IT’S JUST A stupid science fair experiment.
The wind tore through my hair and made my eyes smart. I could hear Benji faintly calling my name in the distance, but I just wanted to get home.
I rushed up to my door, but the door was locked. Mom was out. I fumbled with the key, my fingers shaking. I heard the screen door snap shut behind me. I raced to my room. I threw my rocket into the closet and then sank to the carpet, against my bed.
The Container of Dad’s Things sat in my sock drawer, untouched. I’d never told Benji about it, I suddenly realized. I’d been so caught up in building the rocket itself that Benji never knew that I didn’t just want to launch a rocket—I wanted to launch a rocket that would clear the sky and the stratosphere and go out there, into space and stars, carrying the picture of Mom and Dad. I wanted another Voyager. I wanted to build satellites and space shuttles.
How could I build anything close to that if I couldn’t even get a homemade model rocket to launch right?
I glanced over to the corner of my living room, where the poster board lay against the wall, half-completed. The results section was still empty, waiting for our numbers.
Benji was right. This would never be more than some school project. We were running out of time.
I was supposed to have Dad’s Levi’s genes. His science genes. I saw the world the way he saw it: through numbers and reason. For every unknown there was supposed to be a perfect explanation. For every problem to be solved, there was supposed to be an exact solution, if only you did the steps right. Two chemicals put together in the right quantities always yielded the same reaction. Numbers weren’t supposed to fail.
I had a Plan that I thought was foolproof. But I couldn’t even reach anywhere near the predicted height.
I could never make a Voyager. And I wasn’t a scientist: I was a failure.
I pushed through Mom’s potted plants to get to the VCR. I took the recorded VHS tape of the Columbia carefully out of its sleeve, and then popped it in. Then I went to the fridge and took out some milk and made myself a bowl of Cocoa Puffs.
The cereal was stale, and I’d accidentally poured too much milk, but the familiar chocolate sweetness comforted me, and so I ate it anyway.
I watched the Columbia rumble and tear into the atmosphere, like the very air itself had crackled and burst into a thousand tiny pieces.
I watched it ten more times, rewinding almost to the point of ruining the tape, and put my head in my knees.
I was supposed to be a scientist.
I reached into my backpack, pulled out my drawings and my diagrams and all the calculations I’d done. I wanted to rip them all to shreds, or stuff them in the closet. But that wasn’t rational, so I stuffed them under the copy of the New York Times that Mom had.
I almost turned back to my Cocoa Puffs, but then something from the newspaper caught my eye.
Specifically, the entertainment section.
I scanned it quickly. And then I read it over three more times, not believing what I’d seen.
I sat straight up, and suddenly I couldn’t move fast enough. I threw on my windbreaker and clutched the newspaper to my chest. Racing out, I barely remembered locking the door behind me before I was pedaling, fast and hard, to Hogan’s.
It was there, right in the Sacramento Bee. I reached for another newspaper on the rack just to confirm. I stared at words and the times and locations, rubbing my eyes to make sure I wasn’t reading it wrong. And then I felt it again. The moment the cards turned and I figured it exactly out, and it wasn’t like I was trying to guess or deduce anymore, because the answer was right in front of me, and I knew.
I knew where Benji’s dad was going to be.
And I knew exactly how to find him.