then he'd been smiling his way through the whole room. Katie frowned.

Unreadable, that one. Then he laughed at something Mrs. Wrath said.

Laughing? Bad laughing or good laughing? C'mon, people's lives were at

stake here. Didn't they know she wanted to look like Amélie and wear floppy flannel shirts in a grungy coffee shop next year?

Her heart was already clunking along like a nervous engine. Then she saw Peter watching her, and it about pounded out of her chest. Stupid, sympathetic blue eyes that pretty much said, I hope you win, Katie.

That was it. She was going to puke. Something she hadn't done in school since third grade when Greg Harms had eaten his own booger in class.

Then she realized she was holding her breath, and blew it out. The judges had moved on to the last table, Lisa Banks and her misbehaving mice. They spent a few frowns and a couple of pen scribbles there and that was it.

Oh, Lord, please let me win. Just this once, let me win something. I promise I won't call Penny the b-word ever again and I'll stop watching Peter wash his dad's car with his shirt off. Please, oh please.

The judges spent about a minute or an hour conferring on the stage; she wasn't sure which, as time perception was not high on her abilities right now.

Finally, Mrs. Wells stepped to the microphone. Then stepped back to confer with

a judge on something, putting her hand on the mic.

Oh, geez, just do it. Either let me win or shoot me, now. Duffy, the janitor, could clean up the mess. He had a mop.

The room grew silent, save for the buzzing and hissing of a few projects.

Someone's parrot said “pretty boy” and everyone laughed. Except Katie.

Mrs. Wells spoke. “Students and faculty, thank you so much for all your hard

work putting together another successful Nitrovex Scholarship Fair.”

There was polite applause.

“This year's entrants were exceptional, making it very difficult to choose a winner.”

Lisa yelled ouch! as one of her mice bit her.

Say it, say it, say it, Katie willed.

“But first, the runners-up,” Mrs. Wells said regally.

Oh, geez, Louise.

“For the third-place prize, a plaque, a five-hundred-dollar scholarship, and a

gift certificate to Copperfield's Book Store…” A pause. “Katie—”

No!

“—Ferguson”

Yes! Katie clutched her chest. I think I'm having a heart attack. That had to be a heart attack. Could you have a heart attack at seventeen and a half?

“For our second-place prize. A plaque and a one-thousand-dollar

scholarship, the winner is…Peter Clark.”

The crowd applauded, a few of the boys whooped. Katie felt a twinge of guilt as Peter made his way to the stage, grinning. Good job, Peter.

“And finally, for our first-prize winner.”

Oh, here we go. Katie folded her arms on her chest and squeezed, hoping she

could stay vertical for the next thirty seconds. The room was still, silent, like runners waiting for the gun to go off.

“A plaque and a five-thousand-dollar-a-year scholarship go to…”

Pleeeeeeeeeeease…

“Katie Brady, and her beautiful mobile!”

I won. I won? I won!

Fireworks exploded in her head. Someone smacked her on the back, the

crowd was applauding, some cheering. She stumbled forward, grin frozen on her

face, up to the stage, students clapping, socking her arm as she went by.

It was like floating on a cloud. She'd won! All the hours, the work, the flat-

out validation of it all. Finally, something good was happening. To her.

Mrs. Wells was waiting, smiling, holding out her hand. Katie shook it,

accepted the plaque, and some piece of paper, the stage lights hot and blinding.

The gym was large and wide, full of people cheering. For her. She looked to her

right. Peter was there, on stage, clapping, grinning, his face full of joy, actual joy, for her. Her chest pounded. It was magical.

The stage lights dimmed, the gym lights went up and the applause died out

as students began picking up their projects. Katie accepted thanks from all the judges, each shaking her hand. At the end of the line was Peter.

He hugged her. He smelled clean and bright, like sunshine. His arms were

the safest, warmest place she'd ever been. She rested her head on his shoulder, and she didn't care who saw it.