Family: Nico Ahmed

In the bad matches, there’s no groaning, just a slow deflation, rubbing of foreheads, mentions of problems in the code. 

In the good matches, there’s no cheering, just a thick undercurrent of pure ecstasy, silent pumping of fists, a couple thumbs-ups to the drivers. 

At the center of it all sits Nico Ahmed, smiling abundantly whenever possible, frowning only when absolutely necessary. 

With a steady hand and soft voice, the unofficial, uncontested leader of the robotics team rides the waves of victory, defeat, desperation, frustration, last-minute build frenzies, and robot-broke-five-minutes-before-the-match disasters. 

It started on a whim with a couple of friends, this family which Nico is the grandparent of. 

It started years ago, founded on pizza and soda and confusion and ambition. 

It started before the pandemic, before the insurrection, before broken relationships, before arguments, before everything, it seems. 

It never stopped, never for a moment – through the years, through the chaos and strife, sits Nico, refastening bolts, redesigning chassis, retrofitting old components with just as much patience and accuracy as he resolves arguments and repairs relationships. 

It’s nothing special, this little team. It doesn’t get flashy awards, it’s not the best in the state, let alone the nation, it’s nothing more than a footnote in the all-important college application. 

For Nico, for a few others, it’s far more than that. It’s a rare chance to express yourself, a rare chance to collaborate completely with a crowd of people, to use your hands and actually create something, something that you all understand, that you all are proud of. 

In the bad matches, there’s no groaning, just a slow deflation, rubbing of foreheads, mentions of problems in the code. 

But it doesn’t matter. Now we know what to do next, now we can improve.

Or, at least, that’s what Nico says.