The Categorical Universe of Candice Phee (19 page)

Got the answer?

It's YOURSELF!

This is the way Dad explained it. Why are social networking sites so popular? Why do reality television programs rate so highly? Why does everyone post videos on YouTube (I'm not exactly sure what YouTube is, but I hear about it at school and Dad was quite excited about it and I was carried along with his enthusiasm)? The answer is . . . people want to feel they are important, that the Earth revolves around them. It is, according to Dad, like
staring into a mirror, not caring that the world is going on without you
.

So, what have the lines got to do with it? Good question. Think of that first line as representing your life—a timeline from birth to where you are now. We think of it as a line because we can trace the path clearly. It is all the moments we have lived and it runs straight because we have not deviated from our life (duh, obviously). But what about the life we might have led? Look at the branch in that second line and think of it as a moment in life when a decision was made that affected you
.

Here's an example: Let's say the point where the branch occurs is when you were two and your parents had another child. If they hadn't, your life would have gone along one of the arrows on the line, but if they did, then your life goes along the other line. What if your father or mother had been offered a job that meant he or she had to move to another country? In this life, he/she turned it down. But if he/she had accepted, then your life would have changed enormously. You would have had different friends, gone to a different school, maybe learned another language. Then think how just a few decisions, big and small, might have changed you. Your possible life. Then the line looks something like this:

You see? After only three decisions, there are eight possible lives. Now think of
all
the decisions made, not just big ones, but small ones as well. The answer is clear. There are an infinite number of possible lives that might have been, though you are only aware of the one you are living
.

Now, this is where Douglas Benson from Another Dimension comes in. You see, his explanation of alternative dimensions is close to this. According to him, there are an infinity of worlds in which an infinity of possibilities are played out
.

What fun, Denille!

And now I get to the heart of the matter. Our obsession with ourselves. The infinity of possible lives. Dad put it like this: Imagine a computer program, Candice, that allowed you to alter the path you have taken in life, by changing decisions inside and outside of your control. What would your life have been like? What if that program then created an alternative you (or a number of alternative yous) based upon the information you fed in and allowed you to communicate with her? A multidimensional social media site where you could interact with as many yous as you wished. You could see how you might have looked, you could view pictures of the children you might have had, watch videos of vacations you might have gone on, share in the glorious successes and failures that were denied you in this life. And you could talk to yourself, post messages, get replies. You could explore the full potential of your existence, not just plod along the path you are trapped on. How many of
us have wondered what would have happened if we had only done this, or not done that? All of us! This program would allow you to find out. Why should we be content with one life, when there are an infinite number available?

“And could you write that program, Dad?” I asked
.

“Yes,” he said. “I could. It would be enormously complicated for one person to do and it would need a significant amount of investment, start-up capital, and the like. But yes, I can do it, though it will take years.”

It's such a simple idea, Denille, but also exciting, even for someone like me who can't find a computer's on button. What would my life have been like if Sky hadn't died or if Mum hadn't got breast cancer or if Dad and Rich Uncle Brian hadn't argued? Now, I know it's theoretically a fiction—the alternative yous would be created by the computer program. But people love fiction. And, if Douglas Benson from Another Dimension is to be believed, it's not truly fiction, since whatever the program does is happening in an alternative universe, anyway. It would be a real glimpse into a real world
.

I found this so amazing that I thought knobbly bits would break out on my head, but they didn't. So there you have it, Denille. My father's dream. And do you know something? It's as if he has lost years in the space of a few days. He smiles (dreamily) and it suits him. I am getting back the father I'd almost forgotten existed. My alternative father
.

Okay, I had better stop here. Please don't tell anyone or write to them about this idea, Denille. According to my
Dad it could be worth billions of dollars, but that's not really important. It's Dad's idea and it would be horrible if someone stole it. In fact, I promised I wouldn't speak to anyone about it, but, as you can tell, I haven't. I have written it down. No speaking involved. Anyway, you are my third-best friend in the whole world (after Douglas Benson from Another Dimension and Earth-Pig Fish) and I trust you absolutely
.

Best wishes
,

Your pen pal
,

Candice

Suddenly, my life had become very exciting, what with Mum having a proper birthday, Dad following his dreams (and talking to me about them), and Earth-Pig Fish finding an atheist perspective on life.

The following day was no less exciting. Firstly, Rich Uncle Brian met me at school and handed me a plastic card worth fifteen thousand dollars. It didn't look like it was worth that much, but I know as much about banking as I do about computers, so I just accepted the situation. And the card.

Douglas Benson from Another Dimension came with me to the library at lunchtime. I needed him to help me with some online research and purchasing, and he thought there might be a kiss in it for him. While the signs on the walls are
clear about eating and drinking, there was nothing about kissing (which might be a serious omission). However, I suspected the librarians, who are generally tolerant of my eating (and my personal chair), might frown at making out, and I told Douglas this. We spent all lunchtime huddled over a computer until I had made my choice and paid for it (Douglas operated the mouse and clicked all the links).

“I've got exciting news, Candice,” he said as we headed toward math.

“All news is exciting at the moment,” I replied.

“I think I know where I have been going wrong.”

I thought he might be referring to proposing to a thirteen-year-old in front of her parents, but I was mistaken.

“It's the nature of the tesseract,” he continued. “I think I have made a serious error with one of the dimensions. It would explain everything. And, if I'm right, then there is no reason I shouldn't return to my own dimension.”

“That is exciting,” I said. “When are you going to try?”

“I need to check the math fully. That will take a few days. Once I'm certain, then I'll probably go back on Sunday.”

“That is a good day to cross dimensions,” I said, though I have no idea why. Sometimes you need to say
something
.

“Will you watch me?” he said. “I know it might sound insensitive, given I could be leaving you forever. But it's important to me. Will you, Candice? Please?”

How could I refuse to watch my best friend jump out of a tree on a Sunday?

“I will be there, Douglas Benson from Another Dimension,” I said. He looked delighted, but he didn't try to kiss me. That was probably sensible, since we had entered the classroom and our math teacher would undoubtedly disapprove. Mr. Gemmola disapproves of everything except differential equations.

There was a knock on the front door at eight-thirty that evening and I opened it (Mum had gone for a nap and Dad was in his shed, making a start). I was expecting Jen Marshall.

Instead I got an ape. An ape in a balaclava and a black trench coat. This was, not surprisingly, alarming. It was even more alarming when the ape barged me to one side, rushed into the house, and slammed the door behind it. It is possible you have never experienced having your house invaded by an ape in a balaclava but, take my word, it is definitely alarming. The ape raised a hand to its face and ripped off first the balaclava and then what turned out to be a latex mask.

“Hello, Jen Marshall,” I said. “You look nice.”

“Did you see anyone behind me, Essen?” she hissed.

“The door was open for half a second, Jen. And I was so focused on the ape mask I didn't look over its . . . your . . . shoulder,” I said. “Is this a costume-themed homework session?” I added.

“You should've seen the looks I got on the bus,” she said. “But I wasn't taking any chances, Essen. If anyone had seen me come here, then I'da been . . .”

“An outcast?” I suggested.

“Whatever,” she replied. “Let's get this done, okay? I don't want to miss the last bus, 'cause I can't walk home in an ape costume, can I? There are weirdos out there.”

But not many dressed as King Kong
, I thought.

“What's the assignment?” I said.

“It's crap,” she said. “Geography, which is, like, a really crap subject. And this is a crap assignment for a crap subject and I'm crap at it.”

“Let's scrape away some crap, shall we?” I suggested. “Do you want me to hang up your ape mask?”

Thursday.

Mum's birthday is on Friday (tomorrow), but I had everything arranged apart from the card. Dad had booked a table at a local restaurant. I asked him what he had bought Mum and he showed me a brooch in the shape of a bird. It might have been a parrot. I am not an expert in the identification of birdlife, so I won't swear to it.

“I've got her something else,” he said. “But it's a surprise. Actually, I'm worried how she will react to it. I guess I'll find out tomorrow. And what have you bought her, Candice? If you need to borrow money, by the way . . .”

“Thanks, Dad,” I replied, “but I'm okay.” Actually, I only had twenty-two dollars, but that was enough for an amusing card that poked fun at middle-aged people. In the meantime I had two days of school to get through. It turned out they were interesting.

Not as interesting as the weekend that followed, though.

English was after lunch. I really hoped Miss Bamford was back. For one thing, I was worried about her. What
if she had some life-threatening illness? Maybe she was, even now, in a hospital ward, recovering from an operation and in desperate need of a cheery visit from her favorite student (Miss B has never spoken openly of this, but I am a good judge of character and know she holds me in high regard). I could make her laugh. Without trying, apparently.

But I was also worried about me. I am a creature of habit and routine. Miss Cowie was obviously a talented teacher (though not as good, clearly, as Miss Bamford, who—I think I might have mentioned this—is the best teacher in the whole world
as far as I am concerned
), but I knew it was oral presentation time today and I didn't know if I could speak in front of her. So I had spent time in the library writing a note.