“That's more like it,” she said, approaching his table with the rocket that had

earned him second prize.

Having her here, so close, beaming at him, felt like a much bigger prize. She

looked like a field of yellow flowers. He could feel her warmth as she stood a foot from him, smelling like heaven. Lucky You.

You got that right. It was all very unscientific and unnerving and fantastic.

She was waiting, smiling, glowing in her victory. Do it now, he thought.

What better possible time could there be?

“So, um…” he began, then swallowed. Her face was the picture of

expectancy, eyebrows up slightly, brown eyes sparkling. “I was wondering, if you weren't already going…with someone else…if you wanted to go to

homecoming? With me?”

Her face beamed brighter, if that were possible. She nodded. “Yes—” she started to say.

There was a commotion behind them. He looked past Katie's shoulder.

Penny Fitch was talking with two of the judges at Katie's table. They were

bent towards her, faces intent, nodding as they listened.

He heard the words “Peter Clark” and “rules” and possibly “disqualified.”

Something danced and dropped in his stomach. Katie must have seen his face because her own lost its smile.

“Miss Brady? Mr. Clark? Could you come here, please?” One of the judges,

Mr. Riley, the football coach, was motioning them over.

Peter looked at Katie, then walked over, feeling as if he were being asked into the principal's office. Which had never happened. Katie followed beside him, face puzzled.

Mr. Riley gestured at Penny, who was standing next to him and to another judge, Mrs. Wells. Penny was looking everywhere except at Peter and Katie.

“We have to ask you a few questions, Peter. You too, Katie.”

“Okay,” Peter said, sweat breaking out on his palms.

Mr. Riley rubbed the back of his neck and focused on Peter. “Miss Fitch has

informed us that you may have, willingly or unwillingly, broken one of the rules

of the fair.”

Katie's eyes widened. “What rule?” she asked, her body tensing.

Mr. Riley looked at Mrs. Wells, who only smiled weakly and wrung her

hands in front of her.

“The rule about having utilized outside help,” Mr. Riley said.

Katie lifted her chin. “Peter wouldn't do anything wrong with his project.”

“Mr. Clark's project isn't the problem. You're the one who's been accused of

receiving outside help. From him.”

Peter felt a burning creep up his neck. It was the same feeling he'd gotten when his dad had caught him in the back of the garage smoking a cigar he'd stolen out of his tackle box. He shot a look at Penny, who was busy studying her

shoes.

“That's not true!” Katie said, her hands balling into fists. “I'm an artist. He's

a science geek. Why would I need help from him?”

“I'm sorry, but we need to check it out,” said Mrs. Wells softly. “To be fair to

the other students. You understand.”

“We have a reliable source,” Mr. Riley said. “We just need to verify a few things to see if they're true or not.”

“Who? What reliable source?” Katie demanded, her jaw set.

Mr. Riley turned to Peter, rubbing his neck again, obviously uncomfortable

at being put in this position. “Mr. Clark, do you have something to say about this?”

Katie turned to him. He didn't dare look at her face, but he didn't need to. He

could feel the fire.

“I'm not sure,” Peter said finally. What was going on here? What had Penny

told them? And why?

“Let me ask you outright, then. Did you help Miss Brady with her project?”

Help her? Did Mr. Riley mean this summer? Was hanging out in her

basement breaking the rules. His brain was scrambling. What could he say? He

couldn't get Katie in trouble. But he couldn't flat-out lie, either.