“Well, there's growing up, and there's growing up.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Carol stood and wandered to the window. “I just thought, since it was just high school like you said, you know…” She was suddenly very interested in a ceramic cow flower pot in the windowsill.

“No, I don't know.”

She turned. “Oh, Katie. I saw how upset you were that day after the fair. And

I don't think it was just because of…” She waved her hand, apparently unable to

say the words.

“Because Peter ratted on me and then destroyed my project?” Kate finished

for her.

“You know very well it was an accident.”

“The rocket, maybe. But him turning me in, taking Penny Fitch's side. That

was no accident.” Kate slumped back down in her chair. “I'm sorry. Can we talk

about something else, please?”

“That's all right. I understand. Old feelings sometimes make us angry.”

“I'm not angry.” She nodded. “Actually, you know what? He did me a

favor.”

Carol cocked her head as she took a chair opposite her near the window.

“How's that?”

She gestured with her hand. “Well, if I had gotten that scholarship, I probably would have gone to art school, right? Just to spend four years making

pots out of cow flops or splashing together existential paintings depicting the tragedy of the disappearing Brazilian rainforest.”

“But I thought you loved art.”

“I do. I mean, I did, but where does that get you? Working at a Burger King

while trying to guilt your relatives into buying your paintings every Christmas?”

She shook her head. “No, not getting that scholarship was the best thing that ever happened to me. It got me to think practically, to do something practical, something useful.”

“I suppose you seem to be doing well.”

“I am. And if I don't botch this deal with Nitrovex, I'll be doing even better.”

“I'm sorry, Kate. I shouldn't have brought it up.”

Kate rubbed her forehead. “No, it's okay. It's fine.”

“You want some tea? I've got some great peppermint decaf.”

Kate nodded, a slight smile wavering on her face at her friends' peace offering. “Sure, thanks.”

Carol returned the smile, then pushed through the kitchen door.

Kate took in a deep breath. I would have won that fair. What if I had won?

But you did, remember?

She rubbed her temples with her palms. The tension of this job. It was so much like that day, watching the judges analyzing her project, trying to read their faces, waiting for the results. All the work, all that summer, the hours in the basement. With money and college on the line.

* * *

Twelve Years Ago

Golden Grove High

Katie watched one of the Scholarship Fair judges, Mr. Riley—the history teacher

and a football coach—circle her mobile. Eyes moving up and down, face

expressionless, hand poised over his clipboard.

C'mon, smile. I will you to smile, you jock. It's art! It's not some stupidfootball.

He looked at his clipboard, wrote something, then looked back at the mobile,

pointing out something to another judge. The thread of a smile creased his face.

Yes! If she could win over the football coach, that was a good sign.

Mrs. Wells was circling the project, nodding, smiling, gesturing. She was a

lock, she had to be.

The other two were writing in their notebooks, talking in low voices to each

other. One was Mrs. Wrath, the head librarian at the public library. Guess her fellow judges figured she was smart because she worked around a lot of books.

The final judge was a man in a tweed coat with those patches on the elbows.

He was from the college, but she wasn't sure what he taught. He was smiling, but