Panic hits me when all my friends file out of the classroom. The already large classroom now feels too expansive. There are rows of large slate grey tables, all occupied by boys, boisterous at the prospect of winning the science contest. I purse my lips behind a mask. We’re three girls in a sea of boys. I suppose it should’ve been expected; few girls want to enter a science super relay. A club officer starts passing out the papers, pausing before our desk.
“Y’all have the next forty-five minutes to solve these ten problems. You can start working right now, but keep in mind you’ll need the answers from the previous problem to solve the next one. The winner’s are whoever solves the whole thing first. Good luck!”
I look at the first question. “Shit, it’s biology,” I say, turning to Arlene.
“Don’t look at me. It’s been three years since Honors Bio. I don’t remember a single thing.”
“So we’re stuck already?” I glance out the door into the hallway, where my friends are painting posters. Music and laughter drift into the room.
“I can try,” says Mary, a sophomore new to our team. She looks at the paper, “but I forgot how to solve for probability.”
I spin my pencil faster. How embarrassing would it be to be the only team with no questions answered? Around us, the boys chat and scribble on their papers. Apparently the first problem was no hurdle for them.
“The next problem’s physics. So long as we can get this one, I can solve number two,” I say.
“Yeah, and three’s about chemistry. I can do that.” Arlene replies. “We just need number one.”
“Getting screwed over by bio is always a fun time, isn’t it?”
I look at the clock. It’s been five minutes.
An officer passes our desk, “If you want a hint, you can always ask.” He speaks so the whole class can hear, but I know he’s directing his statement at us. But I refuse to be the only group that asks for help. In STEM, there’s different expectations for girls. It’s alright to be lesser than the boys, it’s good enough that we just participate. But for me, this is a matter of pride. I’ve been a girl in STEM nearly my whole life, and I’ve seen other girls walk out with the trophy in their hands. Proof.
“Let me see the problem again,” I say. Thankfully it’s about genes, and it’s more of a statistics problem than biology. I scribble out the punnet squares. There’s a ⅜ chance for the child to end up with this specific sequence of genes. We raise our hands and ask an officer if we’re right.
“Good job,” he says.
“Great, one down, nine to go.” The next problem is about pulleys—a physics problem. And it’s a walk in the park compared to the next problem. Also physics, but this time it’s thermodynamics. I wrack my brain for last year’s lectures. I should know how to solve this. I’ve solved problems much harder last year in physics 2, but I don’t remember how. I can see my hand writing a formula. I don’t know what it says, but somewhere between my ears, crammed into a dark nook, is the solution. But it’s been a year since I learned thermodynamics, and nearly half a year since the AP exam.
“Didn’t you take physics 2 last year? I know y’all went a lot more in depth with thermo than we did in chem,” Arlene says.
Mary the sophomore just stays quiet. I feel bad for a moment. Arlene and I have been friends since middle school, back when we were the only girls on the Science Bowl team. Whatever we feel, it must be worse for Mary. But the sense of impending doom blocks out my sympathy. My team is relying on me, on knowledge that I should know. Yet all I see on the page are half-forgotten words and blank formulas.
I’d rather be anywhere but here, on my own, just spinning a pencil to fish out a solution. I should’ve studied more. I feel like an off-brand nerd, a girl who dips her toes in STEM but doesn’t fully commit like the boys. I don’t lug around a physics textbook to solve problems during lunch, or carry around a calculus workbook. I watch youtube, read novels, STEM isn’t my sole focus. Yet I wish oh so much that it was. I wish that I knew how to solve this problem, that I could be like the guys around me, a constant scratching of pencils on paper.
I briefly consider what all I’ve done up to this moment. Math and physics have always been default majors to me, but now, even that seems impossible. This one problem was a roadblock.
I think of other professions. Art is my hobby, sure--but it’s just a hobby. I can’t see myself as an artist. History is fun, but the humanities were never my strong suit. I just can’t see myself as anything other than the math girl. I love the thrill of understanding the world around us. The thrill of learning something new. The thrill of a challenge, of twisting my brain into knots, and then untangling said knots.
I suppose my look of introspection during my existential crisis frightened the officers. One of them looked straight at me, “alright guys, looks like some of y’all are stuck so we’ve decided to let y’all use your phones.”
Arlene and I look at each other. We both know that it’s because we’re stuck, and perhaps look pitiable still working on the third problem. It leaves a cheap taste in my mouth, like the acid that coats your tongue when you just wake up. I search up the formula for the adiabatic process, and solve the question in just under a minute.
The rest of the relay is smooth sailing. Of course we don’t come in first--we took too long on the first few questions, but we do manage to solve all the problems.
As I’m packing up Arlene clasps my shoulder.
“We’ll do better next time, won’t we?”
And I smile, spurned by our victory, small as it is.
“Sure, next time.”
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