Advance praise for
“I needed this book when I was a kid, and a younger me is definitely reading it in some other timeline. Thanks to the Traveler who brought me that copy.”
—William Alexander, National Book Award-winning author of Goblin Secrets
“This novel will stretch both your brain and your heart at the same time. Find the thread and jump in. You’ll be so glad that you did.”
—Kathi Appelt, author of more than forty books,including Angel Thieves and 2013 National Book Award Finalist The True Blue Scouts of Sugar Man Swamp
“This is an incredible book, no matter which universe you’re in. I couldn’t put it down. One of my favorite debut novels of the year.”
—Erin Entrada Kelly, New York Times bestselling author
and 2018 Newbery Medal winner
“Truly stellar! I cared so deeply for Finn that I too traveled in time and space and arrived back home changed. A Time Traveler’s Theory of Relativity is everything I want in a book: suspense, surprises, wisdom, and heart. I will be talking about this gem for a long time.”
—Jennifer Jacobson, author of The Dollar Kids, Paper Things, and Small as an Elephant
“A Time Traveler’s Theory of Relativity is a first-rate adventure featuring characters as fully dimensional as the spheres within which they travel and as nuanced as the shifting light through forest trees. Nicole Valentine writes with the deepest understanding not just of science and the possibility of magic, but of the enduring power of love—lessons readers will absorb with ease while rooting for the intrepid Finn.”
—Beth Kephart, author of more than twenty books, including Wild Blues
“I can’t get enough of all the potential ramifications of A Time Traveler’s Theory of Relativity ! Nicole Valentine has taken two knotty subjects and woven them together in an excellent adventure that pulls at the heart as much as the mind. Finn and all his complex family (families?!) have so many stories to tell, and I’m wishing them well on their adventures!”
—Fran Wilde, award-winning author of The Bone Universe series and Riverland
Text copyright © 2019 by Nicole Valentine
Illustrations copyright © 2019 by Alice Brereton
All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.
Carolrhoda Books®
An Imprint of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.
241 First Avenue North
Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA
For reading levels and more information, look up this title at www.lernerbooks.com.
Cover Font Credit: Julia Henze/Shutterstock.com.
Designed by Lindsey Owens.
Main body text set in Bembo Std regular 12.5/17.
Typeface provided by Monotype Typography.
The illustrations in this book were created Photoshop CC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Valentine, Nicole, author.
Title: A time traveler’s theory of relativity / by Nicole Valentine.
Description: Minneapolis, MN : Carolrhoda Books, [2019] | Days before his thirteenth birthday, science-lover Finn learns that the women of his family are time travelers and he is expected to help locate his missing mother.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018042054 (print) | LCCN 2018049430 (ebook) | ISBN 9781541561076 (eb pdf) | ISBN 9781541555389 (lb : alk. paper)
Subjects: | CYAC: Time travel—Fiction. | Supernatural—Fiction. | Secrets—Fiction. | Missing persons—Fiction. | Family life—Vermont—Fiction. | Vermont—Fiction. | Science fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.V337 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.V337 Tim 2019 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018042054
Manufactured in the United States of America
1-45998-42839-2/26/2019
For Lex, who makes me remember the past with new eyes.
For David, who always sees the past, present, and future with me.
We lie to ourselves when necessary. Some of us are more convincing than others. My family has always been particularly good at it. You see, we deliver our lies in person. One moment you’re minding your own business and the next you’re staring into your own earnest eyes, persuading yourself to do this or that. It’s hard to remain objective when you are face to face with your own reflection. And if you can’t trust the one person who should have your own best interests at heart, who can you trust?
There I go jumping ahead again, or was it backwards? No, it was most certainly ahead.
The end is always the best place to start.
I am dying. This old body is finally breaking down. Oh, don’t waste your precious time being sad on my account. I’ve been given more than my fair share of days in this world. And I trust this old crone I’ve become. I may not like her, but I trust her. All my mistakes are laid out in front of me, plainly seen. Old age has given me that bitter gift, among several others.
I’ve made things right when I could, even moved a mountain or two when necessary.
But this story isn’t about me, not really. It’s about Finn. If I succeed, he will have his own future, his own story to tell.
Hopefully he will make things right where I couldn’t, because if he doesn’t—well, that changes everything . . .
and nothing.
Chapter 1
Finnegan Firth slid out of his bedroom window and padded on bare feet across the cold slate patio. He needed to check the mailbox quickly, before Dad’s morning alarm went off. Dorset’s Lower Hollow Road was the first stop on Mr. Booth’s mail delivery route, so the earlier the better. He approached the end of the long, curved driveway and stared down his tin nemesis.
Finn pulled the small door from its latch and was met with a familiar screech of metal separating from metal. Nothing. The box was the same black hole it had been for the past three weeks.
He was not surprised. This disheartening routine had become his new normal.
He stood there on the desolate road, listening to the whisper of the first leaves falling, and wondering if he’d be doing this forever. He couldn’t stop himself from hoping, even when all the available data proved he should.
If someone had told him that Mom would leave right before his thirteenth birthday, he would’ve said it was highly improbable. She and Dad had been arguing more than usual, but there’d been no hint that things were that bad. She’d left without leaving a note. She hadn’t texted, called, or even emailed since. Finn had tried calling her cell more than once and it always went straight to voicemail. He didn’t have the heart to leave any messages lately.
Dad was sticking to the same refrain: she would be back, she just needed time. But as the weeks dragged on, Dad had become more distant than ever. Professor Firth was not an easy man to read, but Finn thought he detected a note of despair creeping into his father’s measured responses.
Dad hadn’t even mentioned his birthday to him yet. Watch him forget, Finn thought darkly.
It wasn’t like his birthday was ever a true celebration. In fact he secretly dreaded the whole month of October. It made everyone silent and heavy with gravity. A cloud of smoke-colored grief hung over every birthday cake he could remember. This year he’d be thirteen—while Faith remained three forever.
Thirteen should feel momentous; it should feel like the beginning of a whole new universe. It
should start with a big bang. Instead, thirteen was going to be the saddest year yet. Finn was the lopsided remainder in an unbalanced equation, the unstable particle. Always the boy left behind.
He trudged back up the driveway and behind the house. Even the moon wasn’t there for him. He was too late. It was already hidden behind the mountain. A few early morning stars remained, twinkling in commiseration. He climbed through his window, pulling the sash down quietly till the rubber insulation met and sealed him inside.
°°°
“Finn, you’d better be packing!” Dad yelled from the living room.
“I AM!”
Finn stood in front of the bookshelf, scanning the spines and doing the math. He figured a three-day weekend at Gran’s house meant he’d need four books minimum. It wasn’t easy to choose which ones to reread. He had gotten pretty close to recreating all of Feynman’s original Caltech diagrams, but that project was beginning to lose its appeal.
Dad staggered past the open door carrying a large suitcase. “Finn! No daydreaming. You always do this—” He stopped himself. Lately, everything Dad said to him was cut off mid-sentence. “I’m late enough as it is.”
Finn bristled. Anyone could see this wasn’t daydreaming. It was deliberating. He and Dad had never lived on the same wavelength, but the disconnect between them had gotten worse since Mom left. Mom understood him. She liked to hear about what he discovered in his science journals. At least, that’s what he’d always believed.
What if his birthday came and went and he still heard nothing from Mom? Maybe being around him had finally become too hard for her. Maybe he was why she left. After all, his very existence was a constant reminder of what she’d lost.
He packed five books to be on the safe side. Carl Sagan was already in his backpack, along with his tablet, which held at least ten articles he’d downloaded from various scientific journals. He’d bring the diagram notebook, too, just in case.
°°°
Dad’s car rushed through Dorset’s narrow backroads. The patches of dry leaves burst into autumn confetti outside Finn’s window. He leaned his forehead against the glass and let out a deep sigh, fogging it up and muting the riot of color outside.
“It’s not fair.” Even Finn winced at the sound of his voice—like a little kid’s whine. But really, why did a man “taking a leave of absence to spend quality time with his son” still have so much work?
“Come on,” said Dad, “it’s only till Monday. And you love Gran.”
“Of course I love Gran.”
“Would you prefer I drop you off with one of your great-aunts instead? They’re only another five minutes down the road.”
He was joking. No parent—even highly disconnected, oblivious Dad—would subject a kid to either one of Gran’s sisters. Aunt Ev would vacillate between forgetting Finn was alive and talking his ears off, while Aunt Billie was a nightmare of angles: all elbows, knuckles, and knees topped off with a sharp tongue. Finn had never once seen that woman smile. If it weren’t for the nasty comments that sometimes escaped her pursed lips, he would swear they were sewn together.
“I just want to be home, in my own room. Why can’t I stay home? I’m old enough.”
“No you’re not. Twelve is—”
“I’ll be thirteen next week.”
“I know that, Finn. You think I don’t know your birthday?”
Finn didn’t bother to answer. He watched the wind whip up a miniature cyclone of leaves. Mom used to call them whirligigs.
“If it gets dull you can call Gabi to come over and visit. Gran would love that.”
Right. Sure. Like Gabi wouldn’t already have plans with all her new friends. No point in telling Dad that he’d actually messaged Gabi last night to ask if she could hang out this weekend. Usually they’d spend hours texting or chatting online—Finn summarizing articles he’d read, Gabi launching into detailed fantasy book reviews. Lately, though, the exchanges had mostly consisted of Gabi asking if he’d heard from his mom or gotten any more information out of his dad. It was getting on Finn’s nerves. Gabi was under the mistaken impression that all you needed to do was ask a question. Maybe that was how it was with New York families like the Rands, but it sure didn’t work that way in his.
Last night Gabi had responded to his message with a confusing non sequitur. He had spent a minute trying to decipher her meaning until she typed, “OOPS! wrong window ☻” She never came back.
Finn looked at Dad, who had both hands on the wheel and both eyes on the road ahead. “I want to stay home.”
“No deal. You’re still too young and Gran is getting old. This way, I know you’re taking care of each other.”
“Well, that’s convenient for you. Split two atoms with one neutron.”
Dad ignored his sarcasm. “Did you pack the groceries she asked you to get?”
Finn pulled Gran’s shopping list out of his pocket. There were only three small things on the list. He flipped over the paper to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Last time he forgot her Sunday pound cake, and she made him pay for it with a humiliating game of Scrabble. Gran had memorized every high-scoring two-letter word in the English language. She knew a few four-letter ones pretty well, too. Finn learned a lot of vocabulary from Gran. He smiled to himself. The weekend wouldn’t be all bad.
“Yeah. It’s all in my backpack.”
“You somehow found room next to Feynman’s entire life’s work?”
He didn’t want any part of Dad’s mocking today—wasn’t going to play the history is more important than science game. Dad studied what had already happened; Finn studied what was possible.
“Can’t this trip wait?”
“No, you know it can’t.” He didn’t look at Finn, kept his eyes on the road. “I need to get this paper done and the research reserve is available now at Widener.”
“You teach history. I’m pretty sure all the facts will be the same next month.”
Dad didn’t have an answer for that. Finn’s mouth screwed up into a painful twist as he bit the inside of his cheek. He kept staring out the window, focusing first on his reflection in the side mirror and then the road behind him. Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.
They were approaching the turn onto Lower Dorset. Finn didn’t have much time left. He decided to come out and say it.
“Are you even worried about Mom?”
Dad took a sharp breath. His knuckles became whiter as his hands gripped the steering wheel harder. “Yes, of course!”
“Then why are you doing work? Why aren’t you trying to find her and get her to come home?”
“Leave it to me, Finn. Please.”
“Has she called?”
“No . . . I’d tell you if she did.”
“Then how do you even know she’s okay?”
“Look,” Dad sighed, clearly out of patience, “Gran says—”
Finn sat up straight. “Gran’s heard from her?”
Dad shook his head. “No—no. She knows the way your Mom thinks. That’s all.”
“What did Gran say?”
“Finn, let’s not do this now.”
Normally, he’d keep pressing, but they were coming up to Gran’s house. He let it drop. Maybe he’d get more out of her.
The tires rumbled on the gravel driveway. Finn instinctively glanced over at Dorset Peak’s trailhead, behind Gran’s house, to see if there were any cars parked on the road. There were none today.
“Good thing no one is up there,” Dad said. His tone held that hopeful change-of-subject cheer that Finn knew all too well. “They say the storm tonight is going to be a big one. No one wants to be stuck on the mountain in that.” Neither of them mentioned that it was Mom who’d started that habit of checking the trail. She was always concerned for the inexperienced hikers who might misjudge the weather or sunset.
Finn was pulling his stuff together when he realized Dad hadn’t turned off the engine or made any move to exit the car.
“You�
��re not even coming in?”
“No, I already told Gran on the phone. I have a long drive and I have to stay ahead of the storm.” Finn was silent, and Dad finally met his gaze. “C’mon, Finn, don’t look at me like that.”
Finn grabbed his backpack and slammed the door as hard as he could. He wrestled his bike out of the trunk on his own. As he stomped up the walkway he heard the car pull out of the driveway. He didn’t turn to wave right away and when he finally did, Dad was already down the road and out of sight. Everyone wanted to get away from him as fast as they could.
Finn stood for a moment surveying Gran’s expansive yard. Even the trees looked tired of Vermont’s extended summer. The air was humid. He hated this kind of weather. It felt as if all the oxygen had left the atmosphere. A cold front was supposed to arrive tonight. Finn couldn’t wait.
He was reaching for the door when it opened from the inside—though only a few inches, just enough for Gran’s wizened face to peek out. Her gray hair was uncharacteristically frizzing out in all directions, and Finn couldn’t decide whether she hadn’t slept in days or had just woken up.
“Finn! I’m not quite ready for you . . .” She looked behind her for a moment at a scene Finn could only guess at from his vantage point. “Um—I know! Why don’t you bike over to Gabi’s first and then come back here?”
“Gran, what’s there to be ready for? It’s only me.” Finn put one hand on the door and started to step forward.
She slammed the door shut. He nearly fell backward down the slate steps.
“I’m sorry, Finn.” Her voice came muffled from behind the thick wooden door. “Come back in an hour. Or two! Yes! Make it two!”
“Gran, are you okay?”
“Fine. Fine. Two hours, dear.”
“What about your groceries?”
“Leave them on the steps. I’ll get them. Thank you! Now go on, I’ll be ready for you later.”
Finn pressed his ear to the door and heard Gran speaking in low tones. He had a fleeting thought that maybe he was ruining an early birthday surprise she’d planned for him, but that seemed unlikely. Finn had not had a real birthday party since he was three.
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