No, Peter, don't go there. It had been, what? Twelve years? Yeah, twelve years since he'd ruined her life.

Whenever he thought of it, he always told himself it was just high school.

That place so far away, the place everyone was supposed to leave behind and move on from to bigger and better things, away from the embarrassing haircuts

and the dropped lunch-room trays and the drama. But he knew that it was much

more for some. For Katie Brady, the Scholarship Fair had been everything, all her hopes in one fragile basket.

And Peter had been the one to kick that basket over, scattering her hopes across the gym floor.

* * *

Twelve Years Ago

Golden Grove High

Peter's project for the Scholarship Fair was a chemical propulsion rocket. He didn't care much about winning the scholarship money. He just didn't want to disappoint his favorite science teacher, Mr. Potter.

He ventured a glance at Katie, who was wiping a smudge from her mobile at

the table near his. B before C, Brady and then Clark. All through grade school,

middle school, high school, even if they'd wanted to avoid each other, the alphabet wouldn't let them. Which was fine with him.

He'd always liked Katie, not just because she was his neighbor and they'd grown up together. Katie was…different. He felt so at ease with her. He felt…

connected in some way. And at the same time, he felt flustered when he had to

talk with her. Chemical reactions in the brain was what an online article said about it.

So, when she'd asked him to check a few things on her project at the beginning of summer, he thought maybe this was a chance for them to find out.

Was there something more?

They'd always been friends—always would be friends, probably. But they'd

grown up. She'd grown up, for sure.

He wasn't sure at first if he should have those feelings for her, but that lasted

all of about three seconds when he'd seen her, outside, washing her dad's car in

shorts and a tank top. Summer after their freshman year, June 8, his birthday.

From then on he'd made a point of being home on Sunday afternoons, car-

washing day. Felt a little guilty at first, but she was just, well…

Okay, the word was beautiful. Not only body beautiful, although a freckled,

sudsy girl in a red tank top unquestionably fit that definition. Not drop-dead, over-the-top, unattainable six-foot-tall model beautiful. But it was more than that, and it unnerved his reliable scientific mind why he couldn't put his finger on it.

Like an atom or a molecule, it was there. It was there, somewhere, in how she cocked her head and smiled, the sprinkle of freckles around her nose, the perfume she started wearing—what was it called? Lucky You?

He liked the way she smelled. It wasn't like they spent a lot of time on her

project. They spent half their time in her basement just talking, drinking Dr. Pepper out of bottles from the old machine the Bradys had there. She'd fiddle

with her wire and glass bits. He'd give a few suggestions when she asked, mostly

about balancing the weights, but that was it.

He just… Admit it, Peter. You just wanted to spend time with her.

A teacher was announcing something from the stage PA system. Judging was

starting from the front tables and working its way back. He figured he'd have another fifteen minutes before they got to him. He checked the plastic tube that

fed from the oxidizer tank to the base of his experiment and made sure it was snug in the fitting.

Katie had worked really hard on her mobile, and, even though he was no artist, he knew it was very good. Nitrovex might be all about chemicals, but that

didn't mean they only picked the techy stuff. In fact, the owner's wife was an artist, and she was one of the judges today.

He stole another glance at her table. She seemed pretty confident. And she

should be. Deep down, he hoped she would win. Even in middle school, she'd dreamed of going to art school, but he knew her parents weren't too big on the

idea. A scholarship might be just the thing to change their minds.

He tested another connection and then stopped. The judges were a row

behind and two tables back, working their way towards the front of the gym.

Four serious-looking adults armed with clipboards. He swallowed, then stepped

back. He knew his project was ready, and if he kept fiddling with it he might break something.

“Well, Mr. Clark, everything's looking good, I see.”

Peter looked up to see the smiling, mustached face of his favorite teacher.

“Thanks, Mr. Potter. I just checked all the connections. I think it'll work.”

Mr. Potter gave him a small clap on the back. “Oh, it'll work fine.” His teacher touched a tube and checked a connection. “Have to say, it's pretty ingenious. Chemical reactions as a propulsion device. I wouldn't be surprised if

there were some practical uses for this type of thing.”