I went with black: black shoes, black leggings, and black dress. Too formal? Maybe. Do I look like I’m going to a funeral? Yes. I also hate dresses, but I don’t need the judges thinking I’m a boy with my short hair. My shoes give a soft thunk on the campus pavement leading to the Havener Center. The filtered sunlight almost makes me forget the nudge in my stomach, which I assure myself is just nervousness. The thick pages in my hand flutter in the cool breeze, just like the fluttering of copper birds in my stomach. I glance down at my notecards and try to get terms straight in my head. Me and my mother approach the front steps at the Havener Center.

I plod up the carpeted stairs to the second floor of the Havener Center. After checking in, we decide to pass the time by walking around and looking at the high school projects. I’m still tired and in need of caffeine and sugar, so we walk back down the stairs to Einstein Bros. I stand in line as I anticipate a coffee. I order, and sit down and take a big sip of my beverage that is loaded with chocolate syrup and whipped cream. It’s sooo good. Sweet, but good. I’m slowly gaining confidence as I forget about my stomachache. I’ve got this. Besides, I still don’t have to go for a while. I think about that eagle trophy that Daniel R. won last year. I’m really hoping to win it this time around.

Finally, after more waiting, a group of about 50, made up of parents and students, goes to a meeting for all the contenders, and then into the room to present. The room has a green and grey carpet with tables and chairs set up in rows. In the front of the room is a big screen, a computer, and a podium. I sit down in one of the plastic chairs. I’m still a bit nervous, but my stomach ache has subsided. I was only hungry. I’ll be fine. Two presentations were so-so, but here comes mine. After some computer trouble I get started and give my well rehearsed, practically flawless presentation. I have anticipated the judges questions about how the wave oscillator was made, and how I used it, so I can sound smart, and now it’s time for the other presenter to present. Confident, I sit back down.

He has prepared a decent project and presentation. The judges seem impressed. Oh, no! What if they think his is better!? I didn’t climb the ranks to get here, only to go home after round one. Nervousness sets in again. Our small group files out, and I can only pray that I will make it to the final round. Unfortunately, I have to wait for another hour or more to get the winners posted, so I can’t help but pace along the hallway. I scurry from the cork finalist board, back to the table where my mom sat checking her phone. Gradually pink papers were put up with the finalist’s names. My stomach is swimming with nervousness. The next time I walk back to the board, a pink paper has been put under my category. I read my name about ten times, hardly able to believe it. I’m a finalist! This is great! I jump in excitement and race back to where my mom is to tell her the great news.

“Mom! I did it! I’m a finalist!” I say.

“No way,” she replies. I’m jumping with excitement, and my insides slosh around in my stomach. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. It’s lunchtime so we head downstairs where we meet my dad. He has grabbed me a sandwich from the judges room. We go and sit outside in the warm sun and cool breeze.

“Hey, Dad, there’s this really cool eagle trophy I get if I win,” I say with excitement.

“Yeah, that would be awesome. I saw it, and it looks really sick,” he says. I munch on my sandwich and chips. I am blissfully ignorant to the fact that the ham has been sitting out since 8:00 that morning. I eat hungrily and ignore the feeling that remains in my stomach.

Later, it’s time to go present the second time, and my stomach quivers. I went to the bathroom, but it didn’t really help. I sit and wait for my turn. These other presentations are good. It’s my turn now, and my stomach is flip-flops like crazy. These biology presentation slides are checkered different shades of green and yellow, and the bright colors don’t help with my nausea. I can’t tell if I am nervous or if I’m sick. I tell myself I’m nervous, but I know better. I can’t quit now, though. I have to win! I clutch the table and take deep breaths. I walk up, my stomach shuddering, but looking at my familiar blue slides calms me. I just have to make it through this. I glance down at my notecards and rattle through my intro. On slide five, my stomach surges into my throat. I keel over, hoping it will pass, while sheer terror sets in, and beads of sweat bubble on my face and hands. Vomit surges through my mouth and nose in a river of grotesque brown. Through shocked, tearful eyes, I see lumps of ham floating in big puddles of vomit. Not only was it violent and gross, but it was right in front of the judges. Acid burns my throat as I cough before puking twice more, lumps lingering in my mouth. More than a little gets all over me. My mind is racing, and I don’t even care. Everything is a rush. Everything's happening so fast. Who’s hugging me? Oh, God, that weird old guy. He smells like cauliflower. Where’s my mom? Oh, she’s just sitting there like nothing happened. Why did I have to be so stubborn?

I am rushed to the bathroom, where I blow my nose of the chunky puke. Realization floods through me. The judges were probably repulsed. They’re going to send me home. Tears stream down my face. Why did I have to be sick today. I blew it! I’ve lost my chance to win. The super cool, silver eagle trophy just went out the window. A lady shuffles in.

“The judges say that you can give it another shot. It’s tough to be in front of all those people,” she says. They thought I was just nervous! I can re-do it!

“Yes, I’ll do it again,” I say. I wipe off my clothes and shoes, and go back out, my stomach feeling a lot better. I give my presentation, hands shaking the whole way, but I answer all the questions thoroughly. What did the judges think? I probably don’t look great, and I know my hands were trembling. I won’t win, but I tried, and there’s nothing to be done. At least no one can say I didn’t give it everything.

When I arrive back that evening, with new, vomit free clothes, I sit in one of the blue-grey, cushioned chairs. I know I won’t win. I puked. They call names for some minor awards. I win Best Earth Science Paper, which is a wooden board with a blue metallic plaque, and a twenty-five dollar prize. It’s great, but it’s not that eagle trophy that I really wanted. All this dreaming of getting it, and I fell short. Now, some other kid will get it to put it on their mantel. I bet that kid with the decent project from round one hates me. I see him sitting a few rows over. He could have won. I know I won’t win, but as the announcers get closer to the overall winners, my heart quickens anyways.

This is it! The announcer is calling the overall winners now. Darn! That one biology project won. Wait. NICKY D.!? I walk up with a giant grin on my face to receive the trophy. Two winners? This is fantastic. I clutch the trophy for pictures, along with my many other awards. All the way home, my brother pesters me to hold it and see it, as I admire the eagles’ victorious outstretched wings, as it takes off into the sky.

Now, that eagle trophy stands proudly on my mantel. It’s funny how it took me puking to learn what endurance can do. I never gave up, even though I vomited. I could have just gone home, but I didn’t. I’m just too stubborn. Now, as I look forward, to future competitions, I know that I won’t bend or waver from obstacles. I’ll be able to fight until the very end. I won’t always succeed either, but clearly, the journey is more valuable than the end.