Chapter 1: Emma’s Science Project CHAPTER 1 EMMA’S SCIENCE PROJECT
Less than twelve hours earlier

When Emma Branch awoke to the familiar honk of Hudson’s flatulence that morning, there was no sign that this day would be the second worst of her life.

Before she could cover her face with her arm to stave off the inevitable bouquet that followed, she felt his rough pink washcloth tongue all over her face.

She opened her eyes and stared into two pitted black olives steaming up her glasses.

“Hudson!” She hugged him before picking hay out of her hair. She’d fallen asleep in the barn again.

“Emma! Where’s breakfast?” her father called from the back porch. He sounded more anxious than usual this morning. The first game of the season was tomorrow, Emma remembered.

“Just a sec,” she called back.

Emma checked on the robin eggs she’d found lying under a red cedar near the river. She had built a makeshift nest with hay and set up a heat lamp with an old standing floor mirror to keep them warm. They looked just about to hatch.

Hudson nudged her leg with his muzzle, dropped his favorite toy at her feet, a bright orange, doggy-sized football. Barked. His hind end wagging back and forth like a hula dancer.

“Aren’t you getting a little old for that, my silly little buddy?”

Hudson barked again, grinning broadly, assuring her that her silly little buddy absolutely was not too old for that.

“Okay.”

She tossed the football across the barn. He dashed after it, snatched it up, and followed her to the main house, tail helicoptering at warp speed.

The Branch family farm was on the outskirts of Sparta. A peeling white farmhouse, dilapidated lean-to, and an old red barn surrounded by several lush acres of Carolina low-country live oaks and marshes. In spite of the horses, cows, and sheep, it wasn’t a working farm. Several years ago, when Sparta Preparatory Academy had recruited Emma’s father, Wayman, to help turn the football team around, he’d bought the hundred-and-fifty-year-old property with the vision of restoring it and retiring as a gentleman farmer.

Emma was barely twelve when her family moved to Sparta, but even then she knew a small town in the back of beyond was the last place she wanted to be. How could she ever leave Charleston, with its zoo and nature center where her mother was a docent? She spent hours there petting the deer and goats, wandering the paths, taking pictures, and making notes of all the native fauna, then heading over to the big library downtown, where she’d spend still more hours researching her discoveries, classifying them, learning about their physiology and genetic makeup until the librarian gently prodded her to go home.

Her favorite part of all, though, was when the veterinarian at the nature center would let her help with the rescued animals. She especially loved Fred, the red fox who was saved from a hunter’s snare. Poor Fred’s leg had been so disfigured by the trap, he could barely walk and might very well lose it. The vet hoped an experimental new genetic treatment could reverse the damage. Emma would hold Fred and pet and coo to him while the staff administered the treatments. Stunningly, within a few months not only was Fred able to get around on his own again but Emma had managed to train him to perform a few simple commands. Her mother was so proud!

That was when Emma knew what she was meant to do in the world. She, too, would make groundbreaking scientific discoveries as a world-renowned veterinarian.

But how in the known universe would she accomplish that in the sticks?

Emma’s worries were not mollified when she set eyes on their new home. The house seemed somehow to list to both sides at the same time. The tiniest movement sent dust motes whirling about, and there was the slight but definite redolence of mildew throughout.

“Nothing a little elbow grease can’t handle,” her father said cheerfully before dissolving into a sneezing fit.

In spite of Emma’s obvious aversion, nothing could quell her father’s pride the day they moved in. Emma’s mom packed a picnic lunch, and her father drove the family all over the property in a beat-up Polaris, finally stopping down by the river, where they ate on a rickety dock with a view of seemingly endless wetlands.

Her two brothers were almost as overcome by the magnetism of the low country as their father. There were miles of hiking trails and plenty of good hunting and fishing. But Emma remained steadfast in her distaste, though she reluctantly admitted to herself that the natural beauty of the property was breathtaking—something she certainly would never let on.

Emma crossed her arms and surveyed her surroundings. “Might as well be on the moon,” she grumbled under her breath, even as her dad was proudly walking through the grass like a happy old prospector, and her brothers were taking out their fishing gear. As much as Emma loved wildlife, sitting here on the dock in this new town (if you could even call it that) was making her feel lonelier than ever.

“Just give it a shot, hon,” her mom said, jumping up and heading to the ATV. “This place could surprise you.” Her mother leaned into the front seat for something.

Emma felt a twinge of guilt. She had meant to keep her annoyance to herself, but she never could hide anything from her mother. Sarah was the only one who understood Emma without her daughter ever having to say a word. She always knew exactly the right thing at exactly the right time.

When Emma looked back at her mother, she was gingerly carrying something toward her, a huge smile on her face. As she grew nearer, it was clear that she was…

Emma had to blink several times to confirm she was actually seeing what she was seeing.

A golden retriever puppy!

“Wh-wha…?” Emma stammered.

“I made a deal with your daddy,” her mom said, beaming at the sleepy puppy in her arms. “I said that if he was going to drag us all the way out to the country, we’re gonna need a dog.”

“But what about his allergies? He always said—”

“Your daddy is just going to have to take a pill and stuff it,” her mother said, deliberately loud enough for Wayman to hear from where he was standing. He let out a melodramatic groan and playfully shook a fist at Sarah, making Emma and her mom giggle between themselves.

Kneeling down next to Emma, her mom handed her the adorable ball of fluff, who yawned with a tiny groan of his own. “Now, as the Branch family’s future resident veterinarian, you’re gonna have to take care of him. Feeding. Walking. Grooming. Keeping track of all his shots. Promise?”

Emma looked from the puppy to her mother and back again. His huge hazel-gold eyes locked on to hers. They were so full of intelligence and wonder and acceptance. And, if his little wagging tail was any indication, pure joy.

It felt like his soul recognized her—and her soul, him.

“I promise.” Emma brought the puppy up to her cheek for a nuzzle.

“His name is Hudson,” her mother said. And then, as if she’d remembered something urgent, she quickly pulled her phone out of her pocket and turned the camera to face Emma. “Quick, we need a picture to commemorate the newest member of our family! Smile, now!”

Emma was never much of a smiler, even back then, but on that particular day the gesture came easily as her mom excitedly took multiple photos of Emma and Hudson and, eventually, a selfie of the three of them together.

That was the last time a smile came easily to Emma—because that was the last time her mom ever made it out to the dock.

When Emma’s mother died, Wayman’s enthusiasm for the farm morphed into despair. Emma would sometimes find him furiously punching an old tire swing until he dropped from exhaustion.

Although Emma heartily disagreed, her mother always said that of everyone in the family, she and her daddy were the most alike. Reserved. Intense. Guarded. Fiercely passionate about their interests. And they loved with their whole heart. Emma and Wayman had always been a bit awkward around each other, but her mother served as a comforting bridge between them. In Sarah’s absence they had each retreated to their own side, and that bridge eventually washed away.

As the only remaining woman in the Branch family, however young, it was now left to Emma to care for the house. She did the best she could, but being barely fourteen at the time of her mother’s death and much more interested in spending time buried in her books and numbers, the farm eventually became as wild as nature intended it to be, and Wayman either didn’t mind or didn’t notice.

Emma didn’t much care for the cooking and housework, but the animals were another story. She loved feeding them, grooming them, and, especially, treating them and caring for them when they got sick. She took in wounded squirrels and birds and nursed them back to health. She even made a little one-legged scooter when the barn rat broke its foot.

One, and maybe the only, good thing about the farm—it had reaffirmed to Emma that she was destined to be a veterinarian. She knew fifteen was awfully young to be thinking about college, but, fueled by big dreams and a little ego, she sent in an early application to UC Davis in California, home to the best vet school in the country. She’d heard of teenage prodigies being accepted to college before, and she’d been studying and preparing materials since middle school. She had no doubt in her abilities and couldn’t wait to get out of Sparta and begin a whole new life in a place where they’d appreciate her. Emma was ready—if they’d have her.

Wayman barely looked up from his newspaper while Emma cracked eggs into an old iron skillet and took bacon out of the microwave.

“ ’Bout time. Where in Sam Hill you been?”

“Sorry, sir. The ewe had twin lambs last night—”

“Unless you’re planning on scrambling ’em into them eggs, I don’t need the details. Had to make the coffee myself, you know.”

“Yeah. What are we supposed to do? Cook our own breakfast?” This was said without any sense of irony by Emma’s overgrown younger brother, Buckhead, as he plopped his football helmet onto the table and grabbed a piece of bacon.

Emma’s even more overgrown older brother, Chip, entered. He towered over the family, his six-foot-five frame pushing three hundred pounds at sixteen years old.

“I could make a fruit medley,” he said, taking a seat.

“Your sister cooks. You boys eat. That’s how things are run in this house.” Wayman turned back to his newspaper. “You need to put some weight on for the season. Your sister’s not the one taking hits on that field.”

Buckhead picked up another piece of bacon and dangled it at Hudson, who could barely contain his excitement.

“Ahh-ahh,” he chastised devilishly as Hudson’s tail thwacked the floor. “Wait… Wait…” Buckhead balanced the strip of bacon on the end of Hudson’s nose.

“Stop teasing him.” Emma reached for the bacon, but Buckhead slapped her hand away.

“I’m training him. It’s called discipline, which is a lot more than I can say for you. Right, Dad?” Buckhead eagerly looked over at his father for his approval.

Wayman was still buried in the paper. “Son, stop messin’ around and get that raggedy dog out of this kitchen. He’s making my eyes water.” He sneezed.

Buckhead sighed. “Fine. Okay, Hudson.”

Hudson flicked his nose to flip the bacon into the air, but before he could catch it, Buckhead snatched it away and gobbled it up.

“Psych!” Buckhead garbled through a mouthful of bacon. “Ha! That’s because dogs are dumb and humans are smart.”

“I guess you’re way beyond the standard deviation on that curve,” Emma said as she gently took Hudson by the collar.

Buckhead narrowed his eyes at his sister. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt insulted.

“Sorry, buddy. It’ll only be a sec.” Emma led Hudson out into the hallway and closed the door, trying to tune out his hurt whimpering.

“The pancakes are burnt!” Buckhead protested.

Still facing the door, Emma sighed. Her younger brother really should’ve been named “Hothead.” She knew little brothers were meant to be annoying. She had also gleaned from her limited reading on family dynamics that the youngest sibling often could be a handful, and living in the literally gargantuan shadow of their older brother couldn’t be easy. But ever since their mother’s passing, Buckhead’s anger was just out of control. So she tried to have a bit of compassion when he took things out on her. But still, that didn’t make him any less of a grating pest. She tried to smile as she turned around and tossed a butter knife at Buckhead. “Scrape it off.”

“Hey!” Buckhead exclaimed as the knife clattered to the floor. “Did you see that? She tried to kill me!”

“Just use more syrup, Son. Too skinny as it is,” said Wayman, flipping to the next page of his paper.

Chip dipped the pancakes into butter and crunched away happily. “Mmm. Like crostini.”

The gloom that had settled over Emma as she cleared the breakfast dishes lifted as soon as she heard the mail slot in the front door squeak open.

Hudson barked and snarled, attacking the mail as it poured through the slot. His eyes lit up when a particularly thick envelope fell before him. He grabbed it and shook it fiercely like a fresh kill.

Emma tried to wrest it from him. “Hudson, no! Let go!” With a RIIIP she managed to free Hudson’s prey. Her eyes quickly scanned the contents. “UC Davis! I’m in! I’m in!”

“What are you caterwauling about?” Wayman said, coming out of the kitchen.

Emma showed him the early-acceptance letter. “Do you know what this means?”

The excitement in her eyes died as she saw her father’s expression.

“But you… You said…”

Wayman grunted uncomfortably.

“He was countin’ on you not being smart enough.” Buckhead grinned, appearing behind his father.

“Who’s gonna cook if Emma goes to California?” Chip asked.

Emma looked at her father, hoping for some reassurance. But there was none. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Emma ran off before the tears could overwhelm her. Hudson followed.

Buckhead watched, dumbfounded. “Did she even pack lunch yet?”

Emma tore from the house as fast as she could, Hudson at her heels. She was determined not to cry. She would wait inside the barn until the urge passed. The barn was safe. Displays of emotion were forbidden in the Branch household since Mama passed.

Emma ran to the far stall and stopped just inside the doorway. The box was still there. Just beneath the hay. A long time ago it’d held all her mother’s most precious items. Now it held just one. It was the only thing Emma had managed to rescue from the pile destined for the Salvation Army. Her father had gotten rid of everything her mother owned, like she never even existed. Emma didn’t know how he’d react if he ever discovered it. She was just grateful that she’d been able to keep it hidden these past couple years.

Her mother had known how important vet school was to Emma. She would’ve even gone to bat with her daddy for her. Emma just knew it. She closed her eyes, imagining what Mama might say if Emma could talk to her right now. She’d be so proud.

Emma picked up her mother’s jewelry box and opened it. The key was lost, but that didn’t matter, since the lock was broken. The plastic ballerina inside popped up with a sproing. She didn’t twirl anymore, but the creaky mechanical innards did still manage to play a lethargic rendition of “Be Young, Be Foolish, Be Happy” by the Tams, which was her mother’s favorite song.

Her parents used to shag dance to it in the living room when she was a little girl. Emma would hide behind the railing upstairs and watch her parents twirl and laugh and hug every time her mother put the needle back on the old forty-five single. Despite all the skips and jumps and scratches on the record, her parents danced flawlessly. Even on Emma’s worst day, leaning her head against the railing and watching her parents dance would lift her spirits. All worries dissolved away in the music. It was the main reason Emma chose to play the horn in the school band.

Emma reached into the jewelry box and caressed her mother’s single strand of pearls. Real ones. The only good piece of jewelry she owned, as far as Emma knew. She remembered how the illness had dimmed the light of the vibrant woman Emma had known her whole life, so much that her mother was barely able to lift her head for a sip of water. That is, until Hudson, who was still just a puppy, burst into the room. Then the flush would come back into her mother’s cheeks, and she would will herself to sit up enough so she could wrap her arms around him. Hudson was like a battery that recharged her with just a look.

Emma held the pearls to her throat for a moment and released a ragged breath. In spite of her best efforts, she couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. The ballerina seemed to stare at her accusingly for this embarrassing display, while the box continued to warble the old beach music tune. Emma heard the lyrics in her head: Life is too short to worry about unimportant things… Be young, be foolish, be happy.

Emma didn’t feel at all young or happy at the moment, but she certainly felt foolish—the way she always did when she was unable to control her feelings.

She sank down into the hay and let go. Hudson curled up next to her, laid his head in her lap. He glanced up at her, his soft, liquid eyes full of emotion. Hurting almost as much as she was, she thought.

She stroked the puppy-soft fur on his head. “You miss her too, don’t you, buddy?”

Hudson whined, acknowledging that, yes, of course he did. Emma hugged him.

“At least we’ve got each other.”

This thought seemed to open up a fresh well of tears.

Hudson watched her, concerned. He tore across the barn, grabbed his orange football, and ran back to Emma, wagging not only his tail but his entire bottom. He growled playfully.

Emma couldn’t help laughing a little. She reached for the football. Hudson turned his head just out of her grasp, a playful smile on his face.

“Give,” she said.

Hudson backed up, growling again.

“Give me that ball,” she repeated, grinning. Hudson crouched on his front legs, tail whooshing high in the air.

She started after him, and the chase began.

Moments later the old Tams hit was playing quietly on Emma’s phone, and she was boogie walking with Hudson like they always did when she felt down. He actually danced pretty well for a dog, except for the fact that he refused to drop his little orange football.

Emma let go of his paws, and he jumped and danced around her as she twirled to the music, his hind end still wagging uncontrollably with happiness. She couldn’t help laughing, and the fog of sadness that clouded her brain started to lift. At least for now, with Hudson around.

Hudson lay in the sweet-smelling straw, watching glumly as Emma stuffed her backpack. He knew that after she’d filled it with her laptop, books, lab journals, and more books, she’d be gone for the day.

Emma gave Hudson a long, strong hug. “I’ll be back soon, sweet boy.”

Wayman slid the barn door open. “Better hurry if you don’t want to walk.”

Emma silently grabbed her straining backpack and walked past her father without a word, Hudson traipsing faithfully at her heels.

“Aw, look,” her daddy sighed. “Even if I could afford to send you to that fancy school, you’re way too young to go off to college. You can’t even drive. And besides, we need you—”

“Yes, sir,” Emma said without turning around. “Family first.”

“Right,” he agreed, walking to keep up with her. “Y’know, the boys’ll be out of school in a couple years. God and grades willing. And then if you’re still set on this…”

“If Mama was still here—”

Wayman reeled like she slapped him. His warning glare stopped her cold.

Buckhead appeared on the back porch. “We’re going to be late.”

Emma could see her daddy blinking back emotion, his mouth opening and closing silently, trying to catch up with the conflicting thoughts racing through his mind.

Buckhead, not usually one to catch such subtleties, looked from one to the other. “Something going on?”

Wayman quickly turned his head away from his children, swiping the corners of his eyes as he marched to his rusty old truck. “Dadgum it, Emma! You know that mangy, good-for-nothing dog riles my allergies! How many times I gotta tell you to get rid of him? I swear, I’m gonna dump that mutt at the pound someday.”

Emma gave Hudson one last hug. “Don’t worry, Hudson. He doesn’t mean it. I’m the one he’s mad at.”

“Let’s hope your research project is well conceived,” Mr. Sandeep said, enjoying the looks of abject fear on the students as he strolled by them in biology class. Being the smartest kid growing up, he’d spent many lunch hours strung from the basketball hoop by his underwear. It was nice that the tables were now turned. “Whether you get held back or not depends on it. No pressure.”

He smiled at his own joke. The class chuckled obligingly. Everyone except for Emma, who was hunched over a microscope furiously making last-minute notes.

Mr. Sandeep cleared his throat. “Miss Branch, perhaps you’d like to be the first to present?”

Emma tapped away at her laptop, lost in her scope, too consumed by her research to hear.

“Dr. Dolittle only talks to animals. No genus above Canis, I’m afraid.” Jasmine smirked. Even the science nerds had their pecking order, and Jasmine was at the top of it. “I heard she even sleeps in a barn. Sure smells like it.” She smiled, basking in a chorus of fawning twitters, her metal braces glinting in the stark fluorescent light.

Emma dutifully continued to pore over her work, tuning out the snickering and ignoring the prickling heat of her ears.

Mr. Sandeep wasn’t laughing. “Miss Branch!”

Emma finally looked up. “Sir?”

“Your presentation.”

“Oh! Yes.” She handed him a five-inch-thick bound packet. “There’s a lot of data.”

“I see. The floor is yours.”

Mr. Sandeep swept his arms toward the front of the room, where the laboratory director, Ms. Wanda, was busy hooking up a flat-screen monitor. She was a sinewy woman wrapped in bright, cheerful colors who wore her Gullah heritage proudly. Her big, expressive eyes looked even larger behind a pair of stylish orange spectacles.

“Please share your proposal with the class,” the instructor repeated to Emma.

“The whole class?” Emma gulped, readjusting her glasses. “It’s pretty dense scientific material. Not the easiest to summarize.”

“If you’re going to be a scientist, you’ll have to face your peers at some point. Your presentation, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Emma gathered her books and laptop and carried them to the front of the classroom, and dumped the pile onto Mr. Sandeep’s desk. She’d been working on this project for months now. She knew it like the back of her hand. Her hand that was shaking as she reopened her laptop screen. Feeling the eyes of the entire class all focused squarely on her, she found herself suddenly terrified.

Ms. Wanda passed a cord to her, breaking her out of her paralysis. “On the side there, yeah?” Ms. Wanda pointed to the HDMI port, and fed some celery to her pet lizard, Elvis, who was perched on her shoulder.

“That’s Barn Girl’s future right there,” Jasmine stage-whispered, indicating Wanda and her lizard to more obedient laughter.

With sweaty palms Emma plugged her laptop into the video port. Nothing. Someone coughed. Her teacher was getting exasperated. Emma took a deep breath. Jiggled the connector.

Suddenly the entire class burst into hysterics, pointing at the screen.

Emma turned and froze, wishing she’d spontaneously combust or a sinkhole would open up beneath her feet or Halley’s Comet would return right that minute and land slap on her.

Because she’d forgotten about her wallpaper.

There, larger than life on the monitor, her computer desktop was on full display for the entire world. A photo of quarterback Nick Wilson in uniform took up the whole screen.

“Barn Girl has a crush on the star of the football team!” Jasmine crowed. “You’re the most basic person who ever lived!”

Emma inhaled deeply and imagined a wall coming down just behind her eyes. She was safe behind that wall. As if she were inside a fortress looking out at a distant world. No one could touch the real Emma inside. Calmly she exhaled, felt her body slowly relax, then opened her presentation to display the microscopic image of a fruit fly.

“Okay…” She swallowed. “So I’ve, uh, conducted some targeted gene therapy on Drosophila melanogaster.”

“And?” the teacher asked.

“Well, we all have genes… And, um, humans and other… species have many genes in common…” Emma skipped to a photo of a chromosome. “In fact, we share some eighty-four percent of our genetic makeup with dogs, even. But not all of the thousands of genes we have are ‘turned on,’ so to speak. Like, lots of people have genes for blue eyes, but not all of them actually have blue eyes, because that gene isn’t turned on—”

“So, what, you’re creating an army of blue-eyed fruit flies?” Jasmine interrupted.

But Emma barely heard her. She was warming up, passion for her project overriding her nerves. “Fruit flies are common experimental subjects in genetic studies because they have so few chromosomes. Only four pairs. They also live for only about a month or so, and that’s under ideal conditions. But through observation and study, I’ve managed to identify the aging genes—a group that almost all living creatures share—and delay turning them on using an activator I created. As a result, the flies in my experiment lived three times longer than the control group.”

Emma wasn’t a popular person at all. Her intensity was too much, even for the nerds at school, so it wasn’t often she had her classmates on her side. But for the first time there was an interested hum in the room. This was the longest Jasmine had let Emma speak without some rude comment, even.

“The only side effect,” Emma continued, clicking to the next slide, “is this marking here.” There was a close-up of a heart-shaped birthmark on the underside of the fly’s wing. “It appears approximately fifteen minutes after introducing the activator.”

Mr. Sandeep looked intrigued. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

“Well, I’m researching those genes that other animals share with humans in order to extend their lifespan. I mean, wouldn’t it be great if our pets lived as long as we do?”

“An interesting theory,” Mr. Sandeep said.

“Thank you.” Emma felt pride swell in her chest.

“But,” Mr. Sandeep interjected, the sound of the word cutting through the air—and through Emma’s hopes, “a fruit fly is a very simple organism. You don’t know what effect this ‘activator’ might have on a more complex being.”

“I understand, and that’s why I’m hoping to further my study…” Emma felt her glasses slide down her nose and pushed them back into place. The confidence she had been feeling was quickly draining away.

“Even if this were possible or even ethical, it’s extremely ambitious, and far beyond the scope of a sophomore class research project. We must walk before we run.”

“But my data is strong.” Emma couldn’t hide the desperate whine in her voice. “If you’d please just take a look at my current findings—”

“Miss Branch, I am sorry, but you’ll have to choose another subject to pursue. Something within the realm of science, not science fiction.”

Emma struggled alone down the corridor to band practice, dragging her mellophone case, frustration stinging her eyes. Did the numbers lie to me? They’re never wrong. Are they?

“Branch! Emma Branch! Hold up!”

Emma turned to see Wanda hurrying after her, Elvis clinging to her shoulder for dear life. “Yes, Ms. Wanda?”

“So you really like that quarterback?” Wanda said, trying to catch her breath. “None of my business, but you could do better.”

Emma couldn’t take any more this day. She turned on her heel, but Ms. Wanda stopped her.

“Look here, don’t take old Sandeep too personally. He likes to challenge his students, especially the smart ones.” She smiled warmly at Emma, taking the sting out of her humiliation a little. “But he’s wrong to have you choose another research topic. I skimmed your proposal. You’re onto something.” She dangled a set of keys tantalizingly. “All the laboratory resources of the academy at your disposal. You game?”

Wanda unlocked the door to the laboratory storeroom. Most of the contents were familiar to Emma, but one entire wall was filled with mason jars bearing handwritten labels. Emma studied them closely. Rusty nails. Red pepper. Basil. Sumac root.

She picked up a jar and read the label aloud. “Goofer dust? What on earth is this?”

“Ever hear of Mercy Herrick?”

“Was she a veterinarian?”

“Lived in the Massachusetts colony in the 1700s, yeah? Invented a glass ball that you rubbed, and it would glow bright enough to read by at night. Worked on static electricity.”

“That’s fascinating.”

“Yeah. She was hanged as a witch.”

Emma shot Ms. Wanda a skeptical look. “Is that supposed to inspire me?”

Ms. Wanda grinned, amused. “Flying machines. The telephone. Landing on the moon. All crazy ideas until they weren’t. Magic is just science no one can explain yet.”

“I’m not sure I follow. What exactly is all this?”

“Ifa medicine. Tools of the trade. The unenlightened call it voodoo. My family has been performing these cures for centuries. And believe me, they work.” Ms. Wanda lovingly adjusted one of her potted basil plants so that the leaves were getting more light. “I’ve been studying our ingredients to figure out the exact mechanisms—what about their biology works so well with ours that it can cure our ailments. I think your thesis touches on something connected to all this. And I think, together, we could really accomplish something important.”

Emma stopped. This was the first time anyone in Sparta other than her mother had ever shown even an inkling of interest in her work. She felt that familiar beat of excitement thrum through her chest.

“Mr. Sandeep would never go for that,” she sighed. “You heard what he said.”

“The lab is my domain. Sandeep doesn’t need to know everything that goes on here.”

“Wouldn’t we need permission from the school at least?”

“Most of the investment is time—yours and mine. And our brains, of course. I don’t think the school is gonna miss a couple fruit flies, huh?”

Emma looked around the storeroom again. It was an intriguing proposal. The lab certainly had way better equipment than her family’s barn. Still, Emma was ambivalent.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t want to get in trouble. And I certainly don’t want you to get in trouble, Ms. Wanda. I appreciate what you’re trying to do… I just think the people in this town are too small-minded.” Emma turned to leave. “I’m late for band practice.”

“I wouldn’t write the whole town off just because of one bad day, hear?” Wanda called after her. “Get your nose away from that microscope and direct some of that curiosity at other people sometime. You might be surprised!”