7 Getting Energized

CHAPTER SEVEN GETTING ENERGIZED Fuel (noun). In scientific terms, fuels are molecules that have energy stored within their bonds, and can be found in pasta or cheesecake. Your body burns the molecules in food, and for many, fueling up is the best part of the day, especially if the fuel comes from dessert! MONDAY MORNING HAD BEEN way too Mondayish. Outside, it was gray, without a hint of sun or snow. In class, Birdie had been quiet, like she had caught the blahs. I wanted to do something to cheer her up but couldn't get her to crack a smile. It made me nervous. During lunch, when Birdie and I sat down at our usual table, Memito and Elijah were already there, along with Avery and her best friend, Phoenix Altman. "Anyone want to guess what's in this mystery meat?" asked Memito, pointing to his lunch tray. "No thanks," said Phoenix, who's a vegetarian. She bit into her bean burrito. "I don't care if it's a cooked shoe," said Elijah, stabbing his meat loaf. "I'm super hungry, so I'm going for the mystery meat." "You're brave." I laughed. Birdie sort of smiled.

After a giant bite of my ham sandwich, I began to feel better. It was chemistry, of course. Once the sandwich arrived in my stomach, it plopped into a vat of acid, which converted my sandwich molecules into glucose—basically fuel. Yup, I could feel myself getting energized. "Hey, isn't that the new girl?" said Avery. She nodded over at Tala, who was holding up a lunch bag, peering around at all of the tables as if she didn't quite know where to go. "Hey, Tala, over here," I called out. Leaning forward, Tala peered over at the drink station, looking a little confused. Immediately, I popped out of my chair. Then I waved my arms over my head like I was directing a plane at the airport. Tala was so cool, and I really wanted Birdie and the gang to get to know her better. Smiling, Tala headed over to our table. "Sit here!" I patted my seat. "Thanks." She set down a lunch bag. Today, her long wavy dark hair was pushed back in a bright yellow headband. Somehow, it made me think of the sun, which made me think of California, where she was from. Plopping down in the empty seat on her other side, I said, "Welcome." Tala was sitting between me and Birdie. I quickly made introductions, because she was in

Mrs. Que's fifth-grade class and we were all in Mrs. Eberlin's class. Out of her lunch sack, Tala pulled a sandwich, an apple, a granola bar, and a small plastic container with the most delicious-smelling rice in it. "Yum, what's that?" asked Memito. "Garlic rice," said Tala, "leftovers from dinner. It's my lola's recipe." "I want to meet your lola," said Memito. "What's a lola?" Tala laughed. "She's my dad's mom. And you'd have to fly to the Philippines, but sure." Tala grinned, and I couldn't help grinning, too. "I'm so excited you're here," I said to Tala. "Thanks," she replied. "Seriously. I've been thinking about what you said about black holes. Like all weekend. And now my little brother wants black hole doughnuts for his birthday party. And black hole key chains as party favors. Well, not actual black holes but photos of them." Meanwhile Birdie closed up her lunch bag, even though she had hardly eaten. She's honestly the slowest eater on the planet. But she usually finishes up everything, even if it's just as the bell rings. "I forgot

something I have to finish in the art room," she murmured. "Okay," I said, smiling a bit. But honestly, I felt disappointed that Birdie wasn't getting a chance to talk with Tala. I glanced up at the clock. "You've got seventeen minutes. I hope that's enough time." "Yeah." Birdie stuffed her lunch bag into her backpack. "Good luck!" called out Tala. Birdie nodded and then headed out of the still-crowded cafeteria. "When it comes to art, Birdie doesn't need luck," I explained to Tala. "She's super talented. Even something she sketches for two minutes looks better than anything I work on for hours. I'm even bad at stick figures." "Me too," said Tala. "I can't even draw a straight line unless I use a ruler. And even then, I mess up." Tala laughed. For someone into serious stuff like astronomy, I could tell she knew how to have fun. Birdie, for one, needed to have some more fun right now. The rocket launch could be just the answer. I turned to Tala. "Hey, I'm going to talk to Ms. Daly about the rocket launch idea tomorrow," I said. "She's in school all day on Tuesdays to work with the

lower grades on science, and I've been thinking about it all weekend." "That's great," said Tala, "because it sounds like the rockets—" "Did someone say 'rockets'?" asked Elijah. "Yup," I said. Then Tala explained how she did a rocket launch with her old science club. "Rockets use so much fuel," said Phoenix. "Although I've read that they have reusable rockets now!" "These aren't real rockets," I said. "Rockets made from soda bottles," explained Tala. "Baking soda, vinegar, and other stuff. Plus, for real height, you need to make a launchpad." "Like how high will the rocket go? Your knee?" joked Elijah, pointing to his leg. Tala threw up her arms. "Way, way high. Two stories, for sure." "Whoa!" said Memito, gazing up at the ceiling. "That's cool," gushed Avery. "One time at my dads' theater, we were doing a show about the Apollo moon landing, and instead of building model rockets, the set designer projected videos of them blasting off onto a backdrop." "Actually, there's a secret to making the rockets really blast off," said Tala, "which is—"

"Shhhh." I put my finger to my lips. "Don't tell them. They'll have to work on their rockets to find out." "Oh, I'll figure it out." Elijah thumped the table like a drum. "Me too," said Memito. "We'll see about that." I turned to Tala. "I think Ms. Daly will say yes to the rocket launch. But it's always better if you can give her as many reasons as possible. She likes to know the science behind stuff. And to make sure it's all safe. Do you want to come over after school so we can work on the plan? And the rockets for the party?" "Definitely," she said. "That sounds like a blast!" "A rocket blast, that is," I said, giggling at my own joke.