My hands are freezing, I'm sleep deprived, and I haven't been able to feel my toes for the past hour. Wondering why I'm doing this to myself, I join in on the countdown, screaming, "3. 2.1" with the others. Almost all the kids on the beach had been recruited for rocket club by our eighth grade science teacher, and we had been an utter failure. My friend's older brother had decided to carry the torch to our high school, and the two of us, with nothing else to do, joined. We had no idea the way the club would affect our lives.

Whenever dog-walkers or joggers would ask what we were doing on a beach at seven thirty in the morning in February, someone would always explain that the Team America Rocketry Challenge, or TARC, is a national competition that challenges students to build rockets according to specific guidelines, including hitting a certain altitude, time, and weight. Each launch is graded according to a point system, and the hundred teams that obtain a score closest to zero compete in Virginia. The catch is that these specifications change every year, and each rocket must safely carry an egg within it during flight. We had had no problem with the egg or weight requirements, but it had proved nearly impossible for us to hit the target times and altitudes. It didn't help that the New York winter was the complete opposite of weather in Virginia, which would change how the rocket flew.

My memories of those Sunday morning launches during eighth and part of ninth grade look something like a montage from a movie, with repeated scenes of our mentor, shaking his head sadly after calculating our score from the launch. However, midway through my freshman year, he began singing a different tune. Our improvements had worked. We qualified to compete in Virginia.

Due to a poorly timed band concert, I was unable to go to Virginia, so I received the news by text. We had placed twenty-fourth, which made us eligible to participate in the NASA Student Launch Projects, or SLP. It was an eight-month project in which we designed a high-powered rocket that would travel one mile into the air. We were required to create our own payload and write periodic reports detailing our designs to present to NASA officials. In April, we would fly to Alabama to launch. I was ecstatic, but also terrified. How were a group of eight high schoolers going to complete a project with NASA when most of us weren't even old enough to drive?

The answer, it turned out, involved time, teamwork, and many late-night phone calls. We spent the first months writing and designing, meeting several times a week to collaborate, and spending even more time on the phone. Panic set in when Hurricane Sandy destroyed our neighborhood, preventing us from working. When February rolled around, we would build for two to three hours after track practice every day. At home, I would somehow do homework and more research for our reports through a haze of exhaustion.

From February to April, the eight of us were sleep-deprived, overworked, and irritable. However, all this was forgotten once we finally arrived in Alabama. Watching our rocket fly into the air was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. It was incredible to think the eight of us had gone from near strangers to close friends, from people who didn't know a fin from an engine mount to people who had successfully worked with NASA for eight months.

Rocket club has made my high school experience incredibly unique. It has taught me lessons in not only science but also teamwork and perseverance. It has shown me my passion for STEM in general and engineering in particular. These lessons will stay with me for a lifetime.