Breakthrough (16 page)

I continued: “When I compared it to the current gold standards of protein detection, my test was actually faster, over twenty-six thousand times less expensive, and over four hundred times more sensitive. And what I found was that my sensor, in a blind study, had
a one hundred percent correct diagnosis of pancreatic cancer and could diagnose the cancer before it becomes invasive.”

After I was done with my speech, I was ready for the questions. For this part, I never had to remind myself to smile; that part came easy!

I wasn't nervous. This was the culmination of countless hours of hard work, and I absolutely relished the opportunity to talk about my project. Sometimes standing for all those hours repeating the same things over and over again got repetitive, but the insightful questions always had a way of energizing me. I could feel the excitement bouncing off the audience. I began to take notice that several judges had crowded around my project, and both head judge chairs of the category had come over. That was a
very
good sign.

After the day was finished, the judging was over. The only thing left for me to do was wait for the results.

The next two days have separate award ceremonies. The first is for the special awards, which are given by scientific societies, organizations, and businesses, and the second day is for first-through fourth-place category awards, followed by the Best in Category, where the winners for each category go on to compete for the overall top prizes, including the Gordon E. Moore Award.

To build up the suspense, the fair organizers decided to place a six-hour public viewing session before the special awards ceremony. I worried about how I was going to stay hydrated without having the
chance to go to the bathroom for six hours, but somehow I managed to pull it off. I was thrilled that there was always a throng of interested people hovering around my board.

The other contestants, as competitive as they were, had begun to take a liking to me too. They had given me the nickname “Cancer Paper Boy.” I preferred this nickname to the many others I had received in middle school.

At the special awards ceremony, I found a few of my friends from math camp to sit with, but I was too nervous to say much. Waiting for the ceremony to start was agonizing. I knew it had been a big deal in my town when Luke won a special award. I wanted one too, and badly, but after seeing the competition, I told myself I needed to be prepared for disappointment. I mean, one kid had made a nuclear reactor!

During the announcement of the first few prizes, I won a special award for three thousand dollars! Remembering the promise I had made to Bradley and Owen, I let loose. I ran up to the presenter and gave a big, massive hug. I looked out into the audience. I wanted desperately to share the climax of my science fair career with my family. I saw my mom, tears in her eyes, clapping her hands together frantically. I ran into her open arms.

“Where are Dad and Luke?” I asked.

My mother's eyes flashed. I knew that look.

“They are late” was all she said.

I knew they were both going to get the full wrath of Jane Andraka's fury.

“I'm so sorry, Jack,” she added.

It was okay, I thought. They might have missed my big moment, but we had it on tape and I'd play it again and again on the way home. Especially for Luke to see.

When my dad and brother finally arrived, my mother gave them the death glare of all death glares as I showed them my award. Amazingly, I wasn't through. Turns out my family would have more chances to share the moment with me. Throughout the night, I won multiple special awards, building a reputation for giving the presenters (including the strict-looking army sergeant) bear hugs and running around delirious with excitement.

I nearly passed out when I got called up for the prestigious Google Thinking Big Award, which is presented to the project that addresses a large and seemingly impossible problem. By that point, my mom was clapped out. I noticed that my dad kept putting his arm around me. He was thrilled, and proud, and very glad that my victory haul meant that my mom had temporarily forgotten that she was incredibly angry at him.

Finally, after a night of excitement, I stumbled out with an astounding six special awards, a number that tied with my hero Amy Chyao's ISEF record! I had won the most special awards of the night.

Now it was time for the announcement of the Best in Category
winners. I looked at my other competitors in the field of medicine and saw my friend Owen from New Jersey, who had done groundbreaking research on Alzheimer's, and instantly thought,
It's him. He totally deserves it
.

But it was my name that was called. It was a huge honor in its own right, but it also meant that I was now in the running to compete for the biggest award of all—the Gordon E. Moore Award. The winner is selected not only on the basis of great research, but on the potential impact of the work as well—in the field of science and on the world at large.

When it was time for the grand finale, the highlight of the entire event, we all gathered together in a large auditorium. My category was one of the last to be announced, which meant I had to sit and watch for hours as, one by one, the winners took the stage. I was full of so much adrenaline that, at times, I had to repress the urge to scream randomly.

Finally, it was time. I straightened up in my seat, sitting very still. I could barely breathe. The presenter walked to the podium and began to speak.

“The second runner-up for the Gordon E. Moore Award is . . . Nicholas Schiefer.” He was a seventeen-year-old from Canada who had a breakthrough in “microsearch,” or the ability to search small amounts of information such as tweets or Facebook status updates, that would one day revolutionize how we access information. It was
hard to comprehend how he had done it.

“The runner-up for the Gordon E. Moore Award is . . . Ari Dyckovsky.” I couldn't believe he was second. I thought Ari's project was going to win. The eighteen-year-old from Virginia had found that once atoms are linked through a process called “entanglement,” information from one atom will just appear in another atom when the quantum state of the first atom is destroyed. Using this method, organizations requiring high levels of data security, such as the National Security Administration, could send an encrypted message without running the risk of interception because the information would not travel to its new location; it would simply appear there.

Now I was confused. Who had beaten that kid? The two runners-up were now standing on the stage beaming, looking out at all the other students from the seventy different countries in the audience.

Of course, the kid who made the nuclear reactor. That's who won.

“The winner of the seventy-five-thousand-dollar 2012 Gordon E. Moore Award in . . .

“the category of . . .

“med . . .”

Medicine! That's me!

THAT'S ME!

I simply didn't have it inside me to wait for the award presenter to finish saying the words. My body just wouldn't allow it. I raised my arms and leaped straight out of my seat.

I ran up to the stage screaming and gasping for air.

I looked up at the giant television screen. There in big bold letters were three words:
Jack Thomas Andraka
!

That's me!!

I could see my picture in real time in front of me on the giant screen running up onto the stage.

I heard music and applause. I had to remind myself to breathe.

I rush onstage to receive the Gordon E. Moore Award.

After I got up on the stage, I fell to my knees and began bowing to the presenter. She laughed and tried to hand me the award. I got up and gave her the biggest embrace of all, lifting her off her feet.

I took the award in my hands and turned around to look out at
the audience. I was screaming and I couldn't stop. From somewhere behind me confetti had exploded. Then came the announcement.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present to you the winner of the 2012 Intel Science and Engineering Competition.”

Confetti rained down. I could make out individual faces in the audience. I could see my new friends from New Jersey and some of my friends from math camp. I could see my dad, who was tearing up, and my mom sitting next to him, beaming. Luke looked proud.

I was crying with my mouth open. As I stood on the stage, I remembered my long hours of work in the laboratory, the nights when it was just me and the Western blot, and the little stain I had left on the floor. I remembered what it was like to feel hated and bullied and rejected, but I also remembered Dr. Maitra, who decided to give me a chance. I thought of how much I loved my family, and how their support helped me shake off my blanket of depression and arrive at this moment. I thought of Uncle Ted, and how you can continue loving someone even after they are gone.

The weight of it all was almost too much to bear. Two years earlier no one would sit with me at lunch, but now within minutes of winning the award, I found myself being swarmed by kids I admired, asking for my autograph.

Congratulations, Jack!

How does it feel?

Can I have your autograph, Jack?

A middle-aged man emerged from the crowd. He wasn't a judge. He was a guest. Unlike the rest of the people gathered around me, he had a stern look on his face.

“I want to thank you,” he said as he grabbed my hand.

“Thank me?” I said. “For what?”

There was a brief pause as I watched him tear up.

“Six years ago I lost the love of my life to pancreatic cancer,” he said. There were tears coming down his cheeks now. “Looking at you, watching you talk . . . it makes me feel hopeful again.”

I wrapped my arms around this total stranger in a warm embrace.

I told him about Uncle Ted, and how much he had meant to me.

“I'm sure he is proud of you,” he said as he gave my hand one last squeeze before walking away.

After the festivities wrapped up, my family and I headed straight to the Potomac River to go kayaking. As I navigated through the rapids, I spent a lot of time reflecting on the week. A sudden rush of emotion swept through me as I realized that of all the great things that had happened to me, including the Gordon E. Moore Award, it was that stranger's words that had meant the most.

Seventy-two hours after winning the Gordon E. Moore Award, I finally got the chance to go through my phone, which had been buzzing for days. It was flooded with alerts. Most were messages from complete strangers on Facebook and Twitter who had Googled my name, found my account, and wanted to reach out and share in the excitement of the moment. The messages ranged from a simple “great job” to utter disbelief.

Did you really come up with a new way to prevent pancreatic cancer?

Is it true that you are really fifteen years old?

How did you do it?

At first, I tried to respond to every message, but as they kept arriving, I couldn't keep up. I also had other things on my mind: I needed to get ready to meet the press.

Typically the winner at ISEF had to fight to get any media coverage. I knew my hometown paper would interview me and write a nice article, as they did when Luke won a special award at ISEF, but generally the winners don't get very much attention.

We had just completed the drive back to Crownsville when we got a call for our first interview request—from CNN's
Early Start
. When my mom shared the news, I felt my knees get weak. The producers asked if they could fly my mom and me to New York City a day early to put us up at a luxury hotel. We didn't have to think too hard about that one.

The big interview was scheduled for May 23, less than a week after my winning the award. When we checked into the hotel, the staff at the front desk told us that everything we ordered would be paid for by CNN. Never ones to turn down a free meal, my mom and I happily feasted on room-service cheeseburgers.