The gymnasium where the Avery Science Competition was being held was chaos. The wooden floor was covered in rows of tables in various states of setup. And everywhere, students, display boards, crates of equipment and parents who were being shuffled to the side: “Stop being so embarrassing, Mom.” “Don’t touch that, Dad. You’ll ruin everything.”
My parents were sequestered somewhere, getting badges and instructions. It had been an awkward morning and a silent car ride. I’d spent it trying to process the significance and insecurity in Mom’s words from last night. Trying not to think about Brazil.
They’d looked relieved when they’d dropped me off to set up while they’d checked in with the other judges. “Two hundred and eighty entrants,” Mom had said. She’d looked a bit smug when she added, “It’s a record for the Avery.”
Dad’s parting words had been a reminder: “We won’t be judging you.”
I’d snorted. “Well, that’ll be a nice change.”
Compared to the projects nearby, my setup was simple. I’d placed mine and Merri’s laptops on my table, along with a couple pairs of headphones. That plus my display board and copies of my abstract were all I needed. My presentation was nonexistent. Everything I had to say was in the podcasts.
What I hadn’t factored in was how nerve-racking it would be to not have anything to do. The other participants were interacting with people who’d stopped by their tables, rehearsing for the judges, answering questions. I was watching people in headphones listen to my recorded voice. It gave me plenty of time—too much time—to wonder where Curtis was and track the progress of the first group of judges.
Then it was my turn. Mom and Dad stood to the back, official scoring tablets lowered. “Well, we certainly know this candidate,” Dad joked, and their three colleagues gave strained laughs. There were two more judges roaming individually, but they would focus on the finalists only after the initial five narrowed them down.
“If you’re ready, Eliza, why don’t you begin,” encouraged Dr. Greene. I recognized her dark complexion and natural hair from photographs that accompanied the coverage of her cutting-edge research in gene splicing. She would’ve loved my pea plants.
I cleared my throat. “There are two hundred and eighty student scientists here today”—thank you, Mom, for that helpful fact—“and if any of us walked up to a stranger in a grocery store and attempted to explain our projects with all the technical language that is lauded here, we’d likely be met with blank stares and confusion. That’s not good.”
The judges glanced at one another, but I continued. “Science should be accessible. If we want people to get as excited about climate change as they once did about the space race, then we need to present it in ways that can be understood.
“When I think of my own relationship with science, my favorite memories are of times when I’ve shared it. Whether that’s examining samples of glaciers with my parents, or explaining epigenetics to my best friend’s dad, or analyzing riparian buffers while running trails with . . . a friend.” I swallowed. “For my project I’ve created a science podcast that welcomes listeners of all backgrounds. It eliminates the technical lingo and explains concepts through anecdotes and allegories. You’ll have to judge my success for yourselves by listening to any of the podcast episodes I’ve created. Headphones are there—and you can select from the topics listed on the screens.”
I stepped back as three of the judges previewed the options on my laptop. Mom and Dad approached Merri’s borrowed computer with wrinkled foreheads. “I thought she was . . .” Mom shook her head. “This seems like rather elementary science.” Dad shh’d her. They were slower to choose an episode but faster to remove their headphones. They didn’t meet my eyes.
Dr. Greene clicked Pause. “This project is difficult to evaluate with the Avery’s criterion. We’re limited to a few minutes per table.”
That was her polite way of telling me not to expect a medal. I shrugged. “I understand, but this was the format that worked best for what I wanted to accomplish.”
She smiled. “If you launch it publicly, please send me the link. I’d be happy to come on a future episode as a guest.”
I nodded and told myself my parents weren’t disappointed or unimpressed—they’d warned me they had to appear impartial. But when they moved with the other judges to the next table after offering me only a small nod, I retreated behind my display board to blink back tears.
“A podcast, really?” The voice from the other side of my board was deep and haughty. “Who’d have thought Gordon-Fergus would go twee and trendy . . . instead of, you know, actual science.”
His remarks were met with a shrill laugh, and a female voice added, “Apparently the intelligence genes were not inherited.”
“Seriously, if she were smart she would’ve done an iLive channel. Put on a tight shirt, worn some makeup. At least then I could’ve watched it on mute.”
I hugged myself. I wished I’d worn my hair up or a baggier shirt, but I ground that thought between my teeth. I would not let these strangers make me feel small.
“Her last name is the only reason people pretend to think she’s smart,” the girl added. “But watch her still win because of nepotism and everyone’s practically drooling on her parents.”
“Like you’re not? ‘It’s such an honor, Dr. Fergus . . .’”
“Shut up!” she squeaked.
I peeked around the display board to see they were both wearing lanyards that designated them as Avery entrants. The girl was twirling a set of my headphones. “Think she’s adopted? Because how did they produce Miss Teen Science Fair?”
I’d had enough. I stepped forward and cleared my throat. The girl dropped the headphones and the guy almost knocked over a laptop in his efforts to catch them. I stuck out my hand. “Hi, I’m Eliza Gordon-Fergus. I wanted to introduce myself since you were having so much fun talking about me.” I flipped a strand of hair over my shoulder and upped my affect. “You must be, like, so smart to make superficial judgments about people you haven’t met. Wow.”
They looked at each other, trying to decide if I was for real.
I yanked my hand back and glared. “Seriously, though—‘judgmental jerk’ isn’t a good look. If you want to get anywhere in the very small science community, stop treating people like conquests or competitors and respect them as colleagues. Regardless of their gender or appearance or last name . . . because I’ll remember yours.”
The girl tried to sneer, but it looked like she was about to sneeze. The guy covered his name badge and stammered, “You’re—you’re not going to tell your parents, are you?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, walking away before they could. Enough standing around and waiting. It was time to find the boy who’d always seen me.