The Square Root of Summer(4)

But it was more than that. According to Grey, we were wolf cubs raised in the same patch of dirt. Thomas didn’t belong on his side of the hedge, where the lawn was neatly clipped and his scary dad’s rules were practically laminated. And I didn’t quite belong on mine, where we were allowed to roam free. It wasn’t about like or love—we were just always together. We shared a brain. And now he’s coming back …

I feel the same way as when you flip a rock over in the garden, and see all the bugs squirming underneath.

The bell rings, too early. I think it’s a fire drill, till I see everyone around me holding worksheets in the air. The whiteboard is covered in notations, none of them about fractals. The clock suddenly says midday. And, one by one, Ms. Adewunmi is plucking paper from hands, adding them to her growing pile.

Panicked, I look in front of me. There’s a worksheet there, but I haven’t written on it. I don’t even remember being given it.

Next to me, Jake Halpern hands in his worksheet and slouches away, his bag knocking against me as he slides off the stool. Ms. Adewunmi snaps her fingers.

“I…” I stare at her, then back at my blank paper. “I ran out of time,” I say, lamely.

“All right, then,” she says, with a small frown. “Detention.”

*

I’ve never had detention before. When I check in after my final lesson, a teacher I don’t recognize stamps my slip, then waves a bored hand. “Find a seat and read. Do some homework,” he says, turning back to his grading.

I make my way through the hot, half-empty room to a seat by the window. Inside my binder is the college application packet I got in homeroom this morning. I shove it to the bottom of my book bag, to be dealt with never, and pull out Ms. Adewunmi’s worksheet instead. For lack of anything better to do, I start writing.

THE GREAT SPACETIME QUIZ!

Name three features of special relativity.

(1) The speed of light NEVER changes. (2) Nothing can travel faster than light. Which means (3) depending on the observer, time runs at different speeds. Clocks are a way of measuring time as it exists on Earth. If the world turned faster, we’d need a new type of minute.



What is general relativity?

It explains gravity in the context of time and space. An object—Newton’s apple tree, perhaps—forces spacetime to curve around it because of gravity. It’s why we get black holes.



Describe the G?del metric.

It’s a solution to the E = MC2 equation that “proves” the past still exists. Because if spacetime is curved, you could cross it to get there.





What is a key characteristic of a M?bius strip?

It’s infinite. To make one, you half twist a length of paper and Scotch tape the ends together. An ant could walk along the entire surface, without ever crossing the edge.





What is an event horizon?

A spacetime boundary—the point of no return. If you observe a black hole, you can’t see inside. Beyond the event horizon, you can see the universe’s secrets—but you can’t get out of the hole.





Bonus point: write the equation for the Weltschmerzian Exception.

?!

Even after I stare at the final question for several centuries before giving up, it’s still only 4:16 p.m. Forty-four minutes till I can escape.

Resisting the urge to nap, I start doodling. The Milky Way, constellations of question marks. Geometry jokes, spaceships, Jason’s name written then scribbled out, over and over and over. Then Thomas’s, same thing.

When I look down at the worksheet again, it’s a total mess.

4:21 p.m. I yawn and open my notebook, planning to copy my answers onto a clean page.

E = MC2, I begin.

And the second I write the 2, the whole equation starts to shimmer.

Um … I yawn and blink, but there it is: my handwriting is definitely shimmering. All it needs is a pair of platforms and a disco ball.

I flip the notebook shut. It’s a standard college-ruled pad. Heart fluttering, I fumble a couple of times opening it back to the right page. Those ruled lines are now rippling like sound waves across the paper.

Once, I read that lack of sleep can make you hallucinate if you stay awake long enough. But I thought it meant migraine aura-type black spots in front of your eyes, not cartoon-animated notebooks. As if to prove me wrong, the equation begins to spin. Distantly, I’m aware I should probably be panicking. But it’s like trying to wake up from a dream—you give yourself the instruction, and nothing happens.

Instead, I yawn and look away, out the window, and begin counting backwards from a thousand in prime numbers: 997, 991 … My curiosity gets the better of me around ninety-seven, and I glance back at the notebook. It’s not moving. There’s my pen scrawl on lined paper, nothing more.

All right, then, as Ms. Adewunmi would say. It’s the summer flu, or the temperature in here, or the being-awake-since-yesterday. I shake my shoulders back, pick up my pen.

I’m writing Jason’s name again when the notebook disappears.

Seriously.

My pen is hovering in the air where the page should be and suddenly now isn’t. It’s so ludicrous, I can’t help it: I laugh.

“It’s not giggle time, Miss Oppenheimer,” warns the teacher.

Ms., I correct in my head. And then, “Giggle time”? What, are we, seven? I’ve had sex! I’ve made irreversible decisions, awful ones, huge ones. I’m old enough to DRIVE.