The Theory of Everything (27 page)

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“Sophie?”

I heard Drew's voice at the bottom of the ladder. “Can I come up?”

How did he know I was there?
Finny. Of course.

“I'm coming down,” I said, feeling weird about being up there with anyone else. I popped a piece of gum in my mouth, took a deep breath for courage and left The Lab.

“Hi,” Drew said, making me melt. His voice was one thing, but seeing him? It was like another universe unto itself, an entire set of emotions that were as new as seeing a panda for the first time.

“Let me help,” he said, offering me his hand as I jumped off the ladder.

“I loved the tape,” I said, almost falling into him. He brought out my inner clumsiness. “I mean, playlist. I really, really loved it.”

“I'm glad,” he said. “When Finny told me your family was in trouble, I wanted to do something, you know?”

I knew. It was hard, knowing someone was hurting and not being able to do anything about it.

“My family was in trouble,” I said. “So was I.”

I grabbed his hand, and as we walked, I told him why I really went to see my dad. I told him what he'd heard about me in the cafeteria was true and that it was the same thing that had happened on our date. I didn't have a panic attack, I had an episode, something similar to a hallucination. Episodes happened at school, at the store and sometimes on dates. If I was lucky, they often included a very charming panda.

For some people, hearing that a friend was crazy was the same thing as hearing they were dead. It suddenly catapulted them into the five stages of grief.

“So you see a panda. That's not a hallucination, right?”

Denial.

“I can't believe you didn't tell me. I wish it was me instead of you.”

Anger. Bargaining.

“So you're sick. We can't date. What's the point of dating, anyway, if one day we're all going to die?”

Depression.

Drew stopped and looked down for a moment. And then he popped his head back up.

“Kerouac hallucinated,” he said.

“He did?” I said, surprised that this was nothing like the conversation in my head, but grateful that Keourac was saving me once again.

“Yeah. It's in
Big Sur,
too. He was in this cabin and had a nervous breakdown and hallucinated. Just like you.”

And even though it wasn't just like me, even though I hadn't even told him the good news—that my hallucinations were actually travel to parallel universes—he completed the final stage of grief, ending with the luckiest one: acceptance.

“If it's good enough for Kerouac, it's good enough for me,” Drew said.

And that's when I decided to tell him.

“I'm glad,” I said. “Because that's not the entire truth.”

“There's more?”

“It's a
new
more,” I said. “As in two days new. According to this theory that my dad came up with—the Sophie Effect—I'm not hallucinating. He wasn't, either. We're traveling to parallel universes.”

It was the kind of thing you couldn't tell just anyone, but I had to tell him. I didn't want to leave him with the idea that I was mentally ill. I'd rather start the conversation with parallel universes and move on. Just like I was moving on.

“Wow,” he said. “That's what your dad's book is about?”

“Basically,” I said. “It explains everything.”

Drew stopped. “But does it change anything?”

“I hope so,” I said. “I've been trying to prove his theory for a few days now, and I think it's working. If I prove it, I won't travel anymore.”

Drew stopped next to a lavender bush, its purple tops filling the air with sweetness.

“If you're getting better, why did you tell me?”

“Because you talked to me even after I disappeared,” I said. And then, because I was feeling brave, I said something else. “And because I want you to know all of me.”

“I like that,” he said as I felt anxiety leave and something else come in.

CHAPTER FIVE: THE PHYSICS OF SAYING GOOD-BYE

Most physicists would agree that time is an illusion—there is no past, present or future. But whether it's leaving a universe or a person, people will still place importance on good-byes. They'll sob at airports, feel heartache when a child leaves for college and experience profound loss when a loved one moves on. If you subscribe to the idea that time is irrelevant, though, it takes the bittersweet out of leaving. If we'll all meet again or if we've already met before, there's no such thing as good-bye. It's just a different way of saying hello.

Walking toward my house, I thought I heard drums in the distance. Uh-oh.

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“Would you mind if I met you back at my house?” I said, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. “I need to drop something off with Finny.”

“Sure,” Drew said. He let go of my hand but stood right in front of me, close, like there was only enough air in the world for one of us and we had to share it.

“I'll be right back,” I said quietly. “Promise.”

“I know you will,” he said, grinning.

And then he did something no boy had ever done to me before: he kissed me.

Electricity, fireworks, butterflies.

Flying on a plane for the first time, riding a roller coaster for the tenth time, diving off the high dive.

Timeless.

I wanted to save how his lips felt, how his breath moved, how one minute we were two and then we were one. I wanted to replay it in my mind forever.

“You'll be back soon?” Drew said as the kiss ended.

“As soon as possible,” I said.

I waved and floated down the street, wondering if kisses were like traveling, because I felt transported. Until a furry tail on my leg brought me back to reality.

“Balzac!” I said, scooping him up. Mom let him out, and I guess he'd followed me.

“Did you see that?” I said. “Were you jealous?”

He meowed, head-butting my nose. I hugged him as tightly as he'd let me until he squirmed out of my arms and ran away. Probably back to the house.

The drums grew louder, and I finally saw the pandas—xylophones and snares, mallets and plumes—marching down the other side of the street. Walt was up front as usual, twirling something that looked like a baton, but he didn't look at me. He was also really blurry. They sounded good, like a real band. I guess in between hanging out with me and eating, Walt had made them practice.

“Walt!” I yelled over the drums, but he didn't respond. They were playing “True Faith” by New Order, the band that sounded like science. The song that was about second chances.

“I'm over here!” I said, waving my arms wildly, but the pandas marched down the other side of the street like I didn't exist. Their bodies were so translucent they almost didn't exist, either. Like I wasn't fully in the panda-verse. I was just getting a glimpse.

I made a bullhorn with my hands and screamed even louder.

“Merv! I had my first kiss!” I said.

“Walt, I made up with Mom!” I screamed.

“Guys, I'm going to be okay!” I said, spinning around, my heart skirt twirling in the wind.

I ran toward them, and as I did, I saw Walt carrying something I'd know anywhere—a red parasol with tiny flowers on it, like the one Dad had hung above my bed: the Dream Director. He pumped it up and down as he walked, keeping time. Keeping the bad dreams out and letting the good ones in. As they marched, I thought about Finny and Drew, Mom and Peyton, Betty and Dad. All of them important in some way. Doing their parts.

The pandas skipped and blurred like lines on a television as my heart felt so full, I was sure it would burst.

“You have to stay home so I have someone to bring souvenirs to,” Dad said.

Walt moved forward, twirling the parasol, fading. A ghost of himself.

“. . . so you can remember me.”

When Dad walked out, he left holes in my heart, but he knew I'd survive. He wrote the book because, more than anything, he wanted me to learn to love the world again. Even a world without him in it.

I blinked, hard, and when I looked back, they were still there, but barely. A mass of pandas moving through the streets of Havencrest as they'd walked through my life. I thought about Drew, sitting on my porch, waiting for me. And Finny, the one who sent him. Both of them accepting me exactly as I was.

Sometimes you wore your heart on your sleeve and it fell on the floor. Sometimes people slipped through the gaps. But sometimes, when you weren't looking, hearts stayed put and gaps closed and there you were, in the place you always wanted to be, without even trying to get there.

Things worked out, even though you never thought they would, not in a million years. I guess that was kind of the point. With all this wisdom, I should have been able to skip straight to adulthood, except I knew I couldn't skip anything anymore—not time, not places, not people. I had to be here. Dad hanging out somewhere, pandas marching away from me, Drew and Finny walking toward me.

The drums grew fainter with each roll, each step, each heartbeat. Walt turned to me, raised his paw and waved—a blur of black and white moving back and forth in the sky, which turned pink and promising with the falling sun. And then he disappeared.

“Hello!” I shouted, saying what Dad would have said. “Hello, hello, hello!”

I already missed Walt and The Cure, the baby black bears and the blackbirds. I hoped a world without them—without Dad—wasn't forever, but it was okay for now.

Maybe it was even better.

Besides, I had another mixtape to make.

To everyone who ever boarded Ship Everything, I owe you my deepest thanks and gratitude. This book couldn't have happened without you.

A huge thanks to Mollie Glick, super-agent superstar. Your belief in Sophie and books with big ideas is inspiring. You keep me going, lady.

To Jill Santopolo, editor extraordinaire and champion of the book from the beginning. Thanks for your tireless work and for “going there” with me.

To the entire team at Philomel, thanks for taking a chance on a first-time author. I am grateful.

To Sherry Mendel (Harper), who helped me find my “writer” in the first place.

To Jacqueline Raphael, Luciana Lopez and Theresa Tate, who cradled the first chapters and laughed so hard I knew I had to keep going. Extra-special thanks to Jacqueline, writing partner in crime. May we always make mischief.

To Jessica Morrell. Your guidance and support have been invaluable.

To all of my writing partners, who got me through word counts with lightness and heart.

To Vanessa Veselka, true warrior and great friend. We'll always have Beulahland.

To the amazing minds of Brian Greene, Lisa Randall, Michio Kaku, Ed Whitten and all the other physicists I've forgotten to mention for playing with the mysteries of the universe and providing me with endless inspiration. You are so much smarter than I am.

To my physics adviser, Che Lowenstein, for reading an early draft and sharing the “eeeh!” of string theory with me.

To Madeleine Terry, fellow artist and adventurer of the heart.

To fellow dreamers Tim Kerr, Deanna Feeley, René Orsinger, Charity Heller, Jay Fields, and Greg Hyatt.

To my ladies, Sara Snyder, Nina Lary and B. Frayn Masters, whose friendship and generous spirits would help anyone get through the writing process. You are such a part of this book.

To Blake Nelson, whose advice, laughter and friendship reminded me to have heart and never stop writing.

To Will Bryant, who brought Walt to life.

To Jason Price, fellow spider moving sideways.

To Arie, Kai and Noah Pellikaan for never letting me get too serious.

To my grandparents—Betty and Brandon Doak—whose fabulous stories encouraged me to tell my own.

To my sister, Sandi Pellikaan, wonderful reader, amazing friend and keeper of the flame. You never let it go out. I could
not
have done this without you.

To my parents, Jim and Pegi Luna. Mom, you're the original bright light. And Dad, your big heart and persistence have always inspired me to have my own. Thank you both.

Finally, thanks to all the kids who read, dream and believe in things they cannot see. Writing for you is the very best part.