40

“Excuse me.” I stopped a passing Latinx girl. She was the second person I’d seen carrying a cupcake. “Where did you get that?”

“One row over. Look for a poster that says Gluten Quest. They’re really good. The guy was cute and super nice. That’s some science I’d happily get all over.”

“Thanks.” I was irrationally annoyed that she’d seen Curtis’s appeal in a few minutes when it had taken me months. I hurried in the direction she’d indicated, arriving as the judges stepped up to his booth. Which was perfect. There was something delicious about watching him in his element—knowing he was too busy charming the fivesome to notice I was standing behind them with open admiration in my eyes.

He already had Dr. Greene laughing. “I can’t wait to hear more. We’re ready to begin.”

“Someone seems to have confused ‘science fair’ with ‘bake sale.’” These words stung worse than the ones I’d overheard about myself, because it was my father who’d faux-whispered them, my mother who’d laughed. The other judges did not.

Curtis’s smile faltered, but he swallowed and began his presentation. “When I was two, my aunt Joan took me to the movies. She bought me Reese’s Pieces, and while everyone else in the theater was focused on the screen, I was struggling to find a way to get oxygen in my lungs. This is how we learned I’m allergic to peanuts.

“I’m careful with food labels and carry an epinephrine injector, but because of this experience I’m interested in food sensitivities and safety. I’m grateful that many places, including this university, require everything that contains the top eight allergens—milk, eggs, fish, shellfish, tree nuts, peanuts, wheat, and soy—to be clearly marked.

“But sometimes products aren’t labeled, and after reading about gluten in unexpected places like beauty products, Play-Doh, and even medications, I wanted to create something that would bring peace of mind to the estimated one percent of Americans—three million people—with gluten-sensitive enteropathy, aka celiac disease. Using an enzyme-linked immunosorbent assay—also known as an ELISA test”—his eyes sought mine for the briefest of moments, so clearly he did know I was here—“similar to what you’d find in a pregnancy test, I’ve devised a way to detect the presence of one of the main proteins that make up the gluten family. For today I’ve focused on gliadin—the prolamin found in wheat gluten—but this test could be replicated to screen for secalin and hordein, the prolamins in rye and barley too.

“For my test, you simply take a piece of your questionable item—in today’s example, these cupcakes.” Curtis’s eyes flicked to my parents, and I wondered if he was thinking about the last time we’d shared a room with them and baked goods. His hand shook around the bulb syringe he was using in his demonstration. “Titrate a droplet of your resulting suspension onto the test strip. If it turns red, it indicates the presence of gliadin—which is the component of wheat gluten that helps baked goods rise.” The other judges leaned closer to see the test strip, but not my parents. They were frowning statues.

“If the test strip stays white, the item is free of wheat gluten.” Curtis held up his—it was red. He flipped over the cupcake he’d used for the demo. The bottom of the wrapper read Contains Gluten. The other three judges applauded. One leaned in to ask a follow-up. I waited until Curtis was handing out cupcakes and test strips, then grabbed my parents by the wrist.

“Why aren’t you by your table?” asked Mom.

“And why are you here?” added Dad, shooting another look over his shoulder at Curtis.

But Dad’s glare had nothing on mine. I whisper-hissed, “You are being unspeakably rude and unprofessional.”

“That boy broke your heart,” Mom answered. “Did you think we hadn’t noticed? Our bathroom shares a wall with yours, Eliza. You’re still crying in the shower. I have no intention of being kind to him.”

“That boy”—I gave up whispering, because sometimes shouting was necessary—“is brilliant. And kind. I deserved to have my heart broken for the way I treated him. But none of that matters right now . . . well, except for the brilliant part. Do you not understand the significance of what he created?”

“If it works,” Dad muttered, but his ears were red and he’d dropped his chin.

“Then maybe you should be over there testing it with the other judges.” I hesitated, then went a step further. “Or maybe recognize that you’re not impartial and recuse yourselves.”

“I think Eliza might be right.” I hadn’t noticed Dr. Greene joining us, but her words were gentle and she punctuated them with a bite of mini-cupcake. “She’s wise beyond her years.”

“Of course she is.” Mom’s face was as pale as Dad’s was red. “I apologize. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to remain unbiased.”

“It happens to the best of us,” said a judge whose name I hadn’t caught. “Just ask my son how badly I flubbed coaching his youth soccer team. He was not ready to be goalie.”

“Yes, well, I’m not sure that’s quite the same,” Mom said, but Dad was nodding.

“I hope you’ll still stay,” said the last judge. “Many of these young scientists were excited to meet you. Maybe instead of judging, you could offer encouragement and positive feedback.”

“We’d be happy to.” Dad squeezed Mom’s hand before she could respond. “Thank you for understanding. I hope this doesn’t put you in a bind.”

Soccer judge shook his head and tapped through some functions on his tablet. “It’s no problem to recalibrate scores with a smaller judging pool. I’m just sorry you made such a long trip for no reason.”

“Not for no reason.” It was Mom who spoke, but they both looked at me as they handed in their tablets and shook hands.

“We need to get back on schedule.” Dr. Greene eyed the curious onlookers starting to gather. “But let’s catch up at the reception.”

The remaining three judges moved to the left as my parents headed down the aisle to the right. Which left me facing Curtis. The only things between us were the table with his project and the stream of people pausing to interact with his cupcake display.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He shrugged. “I won’t hold you responsible for their anger, if you won’t blame me for Win and Wink’s—they’re around somewhere and Wink’s on a vengeance mission. Win’s here under duress.”

“Noted.” I wrung my hands together and wished I had Anne Shirley’s gift for words and flowery apologies. “But I meant sorry for me, not them.”

“I like cupcakes! Can I have one?”

Curtis shrugged in my direction. “Thanks, I guess, but I need to focus on this.” He turned from me to the parent-child duo standing in front of his booth. I left while he was flipping over the cupcake to show the white Gluten-Free label on its bottom.

Embarrassment wasn’t hereditary—not passed down like detached earlobes or the ability to curl your tongue—but that didn’t stop me from keenly experiencing my parents’. They’d resigned as judges, but I had to stand at my table for another four hours and hope people didn’t ask me about it—though I knew they would. I walked reluctantly back to my row but perked up when I saw a familiar person standing at my table with headphones atop her red hair.

Ms. Gregoire removed them as I approached. “I wondered where you’d gone. Not crossing roof ridgepoles or buying hair dye from peddlers, I hope.”

I laughed and decided to take the book references as encouragement, even though the bet was clearly lost. “I make plenty of mistakes—hence my momentary detour into a project that was pea plants, not podcasts—but I’m not interesting enough to make them like Anne Shirley.”

“I don’t know about that.” Ms. Gregoire grinned. “This podcast is incredible, and there are bound to be some rather amazing adventures in your future, Eliza. I just hope I get to be your teacher while they unfold.”

“Are you going somewhere?” My throat tightened at the thought.

“No. I have no plans to leave Hero High.”

For a brief moment I had the urge to make an Anne-level gushy declaration of appreciation. Luckily I was spared by Ms. Gregoire pointing to my display. “Now tell me about this. I hear you had a most demanding adviser.”

I laughed. “She was everything I needed her to be.”

“I also heard your adviser is wonderfully impressed by what you’ve created. The bridge between science and story hasn’t been this well constructed in a very long time. It’s marvelous.”

“Oh, that’s all due to my English teacher. She’s forever insisting we apply our experiences to the books we’re reading. So it felt natural to use personal reactions and anecdotes when trying to explain science concepts.”

Ms. Gregoire’s smile was brighter than any of the medals I wouldn’t be getting. “I’m sure that teacher would be flattered to have helped.”

“I hope so.” I wanted to find a way to compare her to Anne’s beloved Miss Stacy, but the sentiments were lodged beneath the gratitude in my throat.

But maybe she understood my unsaid feelings, because she added, “I spy your parents over there—I have to go tell them how ‘bright and diligent’ you are.” I gaped, recalling that those were the exact words Miss Stacy used to describe Anne.

Ms. Gregoire laughed and left me with a wink and one more quote from the end of Anne’s first novel. “Remember, Eliza, ‘I don’t know what lies around the bend, but I’m going to believe that the best does.’”

It was Ms. Gregoire’s fault I couldn’t stop thinking about Anne as my parents hurried me through packing up my laptops, headphones, and display board.

They’d wanted to leave as soon as the winners were announced, but I wanted my Gilbert moment. Well, I wanted a lot of different Gilbert moments, and mostly I wanted to play the Anne role in scenes where she and Gilbert were in love. But the Gilbert moment I wanted at the Avery was the one where Anne acknowledges her competition with him is no longer about beating him but about having a “worthy foeman”—and that “Next to trying and winning, the best thing is trying and failing.”

Because I felt nothing but happiness for Curtis. He deserved his second place and the chance to go to the International Science and Engineering Fair. He’d need the prize money—especially if Win and Wink transferred to Hero High next year—and he’d accomplished something amazing.

I was proud of him. I needed him to know that.

Toting my bin of supplies, I went to find my parents. They were where I’d sent them when their efforts to “help” had tangled my cords—standing in front of the presentation they’d shortchanged earlier, reading his research.

“Eliza, it’s time to go,” said Dad.

“Just a minute.” Curtis’s table was covered in cupcake wrappers and test strips, but he was being mobbed with congratulations and hadn’t made it back yet.

“Now,” Mom snapped. “We’re no longer judges, you didn’t win. We’re leaving before the awards banquet starts and it’s conspicuous. I’ve hit my embarrassment quota for the day.”

“Just—” I snatched an abstract from my bin and flipped it over. I could hear Dad’s shoe tapping and Mom muttering. I ignored them and scrawled a few sentences, then tucked it under his display.

Congratulations, Cupcake. You deserve this. I can’t wait to see what you do with Green Gables and at ISEF.