So girls DO do science.
Just not so much me.
Zoe is a science whiz. She’s so good at maths and science that she even won the Year 6 prize for it. And Olivia is really keen on experiments and inventions and that kind of thing. It’s her passion. Kind of like writing is my passion. Nanna Kate says your passion is the thing that makes your heart sing. My heart sings when I find the right words to properly convey all my feelings and emotions. Olivia’s heart sings when she finds out why toilet paper has a scent but tissues don’t. She likes answers. I like poetry. Each to their own, I guess.
We all sat behind long, white benches on high stools. I sat between Zoe and Grace and behind Saskia, Portia and Mercedes. Up the front was another long, white bench for the teacher. Behind it was an amazing- looking smartboard, which was lit up and ready to go.
The bell had rung for morning classes ten minutes ago and we’d all shuffled into the science lab for our first class. But there was no sign of the teacher. We all whispered to each other in confusion, because Eden teachers were never late.
Suddenly, the door swung open with a bang and a figure bustled into the room in a mad flurry. It was a short man with frizzy hair, which blew about in a frenzy around his face. He wore round glasses and had a long, unbuttoned, white lab coat, which flapped about his thin body. He had a bright, polka dot tie, which didn’t really match his striped shirt. He was muttering under his breath, ‘I’m late, I’m late, I’m late,’ just like the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland.
‘Right,’ he said, as he patted his chest pockets, clearly looking for something. He stopped and thought for a second and then, as he suddenly remembered, pulled a remote out of his back pocket for the smartboard.
‘I am …’ He stopped as if he’d momentarily forgotten his own name. ‘I am Professor Wendell,’ he said at last. ‘And I am your science teacher!’
We all sat in silence. He stared at us, as though unsure what to do next.
‘Right, right, right,’ he said, as he bundled through some papers on the desk. ‘Today, we are going to start with an experiment!’
Zoe squealed quietly.
‘This term we are studying chemical reactions,’ he continued.
Zoe squealed again.
‘And we are going to start with an exothermic reaction. Anyone know what that is?’ Professor Wendell asked.
Zoe’s hand flew up into the air. Professor Wendell pointed to her.
‘A reaction that creates light or heat,’ Zoe said with a big smile on her face.
‘Well done,’ Professor Wendell smiled. ‘And today, we will create our own exothermic reaction. This chemical reaction will also show us what a catalyst is. Anyone know that already?’
Zoe’s hand shot up again.
‘Anyone else know?’ Professor Wendell asked.
Nobody moved.
‘Yes, you again then,’ he said, pointing to Zoe.
‘It’s a substance that helps along a chemical reaction,’ Zoe said.
‘Indeed,’ Professor Wendell nodded. ‘For this experiment, we will use yeast as a catalyst. Once we mix it together with our other ingredients, we will get a very foamy result,’ he smiled. ‘Now, when you come and collect the chemical component, make sure you take this one,’ he said, pointing to a white bottle, ‘and not this one,’ pointing to a red bottle. ‘The red bottle is a higher concentration that we will use later for a bigger result, but that needs to be done by an adult … outside!’
Professor Wendell told us to form groups of three and then explained the equipment we would need. We had to wear gloves and protective eye goggles, which made the experiment seem way more exciting and dangerous. We were instructed to collect a small amount of a special chemical to take back to our desks and put into a glass flask with some dishwashing liquid. We were then to mix the yeast in some water, which we were going to add to our chemical. We also added a food colouring of our choice, which was going to make the special foam a pretty colour. Grace, Zoe and I formed a group and collected our equipment.
‘It’s important you follow the instructions very carefully,’ Professor Wendell said, as we all set up our experiments at our benches.
It was Grace’s job to measure out the chemical, while Zoe and I mixed the yeast.
‘Have you guys studied for the streaming tests?’ Grace asked.
‘A bit,’ I said. ‘I should probably do more, but I’ve been thinking a lot about my Eden Press report.’ I suddenly felt a bit nervous. Maybe I was focusing on Eden Press too much. What if I didn’t do well in the streaming tests? Would I lose my scholarship like Saskia said?
I spooned the yeast into the water and began to mix it around.
‘Grace, are you reading the instructions?’ Zoe asked as she eyed Grace pouring the chemical into the flask.
Grace waved her hand dismissively as she continued to talk. And talk. And talk. Grace is one of those girls that could talk underwater, as Nanna Kate would say.
In front of us, Saskia, Portia and Mercedes let out a delighted squeal as they added the yeast to their experiment. Immediately, thick coils of foam came bubbling out of their flask and into the sink, which was embedded in the bench.
Professor Wendell clapped excitedly. ‘Isn’t it great?’ he laughed.
Another group further down our bench had the same
reaction as their blue-coloured foam rose out of the flask and spilled over into their sink.
‘OK, our turn!’ Zoe said, picking up the yeast mixture. ‘You definitely collected the right chemical, didn’t you, Grace?’
‘Yeah, yeah. Three, two, one, go!’ Grace laughed as she grabbed the yeast mixture off Zoe and dumped it into the flask.
BANG!
Our flask exploded and shot a massive tube of foam upwards, like an erupting volcano. It came out with such force, Zoe, Grace and I screamed and ducked under the bench. The bright pink foam kept shooting upwards, coating the classroom ceiling in pink bubbles. Saskia, Portia and Mercedes screamed in horror.
‘Everyone, outside!’ Professor Wendell yelled, as girls started screaming and running around the lab in a wild panic.
The foam continued rolling off the bench in coils.
‘Don’t touch it!’ Professor Wendell yelled. ‘You used the wrong chemical! It’s very dangerous!’
Once he’d said the word ‘dangerous’, the whole class screamed even louder and we joined them as they ran out the door in a thunderous stampede.
Once our experiment had stopped foaming, we cautiously poked our heads back into the lab. Our foam was everywhere—and there was a big, pink stain on the ceiling.
‘Oops,’ Grace whispered.
Chapter 9
I sat on the lawn at lunchtime, gazing at my chicken and salad wrap. It was nice and all, but it was nothing like the lunches Mum would make me in primary school. I remember when I was really little, she used to cut the crusts off my sandwiches, then cut them into the shape of stars or hearts with a cookie cutter. I turned the wrap over in my hands. I really missed my mum.
‘Ella, please report to Mrs Sinclair’s office, thank you,’ the loudspeaker crackled.
I jolted to attention as my name was called. I looked at Zoe and Grace with wide eyes—was I in trouble?
‘Want us to come?’ Grace offered.
‘No, I think it’s OK,’ I mumbled. But inside I was nervous. I wondered what Mrs Sinclair wanted to see me about. It couldn’t be about the science lab mishap earlier that day, otherwise she would have called Grace and Zoe up too.
I walked from where we were eating on Centenary Lawn, up the path and around past the sports and aquatic centre, towards the administration building.
The hot sun beat down, seeping through my thin, summer dress. I had my panama hat on but could still feel the intense warmth sink through into my scalp. I pulled my ponytail around my shoulder, rifling my fingers through the hot, sweaty strands of hair that stuck to my neck.
I passed the fountain in the central courty
ard and wished I could throw off my dress and jump in with wild abandon, just in my underpants. That’s what Olivia would do. But that’s definitely not something an Eden Girl would do, for sure. It made me think back to the time Dad got a long piece of tarp and stretched it out down our backyard. I was only little when we bought the house, but I remember the real estate agent saying in a sympathetic voice, ‘It is a sloping block, I’m afraid,’ like that was a really bad thing. But Dad said that made it the perfect garden for sliding and he reckons that was the tipping point for buying the house. I’m not sure that’s totally true, but he was right about it being the perfect garden for a homemade water slide.
Every summer we would stretch out the tarp and lather it up with dishwashing soap. Then we’d use the sprinkler to create the most epic garden water slide. Dad would always run and launch himself down it on his stomach—he’d look just like a penguin shooting across the ice on its tummy. It was so funny.
I smiled.
As I approached the administration block, my smile faded and little butterflies began to dance around in my stomach. I walked up the steps slowly and let myself in through the glass door. The lady at reception smiled over the desk.
‘May I help you?’ she asked.
‘I was paged to see Mrs Sinclair,’ I said in a shaky voice.
The receptionist bit her lip slightly, in what appeared to be a stifled giggle. I didn’t think it was funny.
She walked through to the back office while I waited.
‘Come through,’ she said, ushering me behind the desk and into Mrs Sinclair’s office.
I’d only been in her office once before—when I came to Eden College for my interview last year. I couldn’t imagine why I had been called back now.
The office was large, and behind Mrs Sinclair’s desk was a huge window. It looked out onto the plush, green oval where some girls were practicing hockey. Either side of the window were bookshelves, lined with many different types of books. Her desk was large, made of dark wood, and looked heavy and expensive.
Mrs Sinclair sat behind her desk. She looked over her glasses at me. ‘Please sit,’ she urged.
I took a seat on one of the leather chairs opposite her.
‘Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,’ she chuckled.
I immediately felt my shoulders relax a little.
On Mrs Sinclair’s desk were several photographs of her at varying ages. In some she looked young—her now short, silver hair nowhere to be seen and long, golden hair in its place. In each photo she was hugging a different dog, sometimes two. They varied in size and breed—one was a golden retriever like my dog, Bob, another was small and white. Mrs Sinclair followed my eyes.
‘My dogs,’ she said smiling. ‘I’ve had many over the years. I never had children of my own, so my dogs always hold a special place in my heart.’
I nodded.
‘But I’ve come to realise that I do have children of my own in a way. My students. Each one is special to me,’ she said. She shook her head lightly and became business-like. ‘Now, Ella, are you still reporting on the thefts in the Year 7 dormitory?’ she asked.
I nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve interviewed Zoe and Annabelle. But I’m also trying to make sure I get all the facts just right.’
Mrs Sinclair nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said—about giving the culprit an insight into the effect of what they have done. And I think you are right.’
‘OK,’ I said uncertainly.
‘The thievery has moved beyond the dorms,’ Mrs Sinclair said.
‘Oh, no!’ I replied.
‘Yes. Last night, my office was broken into. We know because the window was open when we came in this morning, and I always close up before I leave.’
‘What did they take?’ I asked.
‘Look here—this is my shelf of Eden’s most prized trophies.’
I looked and saw a row of beautiful trophies in varying sizes. They all had names and dates engraved on them and they all looked very important.
‘There is one small but very precious trophy missing from this collection,’ Mrs Sinclair said, gesturing to an empty spot on the shelf. ‘It’s the House trophy, for the winning House at the end of the year. It’s not a huge trophy, which is perhaps why the thief chose to steal it. It could be easily concealed under a jacket or in a backpack. But it’s a trophy that’s special to the school, donated by one of our headmistresses who has since passed away.’
‘Oh.’
‘I would like you to interview me about the trophy, Ella. I’d like you to write about why this trophy is special and include an appeal to the criminal to bring it back.’
‘I can do that,’ I said eagerly. This was exactly the kind of scoop I needed for my piece.
‘Can you come back tomorrow, at lunchtime, to see me? Bring your notebook?’ Mrs Sinclair asked.
I nodded excitedly.
‘Alright then. The bell has gone so take this late note to class with you so you don’t get into trouble.’ She winked as she scribbled on a piece of paper.
I stood up, left Mrs Sinclair’s office and went out into the sunshine. I put on my panama hat and walked across the courtyard towards the classrooms. The outside area was pretty quiet, with everyone in class. I only passed a couple of girls here and there, on their way to the office or maybe the auditorium. As I dawdled up the path (let’s face it—I wasn’t in a huge rush to get to class since it was such a nice day), I saw Violet come out of the main building entrance.
‘Hi, Violet,’ I said, stopping in front of her.
‘Oh, hi, Ella,’ she said nervously. ‘What are you doing out of class?’
‘I was just talking to Mrs Sinclair. I’m reporting on the thefts for the school paper.’
Violet’s cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes darted about.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked.
‘Nowhere … I mean, obviously somewhere … but nowhere special. I mean, I just had to run an errand for Ms Montgomery. Just quickly,’ she mumbled.
‘Do you need me to come with you? I’m in no hurry to get back to class,’ I giggled.
Violet’s eyes widened. ‘Thanks, Ella, but no need. I’m fine. In fact, I’d better go right now,’ she said quickly, as she hurried off.
‘Hey, Violet?’ I called after her.
Violet stopped in her tracks and turned around slowly. ‘Come sit with us at dinner tonight, OK?’
Violet’s eyes met mine. She stared intently at me for a couple of seconds before looking away.
‘That’d be nice,’ she whispered, before turning and running up the path.
She sure is a funny one, I thought to myself. We’d been at Eden College for a couple of weeks now and she’d barely said three sentences to me. Every time we tried to talk to her, she always made some excuse to get away from the conversation. It was like she didn’t want to be our friend, yet there was something sad and lonely in her eyes that seemed to want us to reach out. I didn’t quite understand.
She seemed so fragile.
As I walked along, I saw a small bird’s nest sitting on the branch of a tree. It reminded me of a little bird that Olivia, Max and I found in our garden. It was just a baby. It had been rejected by its mother but wasn’t quite big enough to fend for itself. We made it a special home in a cardboard box, with a cosy blanket. And we researched what food types were appropriate for a hatchling. But when we went back to get it from under the tree, it was gone. It was too small to fly and couldn’t have made it far if it had tried to walk away. Dad had said that it had probably been taken by the neighbour’s cat. Olivia cried and said we shouldn’t have left it on its own. But I told her maybe its mother took it back—it might be at home and happier than it would have been with us anyway. That cheered Olivia up a lot and she drew a beautiful picture of our bird flying high in the sky with its family.
I’d really believed that the bird’s mother had come back for it. I hadn’t thought about it for ages. But now, as I walked along the p
ath of my high school, it struck me: maybe Dad had been right.
Chapter 10
The next day, I took my notebook and pen and headed to Mrs Sinclair’s office at lunchtime. I’d thought about bringing my favourite pen with the purple fluff-ball on the end, but I figured that wasn’t very professional. So I selected a sensible, black pen, which I could click in and out as I pondered big thoughts. That’s what always happened in the Millie Mysteries books that I liked to read. Whenever she was thinking deep, ponderous thoughts she would click, clickety, click her pen until she had an epiphany. That’s a moment of realisation when you suddenly know the answers to your deepest questions. Like a big ping in your mind.
I smiled at the receptionist, who waved me through, then quietly walked up to Mrs Sinclair’s door and knocked three firm but polite knocks.
‘Come in,’ Mrs Sinclair’s voice said from inside.
‘Hello, Ella,’ she greeted me, with a smile. ‘Would you like some tea? I’ve just made a pot. It’s decaf,’ she winked.
‘Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you,’ I said, taking a seat in front of her desk.
Mrs Sinclair pulled out two little, china teacups from the cabinet behind her desk and poured the steaming hot tea into the cups. She added milk and offered me sugar, of which I took one cube.
‘This reminds me of having tea with my Nanna Kate,’ I said to her. ‘Nanna Kate says that tea is a “balm for the soul”. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but she reckons that if all the world leaders sat around together with a pot of tea, many of the world’s problems would be sorted by the end of the day.’
‘Your Nanna Kate sounds like someone I would get along with,’ Mrs Sinclair chuckled.
I nodded, then put on my VSC (that’s Very Serious Conversation) face.
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