When I first joined Webb’s robotics team, it was just an extracurricular activity for me. I expected to spend some time learning how to code, build, and troubleshoot machines, thinking that this might help me decide on a college program later on. I had some long afternoons focused on wiring errors and debugging code, and because our robot did well, I liked it quite a bit. What I did not expect, though, was that the most meaningful part of robotics would take place far away from our own classroom, in a small middle school lab where one student, Alice, forever changed how I understand both service and science. Twice each month, I traveled to an urban middle school where many students have limited access to STEM resources. Some don’t have laptops at home, and most have never seen a 3D printer before. On my first visit as a “student mentor,” the room felt hesitant. The younger students hovered near their desks, unsure whether to engage with us, the high school mentors. Alice stood near the back, looking uncomfortable, just observing rather than participating. When I introduced myself to her, she shrugged and said she was “bad at science” and was only there because a teacher suggested robotics might be fun. At first, the distance between us felt very wide. I worried that students like Alice might see me as an outsider who could never fully understand their experiences. So, instead of beginning with robotics instruction, I just focused on listening. Alice talked about video games she enjoyed because they let her solve problems without being judged. She described balancing schoolwork with responsibilities at home and how science class felt disconnected from her “real life.” Our conversations began to build trust between us, more than any science lesson ever could. Gradually, Alice began to step forward and participate. She first volunteered to connect sensors, then later to test the codes. One afternoon, we wrote a simple block-based program that allowed her robot to move in a precise pattern. When it worked, she laughed- she was surprised and proud- and immediately asked how to make it better. She stayed after the session that day, experimenting with small changes and thinking about why each adjustment mattered. That moment marked a shift in her that made me proud too: Alice no longer saw robotics as something intimidating, but as something she could dive deeply into, and I had helped her with that. As the weeks passed, her questions changed. She stopped asking whether she was “doing it right” and started asking what engineers and scientists actually do. How does science help people? Could I solve real problems? Could someone like me have a place in that world? Hearing her ask those questions made me realize something unexpected about myself. I wasn’t just enjoying teaching robotics. I was drawn to the process of discovery, explanation, and curiosity that defines scientific work. Alice showed me that doing science is not just about equations or experiments, but about helping people see new possibilities. Watching her confidence grow helped me clarify what I want for my own future. I want to be a scientist not only to solve problems, but to create moments of understanding. Moments when new information replaces doubt. Alice did not just learn from me, I learned from her as well. She taught me that science is a shared journey of discovery that we can all benefit from. I am both glad for her, and grateful.