” Dad says. He clears his throat. “You always matter.”

“Parents always say stuff like that. I had to figure it out for myself. I did though. And guess what else I’ve figured out.”

“What?” Mom asks.

I smile. “How to finally break a record.”

Mom crosses her arms. “Milo—”

“But I’m also somebody who knows even if I don’t, I’ll be okay.”

Mom hugs me again. This time Dad joins us. When he squeezes, my face squishes against Mom’s shoulder.

“I still need your help though.”

“Shh!” Dad says. “We’re having a moment.”

I give them another three seconds of family hugging.

“We’re going to need your gigantic cake pan. This time it’ll work perfectly.”

“Milo.” Dad steps back. “I’ve already tried making a gigantic oven. The fire department wrote me a ticket.”

I shake my head. “Nope. It’s going to be the top of our liquid nitrogen volcano. But I need you to figure out how we’re going to build it.”

Dad scratches his head. “You want me to engineer the structure of a gigantic volcano?”

“Yup.”

“Yes,” Dad says. “I will one hundred percent do that. I’m thinking a lattice infrastructure supported by crossbeams.”

“Whatever you want.”

“And, Mom, can you help me spread the news? Like promote it or whatever. We need people to bring stuff.”

She makes her Concentration Face. “I can definitely get the word out. But first you’ve got to tell me, what are we doing?”

“We’re going to use our failures to finally celebrate a win.”