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Rebecca Krall stares at the computer screen. She's finally done it. After multiple tries, she's identified an infinitesimal particle decaying halfway around the world. Another physics student might scream in triumph or pump a fist in the air after this breakthrough. After all, she's contributing to a multinational project headquartered at an atom smasher in Beijing and manned by famous physicists around the globe. Instead, the 21-year-old Carnegie Mellon University senior smiles, displaying the same quiet reserve that makes her blend into the crowd in a student study lounge.

She does call her mother, Patricia, at the family home outside Orlando, Fla., and tells her the news of her discovery, without mentioning quarks or pions. She is all too aware of the bewildering effect her research has on her own family and, for that matter, the general population. Even many of her classmates who study math and biology look baffled when she expounds on the mysteries of particle physics. Her mom picks up on the measured excitement in Krall's voice. Although she can't comprehend the deeper subtleties of her daughter's achievement, she is aware this is good news.

Krall can't wait to present her findings to her mentor, Roy Briere, an associate professor of physics. The next morning, in a workplace near Briere's office in Wean Hall, she plots her data points on a graph. All summer long, she and the professor have been running simulations based on Beijing Spectrometer III (BESIII) data collected at the Beijing Electron-Positron Collider II. Their particular data seemed to be contaminated by mysterious particles.

Identification of the unwelcome particles wasn't crucial for the experiment to work. No one had asked Krall to tackle the task. No matter. She couldn't let go of the mystery. Even during her free moments, when another student might have snuck a peak at Facebook, Krall, who matter-of-factly admits she doesn't spend any time on social media, preferred to work on this side project.

Walking into Briere's office, she barely says good morning before dropping the news about the identity of the particles. "I figured it out," she says, excitedly.

The professor knows exactly what she is talking about, which is why he is instantly skeptical. Briere, who joined the university in 1999 after post-doctorate studies at Harvard University, had worked in a collaboration that used an accelerator at Cornell University to conduct high-energy particle physics experiments. He became part of a group of researchers who joined the BESIII experiment in 2008.

Any explanation of the contaminating particles, he deduces, wouldn't be uncovered by an undergraduate student, even one as ambitious and promising as Krall. Nevertheless, out of professional courtesy, he reviews her graph. After assessing the data, he looks up with amazement and bewilderment. That's when the realization hits him. She is one of us.

Throughout his career, he has taught and collaborated with several outstanding physics majors. But, when it comes to Krall, he says she's more than a terrific student; she is the rare undergraduate with the mind and perseverance to become a prominent academic physicist. He envisions that, in the next 20 years, she will present an influential particle physics paper at some international convention.

He realizes this may sound like an "ivory tower" accomplishment that doesn't impact the real world. Certainly, students like Krall, who pursue theoretical physics instead of more marketable disciplines, such as applied physics and engineering, are less marketable. "For 90 percent of those who start in this field, they may work for Google or IBM one day, but they won't be doing particle physics anymore," Briere says.

Krall, though, has what it takes to become part of that 10 percent, he predicts. Who knows? She might be the kind of physicist who makes a discovery that could someday help lead to the development of a space station, a new X-ray technique, or the latest home entertainment gadgetry. None of that, however, happens to be Krall's motivation. "With physics, you figure out nature's secrets," she says simply.

As a field of study, physics has been known to scare off even the most gifted math and science students. You can't fake physics. Unraveling the behavior of subatomic particles demands rigorous application of theory that leaves no wiggle room for bluffing or pretense. Even for Krall, who excelled in math in high school, it wasn't love at first sight. Her first foray into physics happened on a fifth-grade field trip to nearby Disney World. She was asked to go on a ride and do an experiment that had been orchestrated by her teacher. It left such a small impression that she doesn't even remember the exact ride or the purpose of the experiment. Why would she, having already decided to one day become an animator? Two years later, in eighth-grade physics class, not much had changed. She was presented with a problem in class:

"If a car is going 25 mph, how far will it travel in 10 minutes?"

Who cares? How boring.

The next year, Krall, an avid reader, took one of her regular trips to the public library and browsed the stacks. She happened to pick up the book The Elegant Universe (Vintage Books, 1999) by Brian Greene and, on a whim, decided to look inside. The author makes a case that physics can explain all matter and all forces in the universe. Some 500 pages later, Krall no longer wanted to be an animator. Greene had become her idol. When she read his bio on the inside flap, she noted that he had been a Rhodes Scholar; she told herself that she, too, should try to win a prestigious fellowship and study abroad.

In high school, she embraced computer science as well as physics. As she started to think about college, it was a toss-up over which field she should pursue. The fact that she even considered college was a break from the norm. No one in her family had ever enrolled in higher education. Her dad is a Disney World mechanic, and her mother is a homemaker. Having to navigate the bewildering college application process essentially on her own, she pored over Princeton Review's phonebook-sized, popular guide to colleges, reading it cover-to-cover like an engrossing novel. "If someone mentioned a college, I could spit out a fact."

To this day, she can recite the Carnegie Mellon blurb from memory: You'll find that the person who sits next to you in a lecture is always really nice—if either one of you overcomes your shyness to say hello.

Like many teenagers, she longed to get away from home for college. New destinations intrigued her. During a high school band trip to Colonial Williamsburg—while her bandmates played cards or napped on the bus—Krall kept her eyes glued to the side of the road, looking for evidence that they were out of Florida. Then she saw it—a big sign that read, Welcome to Georgia—and gleefully snapped a photo.

Several colleges accepted Krall; she says she chose Carnegie Mellon, not only because it wasn't in the Sunshine State, but because of its "strong undergraduate research program." Both the university's computer science and physics programs accepted her. Computer science came easily to her, whereas her advanced-placement score in physics was the lowest of all her AP tests. But there was something about The Elegant Universe and the search for the knowledge to explain all matter and all forces. She decided to study physics.

Early in her freshman year, she had a big surprise. She always thought she wanted to go to college far from home, but she soon experienced a common feeling among new college students—homesickness. Aside from that one-week, high-school band trip and a family trip to Washington, D.C., she had never been away from home before. To make matters worse, her first college physics class intimidated her. Sure, she had been on the top of the intellectual heap of the 350 students in her public high school class, but could she compete, she wondered, on this elite level? To make sure, she visited the teaching assistant in her physics class every week during office hours, putting in plenty of extra hours to understand the course material. Her hard work paid off; she earned an A on her first college physics test and never looked back. Her homesickness dissipated, too, as she made friends. By the time she headed home for winter break, flying for the first time, she knew that both Carnegie Mellon and physics were the right choices.

The summer after her sophomore year, in 2009, she took a much longer flight, embarking on her first research project—2,500 miles away. For the summer, she would be an intern at UCLA, part of a National Science Foundation Research Experiences for Undergraduates. She would use physics to analyze Hubble Space Telescope imaging of a star system. She may have battled homesickness as a freshman, but she explored Los Angeles like an adventurer, braving the subway by herself and venturing to Rodeo Drive and the Walk of Fame in Hollywood.

Returning to Pittsburgh in the fall, she was hungry for more research. Interested in high-energy physics, she emailed Briere, asking if she could join his research group. That email led to her work with him and, ultimately, to her breakthrough last summer. "The best decision I ever made was to do undergraduate research," she says.

Around the time of her breakthrough, Krall visits—perhaps following the steps of The Elegant Universe author—the university's Office of Undergraduate Research and National Fellowships. She was no stranger there. Months earlier, she had filled out pre-applications for United Kingdom fellowships. And the office helped her secure a $3,500 stipend for her work with Professor Briere. Jennifer Keating-Miller, the office's assistant director, was fully versed in Krall's background and experience which, in addition to participating in the Beijing experiments and the astronomy program at UCLA, included being a teaching assistant in the physics department and membership in the Phi Kappa Phi Honor Society and Sigma Xi Honor Society.

Impressed with Krall, Keating-Miller recommends she go for what she considers "the most competitive" undergraduate academic pursuit, the Churchill Scholarship, first established in 1964. It entails a year of study at the University of Cambridge in England after graduation. Only about a dozen students nationwide are chosen each year; in that select group are eight Carnegie Mellon alumni: Swati Varshney (CMU'10), Courtney Ondeck (E'08), James West (E'94, '98), Peter Blossey (E'92), Lawrence Riddle (S'76), Kenneth Notary (E'73, TPR'76), Keith Meyer (E'72, '76, '78), and Norman McEachron (E'64). Krall shows Keating-Miller how determined she is to join that exclusive group by rewriting her personal essay on the application about 20 times until she gets it just so.

It may have all paid off when the Churchill people notify her that she is one of 21 finalists to be interviewed for 14 spots. Krall preps herself for the Churchill phone interview, scheduled the second day of spring semester. She is admittedly anxious and nervous. Early in the interview, something extraordinary happens.

"What classes are you taking?" the Churchill representative asks.

"I am taking quantum physics, nuclear and particle physics, and psychology. I'm also involved in a research class." Then, she adds, "I am taking French."

"You will have a chance to practice your French when you go to England," he replies.

In that split second, the pressure lifts. Krall knows the Churchill is hers. The interviewer leaves no room for doubt. "You are going to accept, aren't you?"

The former homesick freshman doesn't hesitate with her answer, and the accomplished young woman, who is the first person in her family to attend college, who never ventured from her home state until age 15, is now headed to Cambridge to earn her master's in high-energy physics. Typical of Krall, she doesn't rush out to proclaim victory after the phone interview. She simply bumps into a friend in the hallway and murmurs, "I won the Churchill."

Cristina Rouvalis is an award-winning freelance writer. She is a regular contributor to this magazine.

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