My parents were sitting across from me on the sofa, and they were not happy.

“Jack, don’t you think this idea is just a little far-fetched?”

My father was wearing that worried look—again. his eyebrows arched, his hand touching his chin.

My mother was sitting next to him. she stared straight ahead, arms folded across her chest, studying me intently. My parents had recently been forced to do some reassessing since my guidance counselor called. I’ve learned that guidance counselors tend to call home when students have tried to commit suicide in a bathroom stall.

“We just don’t want to see you get hurt, Jack,” she  said.

She thinks I can’t take the pressure.

“You gave it a great try. Maybe it’s time to turn the page. or set your sights on a different goal,” she added.

A different goal? Give up?

I had invested too much time and fought too hard. And I was so . . . very . . . close.

It was clear how uncomfortable this whole experience was for my parents. I could see it in their eyes and their posture. They felt obligated to give me a reality check.

But I felt obligated to ignore it. In fact, I was no longer listening. I had zoned out. At this point, I could practically predict what they would say next, because I had already heard all these arguments in my own head a thousand times over.

The arguments went something like this: Who did I think I was? Did I really think that I knew better than all these PhD expert types? Did I really think that my idea would work?

“No matter how much you believe in your idea, we all know it can’t happen without someone willing to let you test it out in an actual laboratory, Jack.”

I felt exhausted. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gotten a full night of sleep. For months I had been running on nothing but adrenaline. I began to wonder if this was what it felt like to crash.

“If you’d discovered a new way to detect pancreatic cancer, don’t you think that one of the doctors would have given you a chance?”

Almost two hundred scientists. Not one thought my idea was credible enough.

What my parents couldn’t see, what no one could see, was that in my mind’s eye, everything was so clear. A drop of blood on a strip of paper. that was all it would take to test for pancreatic cancer. It was simple, really. If I was right, I was on the brink of a ground-breaking early-detection test with the potential to save millions of people.

None of that mattered, though, if I never made it into a  lab.

My parents turned toward each other. they were finally ready to make a decision. they knew how crucially I needed their support. Without it, how was I going to fund my research, or go get the sup- plies I needed? After all, at the age of fourteen, I wasn’t able to drive the family station wagon by myself.

“Okay,” my mom finally said. “Let’s see where this goes.”

It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but it was all I needed. My uncle had died. I had faced years of bullying and depression. This was what I had. I was not about to give up now.

Not when I was so close.

My test works. I know it does. I just have to prove it to the rest of the world. I just need that one chance.