The Theory of Everything (6 page)

“Maybe it's just sprained,” Heather said, cradling her arm.

“Nobody worry about me, I'm fine,” I said, hopping off the table. I had a massive stomachache and my skirt was turned around backward, so on top of everything else, I had a tree on my butt.

“Were you trying to commit suicide?” Stacey looked at me, big eyes blinking.

“Social suicide, maybe,” Heather said.

At least her mind was intact.

I smoothed down my hair, which felt like it had gone through a wind tunnel, wiped my face with a napkin and looked around the cafeteria. It was obvious I was the only one who had witnessed my stage dive. The rest of them only saw the new girl, crazy as they came, doing a belly flop into the cheerleaders' table.

“Ms. Sophia? Would you come with me?”

Ms. Shipley, the school nurse, extended her hand. I didn't take it, but I followed her out of there, away from the scene of another episode and, after a quick checkup, on to the scene of another one: the principal's office. It was like San Francisco all over again. I didn't have much on my side, but I did have a little something I'd created last time I went to a principal's office: my list.

How to Survive a Visit to the Principal's Office
by Sophie Sophia

1. Compliment her on her hair.
   
2. Use innocence to your advantage and act like you've never been in trouble before.
   
3. Leave the snarkiness at home. (Or at least in your locker.)
   
4. Nod a lot and respond emotionally. Adults love to feel like they're “reaching” us.
   
5. If you have to, lie for the greater good and let karma sort it out.
   

“May I help you?”

I plopped down in a drab olive-green chair outside the principal's office. It was the international color of high school, which seemed weird. Weren't most of us depressed enough already?

“I'm Sophie Sophia, here to see Principal Pattison.”

“You're her!” the secretary said, scooting her chair back. She was wearing enough colors for both of us, with her rainbow earrings and scarf. It was tie-dyed like the bag on the floor next to her. “Do you need some water or something?”

“I'm good,” I said, feeling the small spatula in my pocket. I wondered if I had time to hide my souvenir before anyone saw it and accused me of stealing, too.

She leaned toward the phone and pressed a button. “Principal Pattison, I have Sophie Sophia for you.”

“Who?” a loud voice blasted through the intercom.

She looked at me, leaned in and whispered like she was talking about a terminal illness.

“It's that girl,” she said, “from the cafeteria.”

“Then speak up!” the voice boomed. “And send her in.”

The door opened and Literary Loner stepped out of the office as I walked toward it. We were so close I could smell his hair as he passed. It smelled like oranges.

“Hi,” I managed to croak.

“Hi,” he said, giving me the same smile as before. This now qualified as the best day ever, even if I got suspended.

The secretary pushed him toward the exit. “That's enough out of you, Romeo,” she said as she pushed me toward the door. “Go on in, Juliet.”

|||||||||||

“Well, if it isn't our very own Greg Louganis,” Principal Pattison said, peering at me from behind a massive walnut desk. I sat down across from her and in front of a small brass monkey who was perched on the corner, laughing.

“Who's Greg Louganis?” I said.

“A famous diver,” she said, opening my file. “Just like you are, I hear.”

“That was an accident,” I said.

“Let's start from the beginning.” She cleared her throat and sat up taller, even though she was probably a foot taller than me already. “Your scholastic history is impressive, but your behavioral record leaves much to be desired.”

She had no idea.

“For now, let's leave the past in the past and focus on the present. The why behind the what.”

“The what?” I said.

“We know the what,” she said. “I'm interested in the why.”

And I wished I knew what the heck she was talking about.

“Sophie, why did you dive into a table?”

When she said it like that, it
did
sound like I had a death wish.

“It wasn't premeditated, if that's what you're thinking,” I said. “I didn't know what I was doing.”

“Really,” she said, smiling. Her mouth kept moving, but I was distracted by the painting hanging behind her. It was a portrait of a horse with huge teeth, kind of like hers. I couldn't stop staring. I knew people's art said a lot about them, but I had no idea what this said about Principal Pattison.

“Sophie?” She snapped her fingers. “Are you with me?”

“I like your hair,” I blurted.

“Thank you,” she said, fluffing her short puffy bob. “I was trying something new.”

She cleared her throat.

“Back to you, though. Are you really going to plead insanity here?”

I'd been trying not to plead insanity to myself for years, but it was always out there, lurking. Like if I saw too many things or messed up too many times, it would claim me, the way cancer claimed other people. Dad might have been a combination of genius and insanity—the jury was still out—but I wasn't him. And I was trying, desperately, to keep it that way.

“Not at all,” I said. I leaned forward, put my arms on the desk and practically whispered. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course,” she said, leaning forward. “This room is nothing if not confidential.”

I paused. I had no idea what I was going to say, so I looked to the carpet for inspiration, but it was just brown with blue flecks. Boring. And then I had it.

“I sleepwalk,” I whispered.

Principal Pattison sighed, came from behind her desk and sat in the chair next to me. I thought she was going to take my hands in hers, but luckily it didn't go that far.

“Sophie, are you bored?”

I was in high school. Of course I was bored.

“I see this all the time with smart kids. You're not challenged enough, so you act out in odd ways,” she said. “Maybe if you took a few more Advanced Placement classes. Or maybe you could play in the band! I hear the oboe is challenging.”

My hourly existence was a challenge.

“I'm not lying,” I said. And then, because I stayed up one night researching sleep disorders when I couldn't sleep, I laid it on her. Authority armed with Wikipedia.

“I'm a sleepwalker. Most people think it only happens at night, but it happens during the day, too. That's the kind I have. So I didn't intend to stage dive into someone's table. And I didn't even know I'd done it until I landed, which, of course, woke me up.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Why isn't this in your file?”

I knew I had moments to convince her or risk expulsion.

“Have you ever been the new kid at school?”

“Many times,” she said. “My father was in the navy.”

“Then you know how hard it is to make friends,” I said. “There is no way I would dive into the most popular girls' table on purpose. Not only is it weird, it would also ruin any chance I'd have of making friends.”

“It's true,” she said. “New kids are
desperate
to fit in.”

“So when I told you I was sleepwalking, I meant it.”

She wrung her hands like they had the answer, as if squeezing them would make it pop out.

“I'll have to confirm it with your doctor,” she said.

“Of course,” I said.

She got up and walked back behind her desk, sitting down.

“And your mother.”

“To be expected,” I said. That was why I'd given them a fake cell phone number when I enrolled. And then she leaned forward like she was going to tell me a secret, too. Like a slumber party in the middle of the day.

“Does this happen a lot? This sleepwalking thing?” she said.

“Not anymore,” I said, making a note to thank my brain later. “I have medicine for it, I just forgot to take it this morning.”

“Oh!” she said, her voice brightening. “Okay, then. That's an easy fix. You know how I remember to take my pills?”

This was going to be good.

“How?”

“I make my secretary remind me,” she said, laughing, and then she pressed the intercom button and yelled, “Millie! Water!”

Seconds later, the door opened. Millie rushed in while I walked out.

“Sophie, wait,” she said, taking a few pills from an orange bottle and popping them into her mouth. “I can't have you walking around unmedicated. Go home. You can bring the necessary paperwork when you return on Monday.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I'm sorry for any problems I might have caused.”

“You smart kids are a hoot!” she said. “So polite, even when you're in trouble. Now, go home and read
War and Peace
or something.”

I loved how Tolstoy was the go-to reference for nerd. But I hated that I couldn't get that painting out of my mind, which meant there was a reason for it. Maybe Principal Pattison had a portrait of a horse on her wall for the same reason I wore the tree skirt. It was calming because plants and animals were just that—not human. And even though we could be pretty great, it was nice to take a break from people, once in a while.

|||||||||||

“Sophie, wait up!”

Finny ran toward me, his black courier bag lagging behind, hitting him in the butt.

“I'm late,” I said, opening my locker and filling my backpack with books.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, panting. His face was red as the pepperoni he'd missed at lunch. “I never meant to stand you up.”

“It was fine,” I said. “No big deal.”

“That's not what I heard,” he said. “Are you okay?”

I wanted to tell him. In reality, he'd probably think it was cool and want to study me, like an experiment. But I couldn't risk losing him. Not yet.

“Never been better,” I said. “Knowing Heather, the story that's going around is way worse than what actually happened.”

“So what
did
happen?”

I couldn't lie. Not one more time, and not to Finny. So I did the next best thing.

“We'll talk later,” I said, slamming my locker. “I have to go.”

“Then I'll go with you,” he said, walking beside me. “Look, I got caught up in this chemistry experiment and totally lost track of time.”

“Can we just forget about it?”

“Nope,” he said. “But maybe this will make up for my extreme ineptitude. Close your eyes and open your hand.”

I felt something small and circular pressing into my palm. I opened my eyes and saw The Smiths
Meat Is Murder
button.

“Finny!” I said. “This one's your favorite.”

“You're my favorite,” he said. “There's more. Look under it.”

Underneath the button was a piece of paper the size of a fortune. It had numbers written on it. Lucky numbers separated by dashes.

“I gave Kerouac your phone number, too. His name is Drew. Whoever calls who is up to you guys,” Finny said, grinning.

“I should be so mad at you right now,” I said. My shoulders relaxed. Heart lifted.

“Yes, but isn't it more fun to be excited?”

I don't know how he knew, but he did. Nothing cures the aftermath of an episode like a crush.

|||||||||||

I slammed the front door, and Balzac came running.

“Sophie? Is that you?”

Mom was home. Early. And since it wasn't a holiday and she couldn't have gotten fired yet, that meant one thing. The school realized the cell number was a fake, did a little digging and called her at work.

“Hey,” I said, walking into the kitchen like nothing was wrong.

She was standing over the stove stirring the contents of a pot with a wooden spoon. It smelled like onions.

“Surprise!” she said. “I took the afternoon off. I thought it was time we had a home-cooked meal like the rest of Middle America.”

“Strange, but acceptable,” I said, relieved. “Is that spaghetti?”

“Sauce for the meat loaf,” Mom said.

“Better meat loaf than pot roast,” I said.

Mom turned her back to me and hummed. Pot roast was a reminder of one of the bad nights, one of the nights Dad went crazy, and we didn't talk about those. That night, Mom had just made my favorite meal—pot roast with baby carrots and potatoes—when Dad showed up, threw it all on the floor and announced that we were going out for Indian food instead.

“Grab your coats!” he said while I stood next to Mom, tears in my eyes, wishing I could trade a thousand nights of naan for just one of those potatoes. Dad opened the door and put on a top hat.

“Let's go, ladies! Adventure in the city awaits!” he said.

I held Mom's hand tighter, a silent plea to let me stay. She stood firm.

“Thanks but no thanks, Angel,” she said. “Sophie and I feel like staying in.”

Dad looked confused, but then dashed out like a superhero, oblivious to the pool of tears and perfectly good pot roast he'd left behind.

“Nothing a little extra spice can't fix,” Mom said, and picked up our dinner off the floor. She rinsed what she could, added things from glass shakers and threw it back in the oven.

“This is not how you'll cook when you're older,” she said, “but I'll be damned if I'm going to waste a good dinner. I spent three hours in here.”

She rarely cooked, and I knew it, so I didn't mind if the stuff she said was pepper was actually dirt. It tasted good, even without Dad. Even though that was the first night of many where there were two at the table instead of three.

|||||||||||

“Can you set the table?” Mom said.

“Sure.” I grabbed the napkins and headed for the coffee table.

“How was school?” she called from the kitchen.

“Educational,” I said. I folded the napkins in little paper squares like at a restaurant.

“That's not what your principal said.”