9 The Proposal

CHAPTER NINE THE PROPOSAL Proposal (noun). This is a paper that proposes a research project in science, and scientists hope that the proposal will help them get money to fund the project. You could write up a proposal to clean your neighborhood pond, so you can get funding to buy nets and trash bags to make the job easier! ONCE TALA LEFT, I turned our ideas into a proposal. Scientists write proposals to get grants, which give them money to do their project. I wanted to make the proposal official, so I typed it up and put it into an orange folder. The next morning, Tala and I met up in front of the school. We were early, twenty minutes before the first bell rang. "Ms. Daly is big on being on time, from her air force days," I explained to Tala, who had dressed up for the occasion. As we walked into the school, I admired her sweater with silver ribbons woven through it, and she had silver ribbons in her hair, too. In my jeans and sweatshirt, I felt a little plain. "So anyway," I continued. "Ms. Daly even taught us military time. Scientists use it, too. They have a twenty-four-hour clock to avoid errors

and confusion. So one thirty p.m. is really thirteen thirty hours." "Cool," said Tala. "I know astronauts use a twenty-four-hour clock, but I didn't know other scientists did, too." She blew on her bangs as we stood outside the science lab. "I'm kind of nervous," she admitted. I waved the folder. "Nothing to worry about. We have our proposal. She'll love it." I glanced at the door and knocked. Nobody answered. It was open though, so Tala and I walked in. Ms. Daly stood near the sink frowning at the tile floor. "Um, hi, Ms. Daly," I said. "Is everything okay?" She grabbed a rag off the table. "It's not coming up." She pointed at the floor, which was shiny-looking in one spot. "And it's sticky as flypaper." "What happened?" asked Tala. "I thought it was just water. But now I'm pretty sure one of the fourth graders spilled some liquid adhesive bandage during chemistry club. Because it's not coming up. Earlier, I even tried soap." "Wait! I've got an idea. What about acetone?" I exclaimed. "You might be right, Kate. Go grab it." I sped to the supply cabinet and pulled out a plastic bottle from the bottom shelf. I held it up. "Acetone will dissolve the glue because it's a solvent."

I handed Ms. Daly the bottle. "Here you go," I said. "Thanks! Let's see." After throwing on some gloves, she poured the liquid onto the rag and rubbed the floor. Suddenly a smile stretched across her face. "This was the perfect idea, Kate." I clapped my hands. "Yay for solvents!" Glancing at Tala, I grabbed my folder. "So we figured out what we need for our rocket launch," I said, pulling out the proposal. Ms. Daly took a moment to read it. She was nodding, which was a good sign. I pointed to the list of materials. "The budget will be low since we can ask students to bring in empty plastic bottles. And no flammables needed. Just a couple of chemical reactions that use some vinegar and baking soda, which we already have in the lab. The rockets will go super high because of a special material that Tala won't tell me about. She says I have to figure it out." Beside me, Tala nodded. "Well, you can tell me," said Ms. Daly. Tala leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

"Aha!" said Ms. Daly. "That makes a lot of sense because of all the pressure." "Oh, you've given me a clue," I said. "Now I'll figure it out." "I'm sure you will, Kate." Ms. Daly winked at me. "I believe in that brain of yours." "So does this mean the chemistry club gets to have a rocket launch too?" I asked. "Yes," said Ms. Daly. "And I think doing it the weekend before winter break is a great idea. That way, we can have the field to ourselves on Saturday, which would be good for safety." She whipped out her phone. "And the weather appears as if it will cooperate." She smiled. "Not that weather forecasts are perfect. But they are based on science." Later, out in the hall, Tala started making some cool moves. She twisted around, kicked out her legs, and twirled three times with a clap and a snap. Elijah and Birdie both watched. "What's that called?" I asked. "My happy dance," said Tala. And I laughed because it made me happy just watching her. "Want to learn how?" she asked. "Oh yeah!" I shouted. I turned to Birdie and Elijah. "Want to learn with me?" Elijah shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Birdie squished up her face, like my question was a bitter lemon. "No thanks." "But you love dancing," I said, confused and a little frustrated. Birdie shook her head, which made no sense. Just a few months ago, we had learned the steps of an old dance from YouTube. It was called the pretzel, and we had gotten as tangled up together as a game of Twister. We had laughed so hard that we had cried. Right now, I almost felt like crying. But I held in any tears. This was supposed to be a happy moment. We were going to have a rocket launch. "All you have to do is twist around, kick out your legs twice, then spin, spin, spin with a clap and a snap," said Tala, demonstrating the moves. "Now it's your turn." There was no way this moment was going to be spoiled. I twisted, kicked, twirled, clapped, and snapped. Then wow, did I get dizzy. "Glad you're not on the dance team," said Birdie, which seemed a little mean and not like her at all. I wanted to say something back to her, but I didn't want to get into a fight. "That was good, Kate," said Tala. "Except it looked like you were trying to kick a soccer ball into a goal." "Yeah. I was worried you thought my head was a soccer ball," joked Elijah.

Birdie let out a low chuckle. Okay, maybe I was imagining all of this drama, which wasn't there. "Hey, I'm going next," said Elijah, who immediately got the happy dance perfect, except for the end when he snapped instead of clapped. I glanced over at Birdie. Although her lips tugged into a tiny smile, her eyes weren't smiling at all. Then I thought about something. My dad always says when something doesn't feel right, just ask general questions. I studied my best friend. "What's wrong?" "If you can't figure it out, I'm not going to tell you." Then Birdie darted away down the hall. I stared in her direction for a while before I heard Tala whisper, "I don't think Birdie likes me." I whipped around and looked at Tala, confused. "No way," I said. "You're awesome. How could Birdie not like you?"