photo every day on his refrigerator where she knew his mom would stick it under a magnet.

Confidence flowed through her. She knew him. He was a science geek—he

just needed to see something in action, see the quantifiable results, and then he

would know they should be together.

It would be as factual as a chemical reaction, undeniable. Look at the charts

and numbers, Peter! See the graph?

It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was a good one, and it was going to work. She had a feeling, some inner voice telling her, This is it. He'll see it, he'll see me, and he'll know. We should be together.

College? They could figure that out later. Long-distance relationships

worked all the time, right? Once the Scholarship Fair was over, plan “Get Peter

to Homecoming” would be launched fully into action.

As someone walked by behind her table in the gym, she caught a whiff of something sickly sweet and overpowering. Her jaw clenched as she turned her head and wrinkled her nose. The perfect teeth, perfect long black hair, and perfect clothes. The Wispy Witch was here.

She watched Penny sidle over to Peter, start talking to him, laugh, and then

—yup, there it was, the perfect hair toss. She had a bet with her friends that Penny perfected her hair toss and simultaneous tittery laugh by practicing in the

mirror.

Katie's eyes narrowed. Penny had her own project two tables over from

Peter's, and there she was, hovering around Peter like a lovesick butterfly. She had a dozen other boys she could have glommed on to. Why didn't she pour her

poison on them?

Oh, that's right. He's too nice to her. Peter was always too nice.

Katie watched as he followed Penny to her table, where he twisted some insignificant knob on her insignificant pile of whatever her project was. Some box with a hat and a…Who cares? She probably had her dad buy it online, anyway.

Well, she could shoot a life-sized Saturn rocket with bells on it through the

roof for all the good it would do her today.

Katie went back to her adjusting a few pieces of her sculpture. The

multicolored glass of the elaborate mobile twirled slowly, each piece reflecting shards of light. She'd already been getting admiring glances from students and even some of the teachers. She had a feeling.

This was her year.

Chapter Two

Present Day

A burst of fire puffed out of a test tube bubbling over a Bunsen burner. It roiled towards the ceiling in a mini-mushroom cloud before it evaporated. The stunned

class let out a combined “Whoa…”

Peter Clark stepped back and turned off his torch. “And that's why we wear

our goggles. So, can anyone tell me what the three products of combustion are?”

His classroom of high school students shifted in their seats, some looking at

their phones, all avoiding eye contact with him. He picked up the heavy organic

chemistry book from his desk, held it between his fingers, and dropped it.

The thud echoed like a cannon, and all heads shot up.

“The correct answer is fuel, oxygen, and heat.” He moved to the whiteboard

at the front of the room and began drawing with a red marker. “Oxygen is already in the air, and the heat is from the burner, which leaves the fuel. So, add anhydrous sodium acetate and sodium hydroxide and you get a combustible

substance called methane. Otherwise known as cow farts.”

A few titters rippled through the room.

He put down the marker, wiped his hands on his jeans, and glanced at the clock. “Okay, we still have a few more minutes, so I wanted to remind you about

the test coming up next Thursday.”

A chorus of groans rolled over the class.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, another test. I'm cruel and inhuman. But we wouldn't

have to do the test early if some nameless bunch of knuckleheads hadn't nominated me for this teacher award thing.”

The groans turned back to titters and smiles. Someone shouted out, “Go, Mr. C!” punctuated by a whistle. The class laughed.

“Yes, thanks so much. So, that being the case, I'll be in Des Moines next week on Friday. But don't worry, Mr. Potter has agreed to teach the class while

I'm wasting my time at some awards banquet.”

“Do you get to wear a tux?” Nick Norton shouted from the back row.

Peter smiled. He did love his class. “On a teacher's salary? You've got to be

kidding me.”

The class laughed again.