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When the principal first announced that there was going to be a science fair at our school, I wasn’t all too ‘thrilled’. I just saw it as another opportunity to prove my worth. For as long as I could remember, I was labeled as the ‘smart, gifted kid’, the ones teachers praised, and students turned to for help on their schoolwork. What made me even more indifferent to the event?
My partner this year was my old friend, James.
I’ve known him since kindergarten—and let me tell you, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Never was the brains of any operation. (Why was I still friend still him?) James wasn’t exactly known for his grades, more so for his athleticism and epic skills in shooter games. He was never the type to stick around in class, and I was the one who had to awkwardly come up with excuses as to where he was. Teachers were never impressed by my attempts at covering for him.
At first, I believed that working with James would just hold me back. I wanted to win that shiny gold medal, and James… didn’t seem to care at all? Wow. What an idiot.
From the very start, we clashed. No surprise there. I tried to plan every single detail, ones I knew the judges wouldn’t miss, while James just laughed it off and wanted to ‘wing it’. Beyond annoyed, I accused of him of not taking it seriously, to which he shrugged and replied that I was acting like a ‘control freak’. I had to resist the urge to facepalm. What the hell does that even mean in this context?
For a while, it felt as if this project was doomed from the beginning. It was a disaster. Our fate was sealed. But one afternoon, when I arrived at his house, I found James building a small model made from old, rusty parts from his father’s. Sure, it wasn’t perfect by any means, but even I had to admit that it was creative—and it actually looked better than my own model. That was the first time I realized that this guy was trying, just in his own little way.
As the fair approached (and my anxiety increased), we finally started balance each other out. I tackled the research and presentation, and James handled the building and testing. For what felt like the first time in my life, I stopped being a ‘control freak’—as James called me—and trusted someone. We stayed up until dawn tweaking last-minute problems, cracking jokes and relaxing more than fighting. The night before the fair, I caught myself thinking that even if we didn’t win the stupid contest, I was proud of what we made.
After what felt like hours of silence and me cosplaying as a renaissance statue, the judges announced that we earned second place. Honestly? I couldn’t even bring myself to be mad. Yeah, fine, part of me wanted to claim first place and that prize, but the real prize was different. James beamed, clapped me on the shoulder, and said, “Told we we’d crush it, man.” His happiness was infectious (no, I wasn’t blushing, shut up). I came to the realize that the contest had done more than improve our grades. It changed how I viewed him, how I viewed our relationship.
And maybe how I viewed myself, too. That felt like a bit of a stretch, though.
I no longer had to work alone or throw my guard up around people, especially around my friends. Sometimes you just needed to trust someone else’s strengths. I guess that’s why the phrase ‘teamwork makes the dreamwork’ is so popular, right? In the end, the science fair taught me—taught us both—that data charts, formula, and grades weren’t everything. It was our friendship. In a way, we both won.