White Space Season 1

him to use milk, vinegar, and a concoction of other stuff from the kitchen and laundry room which made the plastic not only stronger than the kind which used just milk and vinegar, but which seemed to provide for more uses.
    Jon thought his idea was original, or at least an original twist on a common project, but there were four other projects at the Expo which used homemade plastics, just like his and better. Only volcanoes were less original.
    “I got one of those ‘nice job’ ribbons,” Jon said. “It may as well say, ‘thanks for being total crap.’”
    “Your work is not crap. You’ve never shown much of an interest in science before the Expo, so why do you even care what type of ribbon you earned? You entered the fair, did your best, and tried something you’ve never tried before. And that’s exactly what you were acknowledged for. Nothing more, nothing less. I would count this one as a success.”
    Jon shook his head. “Warren got First Place when he did the Expo. First out of everyone. And I mean like, the entire state. Every year he entered!”
    Mrs. Rasmussen said, “I know, he wouldn’t shut up about if for months each time.”
    Jon smiled.
    “Ah, so that’s what’s bugging you — Warren,” she said, breaking into a wide grin and patting his shoulder.
    He lost his smile, almost immediately. “He does everything better than me.”
    She shook her head. “No. He does some things better than you.”
    “Yeah, all the stuff that matters.”
    “Hot sauce,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “And crackers. You are colorful and articulate, and friendly and funny. You, Jon Conway, are a gentleman, and if you don’t mind me saying so,” she leaned in, just close enough to turn their conversation conspiratorial, “a delightful, but total pain in the cactus patch.”
    Jon fueled his smile with another long swig of root bear. When he looked up, he saw his father, Blake Conway, suddenly in the kitchen.
    “Mind if I take it from here?” Jon’s father turned to him, smiled, winked, then opened the fridge and grabbed an IBC from the front.
    He twisted his cap and pitched it in the can.
    “You’re home!” Jon cried.
    “Of course,” his dad said. “Today was the science expo, right? Big day.”
    Jon looked puzzled. “But you weren’t there?”
    Like Jon, Mrs. Rasmussen was now standing. his father put his hand gently on her shoulder and said, “Thank you.”
    Mrs. Rasmussen nodded, then said, “Of course, Mr. Conway,” and left the kitchen.
    Jon’s dad hefted himself onto the countertop, then patted the granite and waited for Jon to join him. Jon hefted himself up beside his father.
    His father said, “No, I wasn’t there. I’ll give you three guesses why. And please, no need to spare my feelings. I hate it when you pull that crap. If you can’t learn to shoot straight, you’ll never learn to shoot shit.”
    Jon said, “I don’t know.”
    “I Don’t Know lives on I Don’t Give a Shit Street.” His father took a sip of root bear. “Do you live on I Don’t Give a Shit Street, or do you live in the beautiful, unblinking eye of Cedar Park?”
    Jon said, “I live in Cedar Park,” then, “Because you had a meeting at the same time, and it couldn’t be rescheduled?”
    “BZZZZZZZZ”
    “Because Hillary messed up your schedule, like she always does, and it’s a goddamn question of your sanity why you keep her on your payroll, especially with all the bonuses you throw her measured against the number of times she fucks shit up?”
    “BZZZZZZZZ.” his father grinned. “And don’t be a smart ass.”
    Jon laughed. “Because I suck?”
    “Just because I’ve never smacked you before, doesn’t mean I won’t start. I figure I have at least another few years before you get enough meat on your bones to kick my ass back. Now stop saying you suck. It pisses me off.” His father wrapped his arm around Jon’s shoulder. “None of those are reasons why, and no, I didn’t forget. I saw your giant pile of homemade plastic sitting on the table this morning. I didn’t need to go to Seattle and see it there, too. Not when I could arrange my day around being here when you came home instead. Know what I mean?”
    “Sure,” Jon said. “It means you pretty much figured I’d suck.”
    “Nope,” his father shook his head. “I didn’t figure anything of the sort, but I also didn’t think your homemade plastic stood a chance against science geeks who’ve been working on their projects all