19 The Stickiest Situation

CHAPTER NINETEEN THE STICKIEST SITUATION Colloids (noun). Mixtures in which the particles are evenly stirred in everywhere; it looks all nice and smooth like milk. Also, like a jump-worthy mud puddle. FLINGING OPEN THE KITCHEN CUPBOARD, I dug out anything that could be used to make glue. I was determined to figure out a way to keep the unicorn horns from falling off—and to do it quickly, since I really didn't have much time. It was close to dinner. I found a jug of Great Lakes Maple Syrup, wildflower honey, blueberry jam, and a jar of chunky peanut butter. But I didn't think any of those things would work to make face glue. Though they would all be tasty on bread. When Dad made a sugar water concoction for the hummingbirds, it got pretty sticky on the counter if it spilled. A sugar mixture could probably

be used to stick paper onto someone's forehead, but not a cardboard horn. On the internet, I discovered that special effects people in Hollywood used something called spirit gum—which sounded perfect for a play full of spirit, which ours was. But it was supposed to be really hard to work with and took forever to dry. Anyway, I didn't have time to order it. The unicorns needed a strong glue. That way they could whinny, toss their manes, and prance onstage without the horns smashing to the floor. Adhesive is a more science-y word for glue, and it made me feel like a real scientist to say it. "Adhesive," I said aloud, imagining myself as a professor in a lab surrounded by my future graduate students. "Adhesive. Yes, please pass me some of that adhesive." Mom popped out of her office in back of the kitchen. "Did you want me, Kate?" "No, I was just talking to myself," I admitted. "That's supposed to happen when you're my age," said Mom. "When you have too much on your to-do list and get frazzled." "Guess I'm ten going on forty-one then." "Thirty-nine," corrected Mom. It was this running joke that she never grew older and that every year was her thirty-ninth birthday. "Anyway,

I wanted to let you know that the grant committee just asked for a bit more documentation," she continued. "So back to the grindstone. I'll be in my office if you need me. Tell Dad when you see him that it would be good to eat dinner a little later tonight." "Sure, I better get back to work, too. I'm trying to make face glue." "Maybe when you get your formula, you can also glue me to my desk. That way I can stay put and figure out this grant." "Watch out. I might just try that." Pacing around the kitchen, I tried to figure out how to make the perfect face glue. Once in Girl Scouts, we had made glue from milk, vinegar, and baking soda. It looked like Elmer's white glue. I decided to try it. I heated a little bit of regular milk from the carton. When I whisked in the vinegar, the milk curdled. "That's a chemical reaction," I murmured, staring in fascination at the gloppy pieces that looked like cottage cheese. I used a paper towel to filter out the liquid. I added a little bit of water and baking soda. The mixture bubbled and looked like sea foam. I knew exactly why. It was the carbon dioxide making a great escape.

The texture was nice and lumpy. If it was too watery, it would slide right off someone's skin. I needed those lumps. I also needed to find a test subject.