I’m an Ivy-and-Michigan type of person; my obsession with achieving my dreams often drags me into

strange places. If you're ready, let me tell you.

My mom, dad, and I lived in a small town. While my parents were busy with work, I sat at my desk

researching new things, connecting bits of knowledge together. The ideas I came up with were

sometimes bizarre, but the process always thrilled me. Science and design took up a huge part of my

heart. And at that time, my biggest dream was to win our school’s science fair. But with my chemical

jellyfish experiment, I only won third place.

And the first-place project? Obviously—a classic erupting volcano. Seriously? My experiment was way

cooler than a tiny foamy volcano. I had used sodium silicate, copper chloride, and nickel sulfate to

create glow-in-the-dark jellyfish floating in water. But the jury preferred the volcano.

Anyway, let me get to the real story.

One day I realized I hadn’t made anything new in a long time. Meanwhile, our school announced a

major competition. Not just a regular school contest—the winner would represent the school at the next

level. A chance I absolutely could not miss.

I immediately started searching for ideas.

The next day, I told my new idea to my closest friend, Walter. He was also passionate about science,

and both of us were extremely ambitious. We considered participating as a team, but the teacher

announced the contest only allowed individual entries. We were disappointed, but we didn’t give up. We

just had to continue separately.

From that moment, I was going to do this alone—like a lone cowboy.

For two full weeks, I brainstormed, tested, failed, and tested again. Eventually, I found the perfect idea:

the chemical clock reaction.

My materials were ready: potassium iodide (KI), starch, sodium thiosulfate (Na■S■O■), and hydrogen

peroxide (H■O■). The reaction starts colorless, then suddenly turns deep blue-black after a set time. It

was dramatic, scientific, and perfect for impressing judges.

As I approached my chemistry teacher to get approval, I saw Walter already there. Curious, I listened

in—and my heart sank.

He was explaining my experiment. The exact same reaction.

Had he stolen the idea? Was it coincidence? I had no proof. Maybe he truly thought of it on his own.

I let it go. I had a competition to win.

The day arrived. I set up my experiment early. When the judges entered, excitement rushed through

me. But then I looked at Walter’s setup, and my chest tightened.

His version looked flawless. The arrangement. The clarity. The presentation. Everything was perfect.

When Walter began his demonstration, everything went smoothly—until he added just a little too much

hydrogen peroxide. The reaction sped up wildly, turning dark instantly, and foam began to overflow.

Then it hit me.Sodium thiosulfate could slow the reaction. I quickly rushed to him and poured some into the solution.

Within seconds, the reaction calmed, and the chaos settled.

Everyone stared at me. Walter turned and hugged me tightly. “You saved me,” he said.

The results came in. Neither of us won.

And the winner? Another erupting volcano.

But the jury gave us a special award: we were both invited to a prestigious science camp the next year.

That was the real victory—learning, growing, and realizing that friendship can be as powerful as a

chemical reaction.