We Are All Made of Molecules (7 page)

ALL THROUGH DINNER I
waited for Spewart to rat me out about locking him out of the house. But he didn't. Instead, he asked my mom and Lenny a whole pile of questions about stories he'd seen on the news. It was all “Conservatives this,” “Russia that.” After a while I just tuned out.

Then he said, “The outfit you wore on air was very nice, Caroline.”

“Why, thank you,” my mom replied. “I have to give all the credit to Ashley.” She turned to me. “I wore the jacket you picked out for me. The mocha one.”

I couldn't stop my lips from curling upward into a smile. “I know. I saw.”

“You watched the news together?” Mom said. She sounded
so hopeful. I even saw her share a look with Lenny. Like they seriously thought the midget and I might be bonding!

“No,” I said. “I just wandered through to see what you were wearing. Making sure you weren't committing any fashion crimes.”

“Ashley has a great eye,” Mom continued. “She helps me pick out almost everything I wear on air. I'd be lost without her.”

“It's true,” I agreed, warming to the subject. “She has zero fashion sense.”

“I don't think that's true,” Lenny said.

But Mom just laughed. “Oh, it's true. Her dad, on the other hand, has impeccable taste in clothes.”

“Do you think that's because he's gay?” Stewart asked. “Or am I just perpetuating a stereotype?”

Suddenly I felt like I was underwater. They kept talking, but they sounded like the adults on
Charlie Brown. Wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-waah
.

Finally I found my voice. “Who told you my dad's gay?”

They all turned to look at me. Stewart looked puzzled. “What do you mean? He
is
gay.”

“Who. Told you.”

“I probably did,” Leonard said with a shrug.

“And who told
you
?”

“I did, Ashley. Obviously,” Mom said.

“Why?”

“Because we're living together. Because when all of this happened, Leonard was the one person I felt I could turn to. Because I love him, and I'm never going to keep secrets from him.”

I couldn't think of a way to argue with that, so I turned to Leonard instead. “And then you told
him
?” I said, pointing a finger at Stewart. “Why did you think it was any of your business?”

Leonard put down his knife and fork. “We were about to move in with you. Phil lives within spitting distance. Stewart had a lot of questions. I answered his questions as honestly as I could.” He looked toward my mom, confused. “I don't understand what the problem is.”

“Ashley, it's not like it's a secret—”

“It
is too
!” I wailed. “None of my friends know. None of them!”

Mom looked surprised. “Really? Not even your closest friends? Not even Lauren?”

“
Especially
not Lauren!”
God!
How could I explain to someone who hasn't been a teenager for centuries that best friends are the ones who are most likely to use your darkest secrets against you one day, and stab you right in the back?

“Gee,” Stewart said. “I would tell my best friend, Alistair, anything.”

“That's 'cause you're a
freak
and everything you do is freaky!” I saw Leonard's jaw tighten; it was the first time I'd seen him look mad.

“Ashley, that was completely uncalled for,” Mom started.

“So? This entire situation is completely uncalled for! I didn't ask for these two strangers to move into our house. I didn't ask for you and Dad to divorce. And I didn't ask for Dad to be gay!” I stood up, pushing my chair back so hard it clattered to the floor. Then I put my face inches from
Stewart's. “If you so much as breathe a word to
anyone
at school about my dad, I will have you killed!”

“Okay, that is totally inappropriate,” Leonard began.

“Shut up, Leonard.”

“Ashley Eleanor Anderson,” said Mom. “I have never been so ashamed—”

“Welcome to the club!! I've never been so ashamed, either! I am counting the days till I can become unconstipated!!”

Mom looked puzzled. “What does that have to do with this? Do you need to eat more fiber?”

“No, the other meaning!” I shouted. “The one that means I can divorce my family!”

There was silence for a moment—then the little freakazoid started to laugh. He tried to stop. He put a hand over his mouth. But it was too late. I'd seen him do it.

“I think,” he said, “the word you're looking for is
emancipated
.”

I looked at each of them. They were all trying not to laugh. And I felt so angry and so humiliated because words, like a lot of other things, are not my strong point, and I needed all of them, especially Mom, to understand how upset I was. I needed them to see things from my point of view for a change, and instead it was all turning into a big joke.

“I hate you all,” I said. Then I walked out.

Mom followed me upstairs. She tried to talk to me using her calm voice. She said she was disappointed in my behavior. She said she was concerned that I hadn't told any of my friends the truth about Dad. She asked if I wanted to go
“talk to a professional,” like I'm a crazy person. But I was still angry, so I kept shouting, and eventually her calm voice was replaced by her exasperated voice. Just before she left my room, she announced that I wouldn't be getting my allowance this weekend.

There goes the H&M skirt.

PERCENTAGE-WISE,
I would give the rest of my week an average of 73. What follows is the daily breakdown.

I didn't have to worry about gym class, because every other day I have French, home ec, math, and business ed. Lucky for me, Jared isn't in any of my Day Two classes. Also lucky for me, Phoebe is in my business education class.

Unlucky for me, Ashley is in my math class.

I may not be the best reader of social cues, but when someone yells, “I hate you all,” it is pretty hard to misinterpret.
And as I told Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich on the phone late last night, Ashley still hates her own father a year and a half later, which tells me she's really good at holding a grudge. In fact, I told Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich all the gory details, even though Ashley threatened me with murder, because (1) I know that everything I say to her is protected by a little something called
doctor/patient confidentiality
, and (2) I figured it was good for an outside party to know about the threat, just in case Ashley ever follows through.

To be honest, Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich sounded tired. It was after eleven when I called her. Technically I'm not seeing her anymore, but when we moved, she gave me her home number in case of an emergency, and I felt that being threatened with assassination qualified.

“Try to see it from her perspective,” Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich said. “You and your dad were rather abruptly thrust upon her. She must feel like her whole world's been turned upside down.”

I confess that I don't like it when Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich takes someone else's side. “What about
my
world?” I asked. “
My
world's been like riding the Hellevator at the fair!”

Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich agreed and said some kind things, which made me feel better. So much better that I told her about Ashley saying she couldn't wait till she became “unconstipated.” It made me laugh all over again.

I think Dr. Elizabeth Moscovich wanted to laugh, too, but instead she said, “Now, Stewart, we've talked about this. Not everyone is intellectually gifted like you. Different people are smart in different ways.”

Maybe that's true, but I'm beginning to suspect that if you blew into one of Ashley's ears, the breeze would come right out the other side.

For example, after school on Tuesday I went into the family room to watch TV. Ashley was already there, watching some celebrity gossip show. She didn't look happy to see me, but I thought,
Tough. This is my house now, too
. So I sat in the purple-and-green chair and peeled off my socks. Schrödinger wandered in and jumped up onto my lap.

When a commercial came on, she muted the TV and asked, “Why did you give your cat such a dumb name?”

“It's not a dumb name. Schrödinger was a famous physicist. And he developed a thought experiment….” I stopped. “It's actually super-complicated.”

“So? You think I won't get it?”

Yes
, I thought. But all I said was, “Okay. Do you know about the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics?”

“The what of the what?”

“It basically says that matter on a microscopic level, like an atom, can be in two places at the same time—that is, until you
observe
the atom. Then it will just be in one place.”

Ashley yawned. “That's ridiculous. Nothing can be in two places at once.”

“Well, in one sense you're right. Because the theory doesn't work on a macroscopic level, meaning, everything we can see around us. Like, this chair I'm sitting in can't be in two places at once.”

“Thank God for that. One place is bad enough.”

“Anyway, Schrödinger wanted to challenge the Copenhagen interpretation. So he came up with this thought
experiment. You put a live cat into a box, along with a vial of poison and a radioactive substance. If even one atom of the radioactive stuff decays, a mechanism will trip a device that will break the vial and kill the cat. But before you open the box, you can't know if the cat is dead or alive, and if you subscribe to the Copenhagen theory, then you must believe that the cat is both dead
and
alive at the same time. Which Schrödinger was trying to point out was kind of ridiculous.”

Ashley's eyes had grown wide with horror. “That's total animal cruelty! Does PETA know about this?”

I took a deep breath. “I don't think PETA existed back then,” I explained patiently. “And it was a
thought
experiment. Meaning, he didn't really do it. He was just trying to point out the discrepancy between matter on a microscopic level and matter in our actual, observable world. It was meant as a discussion piece.” I pointed down at Schrödinger. “The experiment is known as Schrödinger's Cat.”

She stared at me blankly for a moment. Then her show came back on, and she unmuted the TV. Our conversation was officially over.

On Wednesday after lunch (which I ate under the stairwell), I had science with Phoebe again. It wasn't quite as fun, because her friend and lab partner, a girl named Violet, was back. “What did one quantum physicist say to another quantum physicist when he wanted to fight him?” I whispered to them near the end of class. “Let me atom!”

Phoebe snorted, but Violet just rolled her eyes. I don't think she appreciates my sense of humor.

Then I had phys ed. I am not proud of what I did, but as I had not yet figured out a solution to the Jared Conundrum, my options were limited. So I wrote a note.

Dear Mr. Stellar
,

Please excuse Stewart from gym class today. He has a doctor's appointment. It is nothing serious in case you were wondering. Just a wart
.

Sincerely, Leonard Inkster

My hand was shaking when I handed the note to Mr. Stellar before class, but he barely even glanced at it. “See you next time,” he said.

Then I left school and jogged home just so I could say I'd gotten some exercise.

When Dad and I took our nightly walk, I almost told him about the Jared Conundrum. Since Mom died, we've made a point of trying to tell each other everything. But when I looked at him under the glow of the streetlamps, I just couldn't do it. I knew it would make him sick with worry. I knew he'd get the school involved, or insist I go back to Little Genius Academy. And while it's hard for me to explain, I feel like I need to take care of this on my own, not just for my sake, but for my mom's.

So even though I avoided Jared, I could only give
Wednesday a 61 percent. I had to deduct points for (1) forging my dad's signature and (2) lying.

An average and uneventful day.

Today is a professional development day, so no school, which is a stroke of luck. I have three whole days to try to figure out the Jared Conundrum. And while I haven't done much except unpack the rest of my stuff and do homework, I have anticipatory excitement that immediately pushes today over 80 percent.

First, my dad and I are on our own tonight because Caroline is emceeing a fund-raiser/fashion show and she's taking Ashley. We are going to order a pizza and hang up my mom's big painting,
Mother and Child
. Afterward we're going to watch
E.T.
, which is only the best movie of all time.

And second, Alistair is coming over on Saturday and spending the night. It's going to be great. We're going to work on my bike, and later we're going to have an epic game of Stratego.

Best of all, if there's one person who's even better at problem-solving than I am, it's Alistair.

I can get his brain working on the Jared Conundrum, too.