outdoor grill, or maybe build a fire pit--"
"The problem is more basic than that," Mr. Fizer said. "You seem to think Homo erectus cooked his food. Are you aware many scientists would disagree with you?"
"Yes, sir."
And right there my heart sort of lifted. Because I was actually prepared for this conversation. This was the piece of the puzzle I discovered last night--the part that makes the whole thing workable.
"I know a lot of people think we didn't have fire until about 500,000 years ago--"
"Less than that," Mr. Fizer said. "Some say it's very new--only 250,000 years. But in any case, certainly not 1.8 million years ago."
I took a deep breath. I needed to make my case.
"There's a group of biologists," I said. "They just came out with this theory a few years ago, and even though a lot of scientists think they're wrong, I think what they're saying makes sense."
"Do you?" I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or if he was genuinely interested in my opinion. But I just forged ahead.
"They noticed that there was this big change in anatomy by the time Homo erectus came along--suddenly their jaws were smaller, their teeth were smaller--even their rib cages weren't so distended, so their bellies must have been smaller, too."
"Which means?" he asked.
"It means they didn't have to work so hard to chew their food. Orto digest it. There must have been some big dramatic change that allowed their bodies to adapt in a short period of time--to go from having teeth and jaws like apes' to having ones more like humans'. So I think the biologists are right. I think the difference was ... fire."
Mr. Fizer was silent for a moment. He gazed at the poster across the hall announcing that the new lunch cards were on sale. Then he looked at me over the top of his half-glasses and said, "Very good, Miss Locke. I'm aware of that research."
Score! "And so if I can cook," I told him, "that means I can make my own food out of whatever ingredients they had back then, and that way I can keep it all as pure as possible."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting."
I almost started to relax. But he wasn't done with me yet.
"I do have one last concern," Mr. Fizer said.
It felt like we'd already been out there an hour. "Yes, sir?"
"Your project seems ... monocentric."
"Mono--"
"You're relying exclusively on one source of data--personal experimentation. I think the judges would prefer to see a broader range of information--perhaps an analysis of the various diets and lifestyles throughout time and across cultures. Show us how our choices have impacted the human form."
Actually, that sounded like a really good idea. "Okay, I can do that."
"Good," Mr. Fizer said. "Then proceed."
And that was it. Proceed .
When we walked back in the classroom, I was so happy and relieved I could barely keep a straight face. I'd survived. Not only that, Mr. Fizer actually seemed to think my project might be a good idea. Ambitious . I'll take ambitious.
Before class was over Mr. Fizer handed me a few forms my parents have to sign. Since I'm using a human subject--me--I need their permission before I can do any experiments. But that shouldn't be a problem--especially once I tell my parents how enthusiastic Mr. Fizer is about my idea. Well, maybe not enthusiastic, but at least he approved it. That has to count for a lot.
So now I can begin. This is going to be the most radical experiment I've ever done in my life. It's better than the fig wasps, better than any of my other science fair projects--and better than whatever Matt thinks he's trotting out for the judges. I'm going to win this time and get Mr. Fizer's college recommendation. Everyone's going to know what I can do once I put my heart and mind into something.
I can't wait to get started.
And I'm not the only one who's excited.
9
I gave Amanda the thumbs-up as I left the classroom.
She grinned and hopped in place. "Told you!"
Then Matt came out, and we had to play it cool. But once he was gone, I
"The problem is more basic than that," Mr. Fizer said. "You seem to think Homo erectus cooked his food. Are you aware many scientists would disagree with you?"
"Yes, sir."
And right there my heart sort of lifted. Because I was actually prepared for this conversation. This was the piece of the puzzle I discovered last night--the part that makes the whole thing workable.
"I know a lot of people think we didn't have fire until about 500,000 years ago--"
"Less than that," Mr. Fizer said. "Some say it's very new--only 250,000 years. But in any case, certainly not 1.8 million years ago."
I took a deep breath. I needed to make my case.
"There's a group of biologists," I said. "They just came out with this theory a few years ago, and even though a lot of scientists think they're wrong, I think what they're saying makes sense."
"Do you?" I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or if he was genuinely interested in my opinion. But I just forged ahead.
"They noticed that there was this big change in anatomy by the time Homo erectus came along--suddenly their jaws were smaller, their teeth were smaller--even their rib cages weren't so distended, so their bellies must have been smaller, too."
"Which means?" he asked.
"It means they didn't have to work so hard to chew their food. Orto digest it. There must have been some big dramatic change that allowed their bodies to adapt in a short period of time--to go from having teeth and jaws like apes' to having ones more like humans'. So I think the biologists are right. I think the difference was ... fire."
Mr. Fizer was silent for a moment. He gazed at the poster across the hall announcing that the new lunch cards were on sale. Then he looked at me over the top of his half-glasses and said, "Very good, Miss Locke. I'm aware of that research."
Score! "And so if I can cook," I told him, "that means I can make my own food out of whatever ingredients they had back then, and that way I can keep it all as pure as possible."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting."
I almost started to relax. But he wasn't done with me yet.
"I do have one last concern," Mr. Fizer said.
It felt like we'd already been out there an hour. "Yes, sir?"
"Your project seems ... monocentric."
"Mono--"
"You're relying exclusively on one source of data--personal experimentation. I think the judges would prefer to see a broader range of information--perhaps an analysis of the various diets and lifestyles throughout time and across cultures. Show us how our choices have impacted the human form."
Actually, that sounded like a really good idea. "Okay, I can do that."
"Good," Mr. Fizer said. "Then proceed."
And that was it. Proceed .
When we walked back in the classroom, I was so happy and relieved I could barely keep a straight face. I'd survived. Not only that, Mr. Fizer actually seemed to think my project might be a good idea. Ambitious . I'll take ambitious.
Before class was over Mr. Fizer handed me a few forms my parents have to sign. Since I'm using a human subject--me--I need their permission before I can do any experiments. But that shouldn't be a problem--especially once I tell my parents how enthusiastic Mr. Fizer is about my idea. Well, maybe not enthusiastic, but at least he approved it. That has to count for a lot.
So now I can begin. This is going to be the most radical experiment I've ever done in my life. It's better than the fig wasps, better than any of my other science fair projects--and better than whatever Matt thinks he's trotting out for the judges. I'm going to win this time and get Mr. Fizer's college recommendation. Everyone's going to know what I can do once I put my heart and mind into something.
I can't wait to get started.
And I'm not the only one who's excited.
9
I gave Amanda the thumbs-up as I left the classroom.
She grinned and hopped in place. "Told you!"
Then Matt came out, and we had to play it cool. But once he was gone, I