TWENTY-SIX

I feel so extraordinary, something’s got a hold on me.
I get this feeling I’m in motion, a sudden sense of liberty.

—New Order, “True Faith”

“Have you ever seen a sky like that?” I said, pressing my face against the window, making wet spots on the glass with my breath. “I don’t remember it being so blue before.”

“Someone’s happy to be home,” Finny said.

“That would be me,” I said, looking around as we got outside.

“Should I call my mom, or you want to call yours?”

“Neither,” I said. “We’re going to play it New York style and walk. Besides, I need to decompress.”

Finny snickered. “Since when have you ever decompressed?”

“Since I realized that stress contributes to traveling,” I said. “Apparently it’s easier to feel love when you’re calm.”

“Yeah, because nobody loves a spaz,” he said, smiling. “You want to do some yoga along the way, too? Or chanting?”

“Make fun of me all you want,” I said. “I just want to breathe.”

The station was twenty blocks from my house, which, before we left, felt like an eternity. But now we had New York feet. They came in handy, since the blocks here were twice as long as the ones in New York.

“I think my New York feet wore off,” Finny said, slowing after several blocks. “Have you decompressed yet?”

“I’m getting there,” I said.

My lungs took in air—I could feel it—instead of the panicked breathing I was used to. Something about my body was more relaxed. Maybe that was what happened when the gaps filled—you became whole. And when your body sensed that, it relaxed.

“I had my first authentic bagel,” Finny said, trudging down the sidewalk.

“You got a glimpse of a famous physicist’s basement,” I said.

“I have an in with the physics department at NYU!”

“And an adviser for your science project,” I said. “Oh, crap, we need to text Peyton.”

I reached for my phone, but Finny was already on it.

“And . . . done,” he said. “I also gave the boys at Bobst a run for their money.”

“We need to go back,” I said. “You totally have a future in New York.”

“You do, too,” he said. “With your dad.”

I looked up and down Mapleberry, the street we were on. It was flat, like all the streets in Havencrest, and contained the same style of houses and trees, all in a row. Like someone had hit the Repeat button. I was strangely comforted by the monotony, which reminded me of my new possible life. Instead of hills and high-rises, my inner landscape could be more predictable, like suburbia instead of Manhattan.

“We’re almost home,” I said. “It’s time for me to face the music.”

Finny dropped his bag, regained his energy and tapped, doing his best Gene Kelly impression on the sidewalk.

“Facing the music’s not so bad,” he said, flashing jazz hands. “Unless, of course, it’s disco.”

New York was amazing, but it didn’t have Finny. Which meant it had nothing on Havencrest.

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We got closer to the house, and I saw Mom standing with her back to the picture window. According to her, that window was classic sixties architecture. It was designed to make the inhabitants feel closer with nature, which was funny since Mom’s body language—arms crossed, hands digging into her back—was more hostile than Zen.

“Are you going to be okay?” Finny said, nearing the house with me.

“Yeah,” I said. “I can’t thank you enough for going with me.”

“What are best friends for?” he said, grinning. “Besides, it will be nice to have you owe me. Maybe I need a cool pocket or to hang out with you and your hot new boyfriend or something.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Not yet,” Finny said. And then we saw my mom turn around.

“And I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “Good luck!”

Finny headed for his house, and Mom ran out the front door, hair in a ponytail. Mom never wore a ponytail.

“Sophie?” she said, arms outstretched.

“Sophie,” she said, pulling me into her. We clung to each other like magnetic dolls and then hobbled over to the magnolia tree in our yard. Mom sat and leaned against the trunk, and I sat and leaned against her, leaves above us fanning out like millions of umbrellas. Shading us from everything but ourselves.

“You are very, very grounded,” Mom said, stroking my hair. I knew she meant it, but I also knew she was happy to see me.

“Just put a GPS tracking device in my brain until I graduate,” I said. And then I got brave.

“I wish you could be grounded,” I said. “I know about Dad.”

“What about Dad?”

“That you made him leave.”

Mom turned to look at me.

“Peyton didn’t tell me,” I said. “I overheard her telling Finny.”

“I was going to tell you,” she said. “When you were older.”

“I’m fourteen,” I said. “How much older do I have to be?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “The timing never felt right.”

“Mom, you lied,” I said. I had stopped being mad at her. Now I just wanted to understand.

“Yes,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I lied. Because I’m your mother. And I will do whatever it takes to protect you, whether you like it or not.”

Dad was right. She saved me from him.

“I just want to understand,” I said quietly.

“You don’t know how many times I went to work terrified you might not be there when I got back,” she said.

I picked leaves off my tights.

“Never knowing what your father was going to do or when.”

“I know we had to leave,” I said. “I get that now. I just wish you hadn’t lied to me. All this time I thought Dad didn’t love me.”

“Sophie,” she said, grabbing my hands. “How could you think that?”

“He left one night and never came back,” I said. “He didn’t call me, and you said you didn’t know where he was.”

“I didn’t,” she said. “We agreed to stop all contact.”

“But knowing we left him, it makes a difference,” I said. “He was so devastated he disappeared almost continuously until he met Peyton.”

“She sounded nice.”

“She helped him write the book,” I said.

Mom looked down.

“Mom, the book is about episodes. It’s about me.”

“Sophie—”

“I know you think he’s crazy,” I said. “And maybe he is. But he did that—research, writing, all of it—for me.”

“That’s because he loves you.” Her eyes sparkled.

“I know,” I said, taking the Love tape out of my bag and handing it to her.

“I found a box of these in the basement,” I said. “There were hundreds of them, all addressed to me, and this one came with a letter.”

Mom turned the tape over in her hands, looking at Dad’s slanted writing.

“You can read it if you want,” I said.

“That’s okay,” she said, handing the tape back. “It’s between you and your dad.”

I liked the way she said it, like she was okay with me finally having a relationship with him, even if it was only through a cassette tape.

“I know you’re not your father,” she said, running her hand down the leg of her black pants, removing leaves. Then she put her hand to my side.

“It’s just that bipolar shows up around your age,” she said. “Your dad left and we moved to San Francisco and then all of these things started happening . . . the suspension . . . and then we moved here and it was the same thing all over again. I had to call someone. I had to make sure the thing that destroyed him didn’t destroy you, too.”

I couldn’t tell her what I was yet—a traveler. I didn’t think she’d understand, but I could tell her what I wasn’t.

“I’m not bipolar,” I said. “And Dad may be sick, but that’s not all he is. I have proof.”

“I never said he was bipolar,” she said. “I just said he had problems. What proof are you talking about?”

I took Dad’s book and handed it to her.

“I think you should hear it from him.”

By the time she read about the Sophie Effect, I hoped to have already proven it. To have stopped traveling, so it wouldn’t be an issue. So she could love me again without fear. We were both quiet for a moment. Mom held the book in her hands, not opening it. That’s when the new Sophie Sophia showed up.

“Thanks for protecting me,” I said, laying my head on her shoulder.

“Thanks for coming back,” she said.

“When Dad gets back, he can explain it even better,” I said. “In person.”

“Just don’t spend your time waiting,” Mom said. “He always comes back, but you never know when.”

Leaves blew around and blackbirds flew in from wherever they were before, squawking at each other. I leaned over and hugged her so tight, I hoped Dad felt it. She squeezed me back, and this time, instead of wondering if she loved me, I knew she did.

“Here,” I said, taking Finny’s iPod out of my bag and handing it to her. “I made you something. I know you’ve always wanted me to go more modern, so I did. Welcome to today’s version of the mixtape.”

“You made me a playlist?”

“It’s called Love 2.0,” I said.

“You made me a playlist,” she said, her face softening as she put the earbuds in her ears.

LOVE 2.0, BY SOPHIE SOPHIA, Courtesy of Finny’s iPod

TAKE CARE OF BUSINESS	Nina Simone
THE ONE I LOVE	R.E.M.
LA LA LOVE YOU	The Pixies
WITHOUT YOU HERE	Holly Golightly
THE SUN IS SHINING	The Dirtbombs
LOOK TO TOMORROW	The Now Time Delegation

Mom listened for a while, skimming through the songs. I’d had to use what was on Finny’s iPod, but he had plenty of stuff I knew Mom would like, including some older songs. But since I was putting one foot forward, I included some newer music, too.

“I love it,” she said. “I’ll listen to the whole thing later.”

“Great,” I said. “Because I’m starving. And I need a shower.”

She stood up and held out her hands, and I actually took them, letting her lift me up. I’d spent so many years being defensive and pushing her away that I didn’t know what I’d been missing.

“On the bright side, Finny’s mom brought over seven-layer dip for your homecoming,” she said. “You know you want some . . .”

“Eeew, like that Jell-O thing she brought us when we moved in?”

“That dessert was indestructible,” Mom said. “Kind of like you.”

We walked in silence for a few seconds.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said.

I saw Balzac sitting in the window.

“Me too,” I said. And I actually meant it.

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After Mom and I had a snack, I took a quick shower, changed and headed to The Lab. I wanted to be alone for a minute, and that was the best place to do it, even though I caught my green tights on the ladder, ripping them at the knee.

“Shoot,” I said, rubbing a hole where fabric had been.

The tights were the same color as the green heart pocket on the front of my gray cheerleader-like skirt, which was a little matchy-matchy, but I was too tired to care. The hole probably improved the outfit, anyway. Like a punk rock revision.

The Lab looked just like we left it—charts on the wall, candy wrappers on the desk, supplies scattered everywhere. I borrowed a piece of Finny’s paper and a marker and made a list. Soon I wouldn’t need it anymore. I could feel it. But someone might. And if they were anything like me, they’d need all the help they could get.

How to Survive Traveling
by Sophie Sophia

1. Enjoy it. It’s pretty amazing, when you think about it.
2. Have good friends, family and a cat named Balzac to come home to.
3. Practice coming in and out of universes so it’s not so jarring.
4. Be careful with your souvenirs. They’re kind of sacred.
5. When you’ve had enough of the above, employ the Sophie Effect to say good-bye to one set of worlds and hello to another.

I tacked the list on the wall for Finny, next to the owl. And then I took out Dad’s letter and read it one more time.

Love is the answer.

We’re never alone.

He’s always with me.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, putting the letter in the fake fireplace, like a ritual.

Except I had no desire to burn it or watch it fly away, so I grabbed it back and put it in my pocket. I wanted to keep it forever or until I saw him, whichever came first.

I walked over to Finny’s desk, took Walt’s whistle off and left it in the top drawer like a thank-you note. I wouldn’t be where I was without Finn. I thought about Finny’s name again, which meant “oracle,” a person who delivered a message from the divine. A message that you’re okay just the way you are. If that didn’t make you believe people came into your life for a reason, nothing would.

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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.