The Theory of Everything (26 page)

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.)
   

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.

|||||||||||

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

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.

|||||||||||

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.