NINE

My family never did the church thing, but Dad said saints were an exception. He had this massive book about them, and I devoured it, repeating names over and over like the lyrics to a good song while sitting in his green leather chair, feet dangling. Saint Francis of Assisi, bird preacher. Saint Lydwina, protector of ice skaters. And my favorite, Saint Christina the Astonishing, patron saint of mental illness. She proved you could be flashy and holy at the same time. She also hated being around people because she could smell sin on them. So instead of wearing perfume, she climbed buildings and trees. Hid in cabinets and cupboards. And when there was nowhere else to go, she levitated.

I used to want a saint who would bring me an endless supply of striped socks, but lately I’d been thinking about Christina. I found her card stuck in one of my books this morning and put it in my pocket. Christina probably couldn’t stop my episodes completely, but maybe she could at least teach me how to levitate out of them. It was number one on my list.

How to Survive Going Back to School After an Episode
by Sophie Sophia

1. Levitate out of any uncomfortable situation.
2. Since you can’t actually levitate, ignore people.
3. Tell them you weren’t sent home early, you went to Paris.
4. Why Paris? Why not Paris?
5. Redirect attention to your outfit. Wasn’t it inventive?
6. Repeat the following: I am more than my episodes. (It’s true.)

Mom barged into the bathroom as I was getting ready. Normally I would have demanded my private time, but after a weekend spent in communication lockdown, I was happy to see her.

“Pardon moi, I’m working on my visage,” I said in my best French accent, a mix of Peter Sellers and Pepé Le Pew.

“That’s right, you have French this morning,” Mom said.

I wasn’t even taking French, but my face was covered in an oatmeal-citrus mask, so I couldn’t exactly correct her.

“Did you know that your great-grandfather was from Lyon? You practically have French in your blood.”

I laughed and cracked my mask. “That’s gross,” I said. “It’s like ooh! Get them out! The French are in my blood, invading me with their poodles and café au laits!”

Mom sighed and grabbed my brush off the counter. She moved behind me and ran it through my hair. It was one of the few rituals we still kept, so I let her do it.

“You must be a hit at school,” she said.

“Not yet,” I said. “I try to lay low the first semester. And then—when they least expect it—my wit and I attack.”

I saw one of her eyebrows raise in the mirror.

“That’s no way to make friends, Soph,” she said. “And you might want more than one.”

I scowled and my mask crumbled and fell into the sink.

“For your information, I have two friends,” I said.

“Really?” Mom took the brush away from my hair and then looked at me like she’d just discovered a new species.

“Aha,” she said. “What’s his name?”

“How do you know it’s not a girl?”

“Please,” she said, brushing her own hair. “Look at what you’re wearing.”

The theme was wisdom, and I had on my red, orange and blue owl pocket skirt, a pair of plaid tights and little owl earrings. Adorable? Check. All I had to do now was talk about love and Mom would let me go anywhere.

“His name is Drew,” I said. “And I know I’m grounded, but he asked me to study with him after school.” I wanted to be prepared with an irresistible outfit and freedom. “Can we make an exception?”

She sighed and looked at me in the mirror.

“Mom, please?” I said. “He wears vintage clothes like I do, his hair smells like oranges, and he’s practically a Kerouac scholar . . . plus he’s perfect and cute and seems to genuinely like me.”

I took a breath in, puffed up my cheeks and held it until she answered. It was one of my favorite tactics. Sometimes I turned bluish and had to let the air out before she responded, but most of the time it worked. Like curing hiccups, only I was trying to cure my social life.

“Okay,” Mom said. “But just for an hour.”

I let my breath out and then inhaled deeply, the oxygen of victory.

“If something happens, you call me,” she said, handing me back my phone. “Promise?”

“I promise,” I said, but I wouldn’t need to call. I had a good feeling about it, like that part in the movies when the heroine is dressed up and looks amazing and her date is on time. There are no awkward silences or, in my case, hallucinations, and everyone lives happily ever after. For a moment, I actually believed I could be that girl.

|||||||||||

I made it through a weekend of grounding, which meant no Finny, which also meant he accosted me as soon as I sat down next to him in physics.

“Did he call? Did he call?”

“He texted,” I said. “Friday night.”

“Eeeeh!!!!” Finny said. “Did he ask you out?”

“Of course,” I said. “We’re meeting this afternoon.”

“So you’re not grounded anymore?”

“Oh, I am,” I said. “But Mom gave me an hour pass. I think she’s sick of seeing me.”

“This is so exciting,” he said, waving his hand in front of his face like he was fanning himself. “You know this makes me Cupid, right?”

“Calm down, Cupid,” I said. “He might not even like me once he gets to know me.”

“Oh, he’ll like you. But whichever way it goes, you have to call me when you get home. I want to hear everything!” Finny said, forgetting to use his inside voice.

“I want to hear everything, too,” Mr. Maxim said. “Everything sounds right up my alley. Would you care to elaborate?”

Red crept up Finny’s neck, threatening to take over his face.

“We were talking about parallel universes,” I said. It was the first thing that came to mind, since it was actually on my mind.

“In relation to string theory, of course,” Finny said, glancing at me.

“Someone read ahead,” Mr. Maxim said, straightening his tie. He’d gone from bow ties to polka-dotted real ties, which I didn’t think was an improvement.

“It’s only a theory, of course,” he said, going to the board and writing as he spoke. “But string theory posits that there are ten dimensions of space and one dimension of time, even though we can’t see them all.”

“That’s because they’re curled up inside of themselves,” Finny said, practically jumping out of his chair. I loved it when he got into a physics frenzy.

“Precisely,” Mr. Maxim said. “And some scientists speculate that this theory also makes the idea of parallel universes possible. There’s no way to prove this yet; that’s why they’re theories. But Einstein was all about theories, and look how well that worked for him!”

He laughed, and Finny followed. They might as well have just had a class for themselves.

“Come on, people, how exciting is the idea of parallel universes?” Mr. Maxim said. “Like a universe that’s just like here, except everything is half the size. Or monkeys walk around with jobs and houses, just like people.”

“That’s not exciting, that’s disgusting,” the hair-spray girl said. “Monkeys are gross.”

“It doesn’t have to be monkeys—it can be anything,” Mr. Maxim said. “Caterpillars or cats. Porcupines or pandas. Like a panda-verse.”

My bag fell out of my hands and crashed to the floor.

“We’ll cover this later in the semester. But since we can’t see the extra dimensions or prove that parallel universes exist, the floor is still wide open for discussion.”

Mr. Maxim walked over and looked out the window. “Anything is possible, people. Just use your imagination.”

|||||||||||

I walked in the bathroom, and Walt was sitting on the counter, swinging his legs.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

“Hi!” I said, giving him a hug. I was so excited to see him I didn’t even check under the stalls like I usually did, but the room was empty anyway.

“You’re an enthusiastic little elf. What gives?”

“I’m happy,” I said, reapplying my lip gloss. “Plus, we were just talking about you.”

“You and Finny?”

“No, Mr. Maxim in physics class.”

“If I’d known I was making an appearance, I would have called my stylist,” Walt said, smoothing the fur above his eyes with his paw.

“Not you, specifically,” I said, smacking my lips together. “He was talking about parallel universes. Specifically, a potential panda universe. He called it a panda-verse.”

“Cute,” Walt said. “Did he say where it was? I’d love to visit.”

“I think you’re from there,” I said.

Walt laughed and turned his back toward the mirrors.

“Well played,” he said. “You’re pretty crafty for a girl who wears lip gloss.”

I poked his arm. “You’re going to have to tell me about it sometime. Along with why you’re here and what it has to do with me. Or maybe, since I’m so crafty, I’ll just find out myself,” I said.

Walt grinned. “That’s kind of what the whole path thing is all about.”

“Hey, if the path includes extra dimensions, parallel universes and infinite possibilities, I’m in.”

“You might want to think about bringing someone with you,” Walt said. “What about Finny?”

“I can’t tell him yet,” I said. “He likes me the way he thinks I am.”

“He also likes physics,” he said. “He could help you.”

“Help me figure out that my episodes are more than episodes? I already knew that,” I said. “Especially after you showed up.”

“You know what they’re not, but you don’t know what they are. Don’t you want to find out?”

I did. More than anything.

“Is it synchronicity that your first friend is into physics, just like your dad? Or is it something bigger?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” I said.

“So think about it,” Walt said. “Tell him about the Ramones. Tell him about me.”

“No way,” I said.

“Why not?” Walt said. “What do you have to lose?”

“My best friend, possibly.”

As soon as I said it out loud, though, I changed my mind. That was what having a best friend was all about—being honest and sharing everything, even the bad things. So if we were really friends, or if I wanted us to be, there was only one thing to do.

“You’re right,” I said. “We’re Sophie and Finny. I’ll tell him.”

“Bravo!” Walt said, raising his arms and cheering. “I raised you well.”

As I watched him do his victory dance, I wished I could do more than tell Finny. I wished I could show him.

“First things first, though,” I said, dancing with him. “I have to get through my date.”

“What’s to get through?” he said. “You’re adorable. You have nothing to be nervous about.”

“Nothing?” I said, stopping and staring at him.

“I’m not going to ruin your little rendezvous, if that’s what you mean,” he said, standing still. “Contrary to popular opinion, I actually want you to be happy.”

“What about my episodical tendencies?”

“I can’t predict or control those,” he said.

“But you can give advice,” I said. “And I don’t mean telling me to be myself.”

“Deep breaths,” he said. “Try to ground yourself in the moment. But more than that? Have fun. I’ll give you a head start.”

Walt started at one end of the bathroom and did high kicks to the other end, making me smile. He ended with a spin and bumped into one of the hand dryers, turning it on.

“Whoa!” he said. And then he bent down, put his mouth under it and spoke.

“Whoooooaaa,” he shouted, his voice vibrating off the tile. “Do you ever do this?”

“Not since I was little,” I said.

“It’s ridiculous!” he said, taking a breath. “You have to join me!”

It reminded me of Dad, the way he always asked me to join him. The way he believed there was so much more to our reality than what we could see. I bent down beside Walt and held his hand like a pact. And then I put my arm around his middle and leaned in as he pushed the button again.

“Whooooaaaa,” I shouted, hearing my voice in a new way.

“Whooooohhh,” we continued, sending the voices of panda and possibility through space.