TWENTY-FIVE

I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does.

—The Smiths, “How Soon Is Now?”

“I don’t know why people like tiramisu so much,” I said, passing the plate over to Peyton. “I guess I’m not a pudding person.”

“It’s cake,” Peyton said, taking a bite.

“With pudding in it,” Finny said. “Maybe the whole pudding thing comes with age.”

Peyton looked up from her fork.

“Not that you’re old,” Finny said. “You’re a lot younger than Sophie’s mom.”

She laughed. You knew you’d broken through some barriers when honesty emerged and it was okay.

“The inside part is mascarpone,” the waitress said, bring us our check. “It’s a type of cheese.”

“Even worse!” Finny shrieked.

My New York palate was more sophisticated than his, but even I thought the whole tiramisu thing was overdone—unlike Finny’s reaction when I gave him one of my souvenirs. That was totally justified.

“For me?” Finny said, clutching the pink ballet slipper to his chest. “It seems kind of small for a panda.”

“Merv has delicate feet,” I said. “It probably belonged to him.”

It was fun to talk openly about souvenirs and what I’d experienced at Bobst with someone other than Walt or Finny. Peyton made it all seem legitimate, which made me feel more normal than I had in a long time.

When I first got to the restaurant, Peyton was furious about how many times I’d lied to her that day. (A lot.) How was she supposed to look after me if I lied? What would my mom have thought? But we worked through it. I forgave her for, well, being there instead of Dad, and she forgave me for being a total nightmare houseguest. But we were there. We made it. And I was closer to my dad—and farther down the path—than I’d ever imagined.

“I have a present, too,” she said, taking a rectangle out of her purse and pressing it into my palm. I knew the weight of it, the feel of hard plastic on my skin.

“You made me a tape?” I said.

“Not exactly,” she said as I turned it over. It was Love.

“Love!” Finny said.

“Love!” I said. “Where did you find it?”

I ran over to her side of the table and threw my arms around her.

“I had it all along,” she said into my hair. “It fell out when I washed your skirt,” she added, smiling. “I meant to give it to you this morning, but I forgot. So I threw it in my purse to give to you tonight.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said, hugging the tape to my chest like Finny’s ballet shoe. “Does Dad make you tapes, too?”

“Nope,” she said, pushing an empty dessert plate away. “He’s too busy making those for you.”

I imagined Dad staying up all night with records spread across the floor, picking out the perfect songs, using trial and error to find the right order. The same way I was using trial and error to prove the Sophie Effect. Dad had taught me that a mixtape was the perfect place to plant hidden messages and that the order of the songs meant everything. Start with something upbeat, he said, even if the tape was serious. And end on something emotional so that your efforts leave a mark.

“I’ll send the rest of the tapes to Havencrest,” she said, almost reading my mind.

“I left my address in the kitchen,” I said. And then I said something I never expected to say. “We should keep in touch.”

Peyton grabbed my hand and Finny’s, making a chain. Linking us together.

“We will,” she said. “This is just the beginning.”

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Half an hour later, I was looking up at the departure board at Amtrak. Everyone standing beneath it wanted to go somewhere: conference in Connecticut, reunion in Baltimore, boyfriend weekend in Boston. I wanted to go wherever Dad went and ask him questions. Why him? Why me? Why parallel universes? Couldn’t our brains think of anything else to do? Why didn’t our hearts pick another hobby instead?

Peyton bought our tickets, Finny went to grab magazines, and I walked around, passing the pay phones, which stood out against the wall like the ocean—waves of bright blue and white against a sea of silver. They looked lonely, empty and unused in the cell phone era. I patted the Walkman in my bag as if comforting one old piece of technology could reassure another. And then my phone rang, another person reaching out to me. Waiting for me to let them in. Drew.

“Shouldn’t you be doing homework or something productive?” I said, glad he couldn’t see the goofy look on my face.

“Shouldn’t you be on a train headed my direction?”

I laughed. “Are you checking up on me?”

“I’m just confirming our lunch on Saturday,” Drew said. “I have an insanely busy social calendar.”

“Kerouac and coffee?”

“I have other interests,” he said.

“Like?”

Pause. A pause could mean anything, like maybe he didn’t have anything else to say, which meant we had no future. Or maybe he had other interests but was filing through them in his mind, figuring out which ones were cool enough to share with me.

“If I say what I’m thinking, you’ll never let me live it down.”

“Why?”

“It’s way too teen movie,” he said. “So let’s just say I’m interested in hearing about your trip when you get back.”

A pause could have also meant he was thinking about me.

“It’s a date then,” I said, wishing I could make the train move faster, partially to match my beating heart, partially because I wanted to be in Havencrest. Pronto.

“Peyton’s coming with our tickets, so I have to go.”

“Well then, bon voyage, Sophie,” he said, chipping away at my armor.

“Au revoir, Nancy Drew,” I said, hanging up the phone even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Tickets,” Peyton said, handing me two of them. She and Mom had decided to pay for them and give Finny’s credit card a break.

“Thanks,” I said, slipping my phone into my bag.

“Drew?” she said, nodding at the phone.

“The one and only,” I said. “How do you know if a guy really likes you?”

“You just know,” Peyton said. “You look like you know.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“And if that’s not enough? Sometimes you just have to trust,” she said.

“That they won’t break your heart?”

She smiled. “That even if they do, you’ll survive. You’ve made it this far, haven’t you?”

“True,” I said. I put my hands in my pocket, feeling the tape. She’d given me a lot since I’d been there. I wanted to leave her with something, too.

“I think I’m close,” I said.

“To what?”

“Proving the Sophie Effect,” I said. “Only time—and episodes—will tell.”

“That’s great, honey,” she said, like she didn’t really believe me. Like she didn’t believe Dad was ever coming home. I had to convince her.

“The cool thing is, I think proving it for me might prove it for Dad, too,” I said. “If I can stay in one universe, maybe he could do the same.”

She looked as tired as I felt.

“Of course, you’re smarter about this stuff than me,” I said. An apology hidden inside a compliment. “What do you think? Do you think Dad’s coming back?”

She looked defeated, like the weight of a thousand episodes.

“I think your father put toothpaste on his toothbrush in the shape of a smile because he was happy; he loved Mondays because he knew they were a fresh start; he loved physics because it was a way to talk about things bigger than ourselves. And I think, wherever he is, he wants to come back. On some level, I think he knows you want him back, too.”

I wanted to pack her heartache in a box and ship it off to someone else.

“So, would another hug be totally out of the question?” I said.

Peyton pulled me in like Finny, like Walt, like Mom on a good day. We stayed there awhile, long enough for me to put my head on her shoulder. Long enough for her shoulders to shake.

“He’s coming back,” I said, whispering my new mantra in her ear.

She pulled out of the hug and patted her heart. “He never left.”

Check, I thought, hoping my own heart took notice.

They called for boarding, and Finny ran up to us with a stack of magazines.

“Mindless entertainment, ready for your consumption,” he said, fanning them out. “Dwell, Elle and Physics Today.”

“And I have Physics Tomorrow,” I said, patting my bag. Feeling Dad’s book. I also had Love.

“Okay, you two,” Peyton said, putting one arm around each of us and squeezing. “Be safe. I’m going to miss you.”

“You want a photo?” Finny said. “It’s almost like being there.”

“Of course!” she said, taking out her phone and aiming it at us. “Strike a pose.”

Finny and I linked arms and waved, Jackie-O style, for the camera.

“Bye!” we shouted as we boarded Amtrak, bound for home.

Finny found our row and gave me the window seat, as usual. The train pulled away, and outside the window I saw Peyton waving, frantically, like a parent letting her kid go for the first time. Finny leaned over me, and we waved back and forth, hands moving sideways like spiders. Letting her know she wasn’t alone, either.

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For the first few hundred miles, Finny and I filled each other in, him versus me: Bobst Research versus Raining Books, Cute Guy Spotting versus My Daring Escape, Waiting Forever versus Betty, Heart Drawing versus Walt and the Rockettes—and my personal favorite, Being Stuck at the Restaurant with Peyton versus My Breakdown in Times Square.

“Wow,” Finny said. “That’s a lot for one day.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I prefer to limit my number of daily travels to one.”

“And you had two,” he said.

“Three, actually,” I said. “While you were busy with chalk, I was in the panda-verse.”

“Right,” Finny said. “So that’s one universe. What are all the other ones?

“The Ramones,” I said, remembering the cafeteria. It felt like a million years ago. “The Cure.”

“Everything’s a music video,” Finny said, leaning back in his chair. It sounded cool when he said it out loud. “What else?”

“Hearts rolling off sleeves,” I said. “Blackbirds peeling off wallpaper. Rain turning into baby black bears. Flying books.”

“Objects animate,” Finny said, sitting back up. “That’s—”

“Just like Dad said,” I said. “I know.”

It was also like Mr. Maxim predicted. And Walt told me. Sometimes we just know things. I wondered if I’d ever go to the panda-verse again or if it was over. If I was actually proving the Sophie Effect. For the past two years, I came in and out of my reality without even knowing it, which made me wonder: what would it be like to stay in my own universe for a change? The one that included Havencrest and Mom, Drew and high school and Café Haven. The one with manicured lawns and big, sprawling houses but nicer people than anywhere I’d ever lived. Not every person but most of them, like Mr. Rutherford, who brought us Jesus Bars when we moved in, even though they were just brownies with cream cheese crosses on top; Callie, the girl from the diner who would probably end up being a friend; and Mr. Maxim.

“Finny?”

His head was back against the headrest and his eyes were closed. It was late. And since it had been the longest day ever of the two longest days ever, I decided to join him.

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I woke up while the rest of the train was still asleep, including Finny. It reminded me of the times I woke up early, on accident. Everyone was still snoozing and it was like the world was on pause, only I got to hit Play for a while. Just me. I took Love out of my bag and looked at it. Dad had decorated the case with an illustration of a man riding one of those old-timey bikes—the kind with the big wheel in front. There was a word bubble coming out of the guy’s mouth with a heart in it.

I opened the case to look at the song list, and a note fell out. A note with Dad’s telltale writing on the front that said read after listening. I didn’t how long I could wait, but I was going to try. You know, to give the music a chance.

I popped in the tape, put in my earbuds and pressed Play. The opening guitar riffs of “Message of Love” by the Pretenders filled my ears, and I felt like Mom must have felt. Like someone Dad loved, listening to one of his tapes for the first time.

LOVE, BY ANGELINO SOPHIA

MESSAGE OF LOVE	The Pretenders
CLOSE TO ME	The Cure
HAVE LOVE, WILL TRAVEL	Thee Headcoatees
LOVE WILL TEAR US APART	Joy Division
THE PASSENGER	Iggy Pop
TWO HEARTS BEAT AS ONE	U2
THE VILLAGE	New Order
HOW SOON IS NOW?	The Smiths

Music was memory. I think that’s why Dad liked making tapes and I liked listening to them. Without leaving my seat or traveling to another universe, I could go somewhere else as often as I wanted, a little world that existed for Dad and me alone. The tape started off happy, like I knew it would. I listened to the lyrics, decoding messages that weren’t so secret, but ones I hadn’t heard in a long time, if ever.

Dad loved me and wanted to be with me. He stayed away to protect me. He believed all worlds belonged to us and that when he felt something, I felt it, too. Because we were a part of each other. Tears rolled down my face, partially because of the messages but also because I missed him. I paused the tape and opened the letter.

Sophie,

If you’re reading this letter, you’re looking for answers. It’s good to have questions, because life would be boring without them, so I’ll attempt to answer a few.

On your mother: She made me leave, but she was right. She couldn’t protect you from what I couldn’t control, and it was her job to keep you safe. She’s suffered enough. Forgive her.

On traveling: I was afraid what was happening to me could happen to you. So instead of wallowing, I went to work to find a connection between physics and what I was experiencing. When I came upon my inspiration—you—everything fell into place. Love was the answer. Because love is everything.

The words poured over me and into me, filling holes I didn’t know were there.

Traveling can be difficult, but it’s also a beautiful reminder that we’re never alone, that there are people, places and pandas beyond our imaginations. Especially your assigned panda. Know that it’s okay to be your own person and follow your own path, no matter where it takes you.

I bent my knees and hugged them to my chest. Keep going, Dad. Keep going.

When you’re ready to stop traveling—probably when you’re old enough to have a boyfriend or just tired of being gone all the time—employ the Sophie Effect. It’s what makes you travel, but it’s also what could make it stop. It hasn’t worked for me yet, but maybe, with enough love, it will work for you. Until we meet again, put your hand over your heart . . .

I pressed my palm to my heart like the national anthem was playing.

. . . and I’ll do the same. That way we’ll always be together, whichever universe we’re in.

Love,

Dad

I pressed Play and listened to the rest of the tape, letting it wash over me.

The Cure sang about having a moment and never wanting it to end.

Thee Headcoatees should have sung “have love, won’t travel.”

Joy Division knew what they were talking about. Love will tear you apart, literally.

“The Passenger” by Iggy Pop was perfect for train listening but also a great metaphor for life. La, la, la, la, la-la-la-la.

People can say whatever they want about U2, but their early stuff was amazing, like this song. I think it was written for Dad and me.

New Order was also there, the sound of science, comparing love to nature, to longevity.

It was the perfect mix. And in true Dad fashion, the last song left a mark, especially the chorus. It said something I needed to hear, like a song that had always been with me whether I knew it or not. Like he’d always been with me, whether I knew it or not. Thanks for letting Morrissey deliver the message, Dad.

“I am human and I need to be loved. Just like everybody else does.”

Tears rolled down my face and dropped in my lap. I wiped them away, but they kept coming, so I let them. And then I closed my eyes, leaned back and put my hand over my heart, feeling it move with the oscillating guitar, pounding in sync with the drumbeat.

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“Evening, night owl.”

I opened my eyes and saw Walt sitting in the row across from me, legs stretched out, leaning against the window. That row had always been empty. And since everyone else was asleep, no one else noticed. I climbed over Finny, and Walt moved his legs so I could sit next to him.

“What’s new?” he said.

“As if you didn’t know,” I said, taking off my headphones and wiping my eyes on my sleeve. And then I took the tape out of the Walkman and waved it at him.

“Aw, you heart me! You made me a mixtape.”

“Dad made me a mixtape,” I said. “It’s called Love.”

“How is it? Is Walt and the Pandas on it?”

“No,” I said, but I would have loved that. “It came with a letter, though.”

“How many stars would you give it, like two or like five with a chocolate mint under your pillow?”

“I’d give it a hundred stars,” I said, looking out the window. “This is what I came for.”

“I know,” he said, patting my hand.

“He mentioned you,” I said.

“Little ol’ me?”

“Not by name, but he said my assigned panda. I assume that’s you?”

“Correct. I couldn’t tell you until you knew for sure, but everyone who travels gets a panda,” Walt said. “It’s part of the deal—protection, guidance and all that.”

“So other people travel, too?”

“Sure,” Walt said. “But not just anyone can travel. You know that. And if you don’t, keep reading your dad’s book.”

“Were you my dad’s panda?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “But I’ve heard about your dad. He sounds like an amazing guy.”

“He is,” I said, feeling Love in my pocket.

I pushed a button to lean my seat back but forgot we weren’t on a plane.

“Is there any way I can stop traveling but hang on to you?”

Walt smiled. “I’m flattered, but you know I have to leave at some point anyway.”

“So is this a preemptive breakup?”

“Not at all,” he said. “But no matter what you do, my work here will be done, eventually. Probably sooner than we think.”

The night was dark, and the train was quiet except for the two of us.

“I like having you around,” I said, remembering when I didn’t. Remembering how I asked him not to sneak up on me or do bad football victory dances.

“I like being around,” Walt said. “Chances are, my next client won’t be half as fun as you are. But, hey—we’ll always have Havencrest.”

“Maybe I should put that on a T-shirt,” I said.

He munched on a packet of peanut butter crackers he found in the seat in front of him.

“I still haven’t proven the Sophie Effect, you know,” I said.

“But you’re closer,” Walt said. “Would you like another hint?”

“Always,” I said. “I’m going to miss your advice. You eating my egg rolls. Pointing out markers along the way.”

“You’re starting to see the markers yourself,” Walt said.

I sat up in my chair. “I am?”

“You’re graduating,” he said. “Get the robe ready.”

I saw the fur on his face glisten, like it was wet.

“Wait, are those tears?” I said.

“No way,” he said. “Pandas don’t get emotional. Emo, maybe, but never emotional.”

Walt put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

“Be at home here,” he said, pointing to his heart. “Especially when you get a glimpse of another world.”

“So what, I travel when I’m nervous?”

Walt smiled. He liked to make me figure everything out myself, so I thought about it. I never traveled when I was hanging out with Finny, laughing. Or curled up on my bed, reading a book. I didn’t travel when Mom and I made dinner together or when I went for a walk. That had to mean something. It was well documented that stress caused rational people to do crazy things. Was it insane to think it caused me to pop between universes?

“No matter what happens, don’t be a stranger, okay?” I said.

I felt the tears coming, but Walt slayed them with his sarcasm.

“Always strange, but never a stranger,” he said, hopping up and wiggling his butt in the aisle. And then he blew me a kiss.

“See you soon, princess,” he said. And then he disappeared.

“See you soon,” I said to the lunch ladies and baby black bears, to The Cure, the flying books, to all of them. They weren’t gone yet, but I had a feeling they would be soon. And then I picked up my phone and said hello to my new world, texting Drew. Counting down the hours, letting him know I’d be there soon.

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I crawled across Finny again, but this time it woke him up.

“Whoa!” he said, startled. “Did you travel? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about Walt. “Go back to sleep.”

And then I noticed Dad’s book open across his chest.

“Dad’s tape came with a letter.”

Finny sat up, stretched his arms and turned on the overhead light.

“I can sleep when I’m dead,” he said. And then he reached in his bag and pulled two chocolate bars out of it. “Spill it.”

I handed him the letter so he could read it himself. It was better to let Dad do the talking.

And I distracted myself with grooming, running a comb through my bangs, making them as straight as Cleopatra’s. I found my Strike-A-Rose lip gloss and a piece of gum, both of which totally improved my mouth. My clothes were wrinkled, but I was saved by a tiny deodorant and a sample of pineapple hand lotion, both of which made me feel better.

“Wow,” Finny said, folding the letter back up and handing it to me. “My dad has never said anything this nice to me.”

“Maybe leaving gives you perspective,” I said, even though I would have given anything to have traded a letter for an actual father.

“So does staying,” Finny said. “I hope he’s right about the gaps.”

“Me too,” I said, remembering I still had work to do. And then Finny did part of the work for me.

“You know how you’re always listening to those tapes?” he asked.

“Yeah . . .”

“Someone thought you might want to move into a new century.”

“I told you,” I said. “I love analog.”

“Just think about a playlist as the modern version of the mixtape,” he said, handing me his iPod. It was already open to a playlist called Welcome to Today.

“You made this for me?” I said.

“I put it together, but someone else named it and dictated the songs,” he said.

“Peyton?” I said, since she was the only other person who had been with him.

“Way better than that,” he said. “Drew.”

My heart beat faster, the thought of him, thinking of me.

“That was the secret,” Finny said. “While you were off with Walt, we were planning a total Sophie Get Happy attack.”

“But how—”

“Drew has good taste,” Finny said. “I just read off some of the bands I had, and he instantly knew which songs he wanted to use. He likes those old bands you like, but he’s also into the new stuff. And we both thought you might like the sound of the future.”

I looked at the playlist. It was full of bands I didn’t know, like Noah and the Whale and The Shins, but there was also a song by Sonic Youth. Kim Gordon, bringing me home.

“He’s a keeper,” Finny said.

“Drew wasn’t mad that I didn’t tell him you were with me?”

“He was at first,” Finny said. “But I explained it to him.”

I laughed. “I would have loved to have heard that,” I said, and then it hit me. “Wait, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” Finny said. “I didn’t tell him about your dad or anything. I also didn’t tell him I was gay—I’m hoping he figured that out—but I let him know that you and I are best friends.”

“That’s all you said?”

“That, and that I will always know you better than he will,” Finny said, grinning. “I told him I’m the guy you’ll call in the middle of the night when some other guy decides he doesn’t like you anymore. I’m the guy who buys you chocolate to make you feel better, the one your mom calls when she’s worried, and the one you call when you have nightmares.”

“I’ve never done that,” I said, but he was on a roll.

“I’m the guy who picks up the pieces, keeps you going and inspires you. Because you inspire me,” Finny said, grabbing my hand. “Look, I’m not worried about you liking anyone more than me because we’re friends. Best friends. And you will always like me as much as you like yourself.”

Friendship, summed up in a monologue.

“I adore you, you know that?” I said, not a bit surprised at the words coming out of my mouth.

“I know,” he said. “I adore you, too, which is why I helped him. If anything’s going to start closing those gaps, this should do it.”

“You’re already doing it,” I said, giving him the biggest hug imaginable. “Thanks, Finn.”

I took out my headphones to listen, but then I decided instead of being in my own little world, I wanted to bring Finny into it.

“Do you have your dual-headphone adapter?”

“Sure,” he said, getting it out of his bag. “You want to share?”

“Of course!” I said. “But only if you’ll dance with me.”

Our car was relatively empty, so Finny and I spread out in the aisle, headphones reaching, iPod between us. Finny hit Play and the first song came on. It sounded like it came from the eighties but was new. I moved my head from side to side as Finny tapped his toes. As the music continued, we bounced up and down, arms flying as much as they could in the aisle. Outside it was pitch-black, like we were driving through the middle of the earth, but inside I felt bright, like light was bursting out of every cell.

When the chorus came, Finny grabbed my hand and tried to spin me. Headphone cords tangling, we fell down in the aisle, laughing, probably waking everyone else up, but I didn’t care. One boy had made me a playlist. And the other one was dancing with me, just like he had from the beginning. No judgment, no fear. If that wasn’t love, I didn’t know what was. Which made me realize: I needed to make someone else a tape.

How to Make a Mixtape
by Sophie Sophia, as inspired by Angelino Sophia

1. Spread all of your albums out in front of you.
2. Think about what you want to say. Are you proving a point? Saying thanks? Or do you just have a theme?
3. Include only songs that remind you of your theme and person. (If your heart beats a little faster when you hear it, that’s the song.)
4. Ordering is an art. Make sure it’s perfect it before you press Record.
5. Be creative with the name of the tape. The world really doesn’t need another Randy’s Favorites #3.
6. Give without expecting anything in return.
7. Into digital? You should try analog. There’s nothing like spending a day making a mixtape. (You can do the same thing with a playlist, just don’t tell me about it.)