THREE

The field looked the same, except instead of being covered with kids, it was filled with a dozen pandas moving like pros, marching right, left and all over the field, forming everything from circles to the letter W. Or maybe it was an M—it was hard to tell. But they looked amazing, like a White Stripes video. There were a dozen of them decked out in tall red hats with white plumes and red-and-white-striped drum straps that draped across their chests like peppermints. They even carried red and white swirly lollipops instead of mallets—pandas and pops on parade. Too bad the greatness of their outfits didn’t match their musical ability. And too bad Fab Physics Boy wasn’t there to see it.

“No, no, no,” the lead panda said, stopping and adjusting his black Ray-Ban sunglasses. His hat was the opposite—white with red plumes—and he carried a baton.

“Would it kill you to stay in tune? This is New Order, not rocket science.”

Except it was rocket science, at least that’s what Dad said. He compared New Order’s music to some of the greatest equations ever written, which is why “True Faith” drifted up from the basement, filling the house with the sounds of science.

“Let’s try this again,” the panda said, putting a whistle in his mouth. “Tweet-tweet-tweet-tweet!”

At his command, a dozen pandas filed behind him and started playing, badly, as they headed straight toward me. I was half nervous and half curious. I mean, the closest I’d ever been to a panda was at the Bronx Zoo. When I leaned toward it, the guide had told me to be careful, that even though he looked like he wanted a hug, he might deliver a strong left hook instead. That’s how powerful they were.

“Tweet!” the lead panda blasted, and then stopped quickly, ten feet in front of me, sending a pile of pandas and the sound of cymbals crashing behind him.

“Hello,” he said, removing his sunglasses and extending a giant paw. “I’m Walt.”

It’s not like I hadn’t seen anything weird before. I’d been surprised by talking birds and chairs that flew. Rock stars who sang in elevators and gargoyles who came to life, giggling. My episodes were more Fantasia than anything else, but still. Things could change. Things always changed.

“I’m Sophie. Sophie Sophia.”

I offered my hand and watched it disappear inside a mound of fur.

“Nice name,” he said. “Did you enjoy our little performance?”

Since he was a million feet tall and I liked to find the positive in things, I focused on that.

“You guys can march,” I said. “Seriously.”

“I knew it,” Walt said, rocking back and forth on his heels. “We stink. Merv over there has two left paws.”

The panda picking up the xylophone shrugged.

“Sorry, boss,” he said. “I told ya, music ain’t my thing.”

I liked how relaxed he was, how relaxed all of them were, which made me think they were more on the hugging side and less on the punching side. Besides, when had I ever gotten hurt inside of a hallucination?

“No matter,” Walt said. “We’ll get it, eventually. But according to my internal clock, it’s poker time. Care to join?”

“I’ve never played,” I said, following them back onto the football field, feet sinking into fake grass. Mind blown.

“I’ll teach you,” Walt said. “I’ll teach you a lot of things.”

The pandas made a circle around the fifty-yard line and plopped down simultaneously, making the entire field shake. I went down with them, landing in between Walt and the panda with the trumpet.

“Larry,” he said, extending his paw.

“Sophie,” I said, shaking it. “Thanks for having me.”

Walt shuffled and dealt, and Larry mixed drinks, pouring from one flask then another, adding a bamboo stirrer at the end. He handed one to me, which I handed to Walt.

“I’m a Manhattan man, myself, but Merv likes mint juleps,” Walt said. “They’re a bit of a girly drink, but he’s an old friend, so we make an exception.”

“They’re all soda with a stick of sugarcane,” Larry whispered, handing me a cup. “Don’t tell Walt.”

I sipped and smiled. It tasted like the time I ate several sugar packets at a diner, only better. Walt pushed a pile of jelly beans over to me, the apparent poker chip of choice, and the game began. I folded almost immediately, every time, but I didn’t care. According to Walt, the best way to learn was to lose and then start again. Kind of like surrender.

“Why am I here?” I said.

“Humans are funny,” Walt said. “Never content to just enjoy this Manhattan, this poker game, this pack of pandas.”

He held up his cards. “Can anyone beat a full house?”

The rest of the pandas groaned and shook their heads.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “It’s the Walt show, baby!”

We surrendered our jelly beans on the bass drum in front of Walt, and he scooped them up. But instead of keeping them, he poured them into my whale pocket, red, green and yellow cascading into its gray body.

“He looks like he gained five pounds,” I said.

“But at least you have snacks,” Walt said.

“How do you know I like snacks?”

“You’re fourteen,” he said. “Besides, sometimes you just know things.”

Like how I knew my dad wasn’t like other dads. He lived somewhere other fathers didn’t, a place filled with lions and lollipops, Bernoulli and bowling balls. He was either in his basement inventing something or off on an adventure trying to prove theories that existed only in his head. I was too young to understand physics, but Dad had taught me the value of believing in things you couldn’t see. Just because I didn’t see the same things Dad saw didn’t mean they didn’t exist.

Walt stood up and tapped the sugarcane stirrer on the outside of his cup.

“Everyone? Can I have your attention? I’d like to make a toast to our newest friend here.”

The pandas stopped talking and turned to face me.

“Sophie, you showed up today whether you wanted to or not. And you did it with curiosity, a big heart and a willingness to learn. From all of us to you, welcome to our tribe, of which you’ll always be a member.”

He raised his cup. “To Sophie.”

A chorus of white and black paws went up in the air, red cups waving.

“To Sophie!” they yelled, voices echoing across the field.

To me, I thought, feeling like I belonged for the first time in forever. Even if it was only for a few minutes. Even if no one could see them. Even though they were pandas, they were my friends—reminding me that I still had the ability to make them.

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Wind hit me in the face, and the concrete curb was cold against my skin. Colder than the fake grass I’d been on, colder than being surrounded by pandas. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been gone—sometimes it was minutes, other times hours—but the parking lot was empty except for a few kids hanging out in the doorway and football players filing out on the field. The same field where I drank soda with sugarcane and played poker. The same field where I’d found my tribe, only to have them disappear. Typical.

I heard a whistle, but it was just the coach, gathering the guys for practice. I stood up and my pearls swung forward, hitting another necklace. A whistle on a chain, like the coach wore. Like Walt wore. I put it up to my lips and blew it once, twice, three times.

“Walt? Larry? Merv? Anyone?”

I don’t know why I thought the pandas would come back, since it had never happened before. My episodes were always different, which is what made them so unnerving. Maybe if they’d contained a cast of recurring characters like any sitcom, I’d have been more amused than unsettled. I took off the whistle and turned it over and over in my hand as if it contained a clue. And then I spotted Fab Physics Guy leaning up against the fence. Since I wasn’t sure how long I’d been gone, I had no idea how long he’d been there or what he’d seen.

“Hey, there,” he said, walking toward me. “Are you okay?”

I had been until he showed up. So I took a deep breath. Remembered my list. And since it was too late for steps two, three and four, I picked up my bag and resorted to step five—tossing jelly beans and running like a New York Marathoner until I reached my house.