“Any questions?” our science teacher, Mrs. Rieder, asked us, finalizing the discussion for our new project: one week to create an airmobile: a boat on land with wheels and that would be powered by a giant fan blowing at it.

“It’ll be huge,” she said, smiling. “so be sure to make your sails nice and big.” I saw my friend dip his head in excitement, and I stretched. I couldn’t wait to get started. When I got home, I eagerly explained to my parents the new project.

Three days later, I was not feeling so enthusiastic. I was running out of ideas, and the only thing I could think of doing was a giant hola hoop attached to a scooter. Not exactly the best. That was when my dad came over with this mad look on his face. “CREATIVITY!” he said, almost yelling. “THAT’S WHAT YOU NEED. CREATIVITY!”

So on Saturday, I spent three hours working on my project. We found a block of wood in the garage that could be used, old training wheels from an even older bike, two Derby wheels, some metal wire, and a large piece of paper. With these seemingly random items, my dad began to show me “creativity”.

Hours later, the cart was finished. The wire supported a paper sail, and was connected to the block of wood, which in turn had four wheels on it. With all the time I put in it, I figured that I would probably win.

There is an unsaid law in this world, and it is that things will never be fair. I have tested and tested this law, since it seems to only apply to me. If the world was as proportional as our math teacher said it was, then there wouldn’t be any problems what-so-ever.

The next day, I brought my project in to discover that it was the second biggest of all of the classes, due to it’s huge sail, which itself was barely enough to support the heavy block of wood. Other people’s projects went from boxes made out of a deck of cards to even Styrofoam molds. I was feeling left out.

Everybody’s project (with the exception of one girl’s project) seemed to be smaller and lighter than mine. Furthermore, Mrs. Rieder told us she could not find the “huge” fan she had promised us. Instead, it was a smaller, more focused fan.

When I had built my project, my father had asked me how large the fan would be. I told him it was quite a large size and tried to show him the size that Mrs. Rieder said the fan would be. Once I told him the dimensions, he shook his head up and down and finally said in a Yoda-like voice, “Ah. I see. You need a bigger sail.”

These rules seemed to be dumping me now, however. I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to just go with the flow. We took them out in the hallways and we tested them one by one.

Zoom, went a car. Swish, went another car. Splat, went another (unsuccessful) car. And then it was my turn. I held the car in front of the fan and let go.

The car managed to go around eight feet before careening to the side. The angled part only counted for three feet. Add eight and three, and you get eleven. Eleven feet, I told myself. Less than what we had tested at home.

Now it was my friend’s turn. He had built a tiny car made out of Legos and a small paper sail measuring less than three inches. In fact, it had fallen apart three times but he had put it back together in a swift. The same could not be said for mine if I dropped it.

Whoosh! Ten, eleven, twelve (dang it), thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen… sixteen feet.

Wow…