Chapter 14: The Science Fair
The gymnasium at the county elementary school smelled of floor wax, damp wool, and stale popcorn. Banners made of butcher paper and construction paper hung from the steel basketball hoops, announcing the annual Spring Science Fair in uneven green marker. Around the perimeter of the room, rows of folding tables held erupting baking-soda volcanoes, displays of moldy bread in Ziploc bags, and solar systems made of painted styrofoam balls hung from wire coat hangers.
I stood beside my cardboard tri-fold board, which detailed the migration patterns of monarch butterflies across the county line, my sneakers tapping nervously against the scuffed linoleum floor. Across the crowded gym, past the cluster of third-graders arguing over whose potato battery generated the most voltage, I saw Mom standing by the folding doors. And right beside her, leaning his broad shoulders against the brick wall with his arms crossed lazily over his chest, was Jax.
He was wearing a clean denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the dark ink of his forearm tattoos, but he didn't look like an outsider anymore. He looked like every other father in the room waiting to see if their kid’s project was going to fall apart or win a blue ribbon. When Mrs. Gable, our science teacher, walked up to my table with her clipboard and clipboard pen, my throat went dry.
"Well, Leo," Mrs. Gable said, adjusting her glasses and peering at my hand-drawn maps of milkweed patches. "You've got some very meticulous data here. Can you tell me what happens to the population when the late frost hits the northern ridge?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice hitched in my dry throat. My eyes flicked past her shoulder, catching Jax’s gaze across the room. He didn't say anything out loud, but he gave me one slow, deliberate nod—the exact same nod he’d given me in the diner when I dropped the photograph on the counter, only this time there was no tension in it, just an anchor holding me steady.
"They... they fly south early," I said, my voice clearing up as I found my rhythm. "They follow the river valley where the air stays warmer, and they don't stop until they hit the old sycamore groves past the state line."
Mrs. Gable smiled, scribbled a checkmark on her pad with a flourish of her red pen, and patted me on the shoulder. "Very thorough work, Leo. Your dad must have helped you map out those river routes."
I looked over at Jax again, feeling a strange, bright warmth spread through my chest that I’d never felt before. "Yeah," I said, looking right back at him with a grin I couldn't hold back. "He sure did."
After the judging was finished and the blue ribbons had been handed out—mine was pinned right to the top corner of the cardboard board—the gym began to clear out as parents and kids spilled out into the warm afternoon parking lot. Mom walked over, her face glowing with a quiet, exhausted kind of happiness, and handed me a warm juice box from her canvas tote bag.
"I knew you'd get first place in the biology division," she said, leaning down to straighten the collar of my jacket. "You spent half of last week tracking those butterflies all the way down to the creek."
"Jax helped me measure the wing spans," I said, looking around for him. "Where did he go?"
Before Mom could answer, the low, familiar rumble of a heavy engine echoed off the brick walls of the school courtyard. We stepped out through the double doors into the bright sunlight, and there parked right beside Mom’s old sedan was Jax’s motorcycle. But it didn't look like the dusty, road-weary machine from the rally anymore; the chrome pipes had been polished to a mirror shine, and a second passenger helmet was strapped securely to the rear sissy bar.
Jax was leaning against the saddle, taking off his sunglasses as we walked down the concrete steps. He looked down at the blue ribbon pinned to my jacket, a slow, genuine smile breaking across his bearded face for the first time all day.
"Not bad, kid," Jax said, his voice deep and rumbling as he tossed his keys into the air and caught them with one hand. "Looks like you’ve got better data collection than an old highway rider."
"Does this mean I get to ride on the back all the way home?" I asked, looking up at the polished chrome with wide eyes.
Jax glanced at Mom, raising one eyebrow in a silent, unspoken question that carried a whole lifetime of answers. Mom let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she reached out to adjust the strap of my school backpack.
May you like
"Only if you wear your helmet, Leo," she said, her voice warm and steady in the afternoon breeze. "And only if your father promises not to take the curves on the hill too fast."
Jax kicked up the bike's heavy kickstand, the engine roaring to life with a clean, powerful growl that shook the gravel under our feet. "Deal," he said, holding out his hand to help me up.
