Jazz laughed bitterly. “Come on, Nephele. Listen to yourself. We both know that going back in time won’t give your parents their memories back. And the saving-the-world thing is, I mean—I’m not saying I don’t buy that you mean it. It’s just—it’s a bit unrealistic, no? Admit it: You work because you love working. You love how it feels to solve a math problem more than you love…well, anything. You care about Dirk Angus more than you care about anyone in your life. Let alone the planet.”
A thought skidded into my brain way too fast.
“What do you mean, I can’t un-hurt my parents?”
“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’?”
“Of course I can fix them!” I said. “When I go back in time, we’ll be living in the same universe again. The past decade will never have happened. I’ll be fourteen, and my mother will know everything about me, and she won’t freeze every other day like I zapped her with a stun gun—”
“Give me a break, Fi. You cannot hurt people and un-hurt them. There’s no magic way to undo cruelty. Even if it was accidental. That’s not how it works. It’s never going to be.”
“That’s not how what works? Magic?”
“Life! Magic is an illusion. Hurting people is real!”
“Well—” My head felt light, like a crowded room that was suddenly empty. Was he right? About Mom and Dad? If I made it back in time, we’d be synced up again. I’d be the age I was supposed to be, and they’d be ten years younger. The photographs of my childhood should reappear, and my birth certificate. My parents would remember the day and year and hour and minute I was born.
But wouldn’t I still remember my first ten freshman years? And if I did, wouldn’t my parents still be missing ten years of shared experiences?
Wouldn’t they still have holes in their brains?
What an obvious question to overlook! Did I convince myself I could undo what I’d done because what I’d done was so awful?
But I didn’t mean to hurt anyone! And I definitely didn’t work only because I loved working. “Even if you’re right about my parents, Jeremiah—partially—that doesn’t mean I don’t care about people—”
“So you agree. You can’t un-drill the holes in your parents’ brains.”
“I mean—not—no. I mean yes, no, I guess. Not all of them. But I can go back and sync us up again and—”
“Do you care about people?”
“Of course!”
“Then quit now. Quit now before you hurt anyone else.”
“Jeremiah, no! I’m not quitting.”
“Why, Nephele? Why can’t you—”
“Because I care about scientific progress. Which benefits all of humanity. I do care about people! I’m not a monster!”
And for the first time in my life, I knew it was true.
I wasn’t a monster; I was a scientist. I was working so hard I could barely see sometimes, so hard I could barely sleep. Because I believed I was about to answer the time-travel question mathematically. That my years of work with Serrafin were about to pay off. I believed that writing these equations was my rightful fate.
“I’m sorry, Jeremiah,” I said. “But there is absolutely no way I’m giving up.”
Jazz didn’t look at me as he said, “This is it with us,” and left my bedroom. I heard him race downstairs and call “Good night!” to Mom and Dad. The house shook when the front door slammed.
I went to my window and watched him ride downhill and disappear into the fog.
For two and a half months, I didn’t see or hear from Jazz. I split my summer between hanging out on the beach with Airika and coding Dirk Angus 10.0 in my bedroom, alone. Without Airika, the summer would’ve felt as lonely as the old days—with one difference.
I knew I wasn’t a monster. And when I went back in time, I would take that knowledge with me.
Airika and I also saw a lot of Rex’s new boyfriend, Lincoln. They’d met at some bike derby Rex and Jazz had gone to down the coast. Lincoln was taller than Rex, and half his head was shaved, and he wore a clunky chain that connected his wallet to his belt. Whenever he looked down at Rex, Rex smiled a smile I’d never seen before. A smile that made me ache for Jeremiah.
But I kept working. And by the time August was over, I’d finished the code for Dirk Angus 10.0.
Two nights before my eleventh first day of high school, I was lying in bed, wishing I didn’t have to go. I’d forgiven Vera and I didn’t need to reinvent my friendship with Wylie Buford Zuluti. The thought of seeing Mrs. Saint Johnabelle again was sort of nice, but sort of…I didn’t know what. Grim, or goth, or something.
Honestly?
I wished my childhood was over.
But that wasn’t my rightful fate.
This was.
Soon I’d be the world’s first time traveler and the rock-star mathematician I was born to be. My experiment would finally be complete.
There would be a few fun things about going back. Being photographable again, for instance. I planned to take pictures, tons of pictures of my parents and me going through time together. To do what Clyde Watkins had said, and take our best shots before our moment was gone. Would it be aggressively weird to hang a framed copy of my birth certificate on my bedroom wall? Definitely. I was going to do that, too.
And I was going to lose Rex, Airika and Jazz.
I curled up under my star quilt and tried to reassure myself that I was doing the right thing. That every choice had its consequences, and this was the best choice I could make. Still, I felt miserable. I didn’t want to harm anyone, but I was going to. Lead my friends to the river of Lies and force them to drink. I couldn’t figure out how to avoid it.
Something else was also bothering me. The thing that had hurt most about the end of my friendship with Vera—well, all of it had hurt, but the thing that had been the hardest to digest was the part where she never said goodbye. How hard would it have been, I used to think, to just say it? Goodbye, Nephele. Goodbye.
The answer was, it was hard. I’d been putting it off all summer.
I picked up my phone and checked the time. It wasn’t too late to call Jazz.
He didn’t answer. I left him a voicemail.
“Hey, Jeremiah, it’s me. I hope you’re doing well. And Mo and Eva. Will you listen to this message? I hope so. So…yeah. Rex told me about your new tires. They sound epic….Okay, I wanted to say thank you for helping me with my timeship. And also, thank you for being…I don’t know. And also…Okay, don’t hang up. I want you to understand why I’m doing this, even if you don’t agree. All summer, Jeremiah, I’ve missed you. Everything about you. But what’s even harder than missing you is knowing that you think that I’m some selfish….I don’t know. I don’t expect you to understand what this experiment means to me. You’re right, in a way. My time machine was a selfish idea when I started. Doing freshman year over was only supposed to benefit me. And you’re right that I can’t un-hurt my parents entirely. But it’s not all about me anymore. I mean—yes. I love math. I love science. But, Jeremiah, you know—”
The wind made my quasar drawings flutter. I hoped he would listen to this.
“It isn’t only destructive things, like the atom bomb, that happen when scientists turn their ideas into reality. It’s vaccines. Sanitation. Electricity. The printing press. Radio. Telephones. Photography. Satellites. Cars. And maybe, just maybe, time travel.”
I needed to wrap this up. I didn’t want to get cut off, and I hadn’t said what I needed to say.
“Listen, I don’t even know if Dirk Angus 10.0 will work. You thought something was missing, and maybe you’re right. Cutting the knots and folding time in a new way will change everything. Maybe I’ll fail. But this is it. My deadline. This is the best I could do. So, the last thing I wanted to say is—did I say this already? Thank you, Jeremiah. I’m so glad we met. I�
�m gonna miss you. So much. And also…in Greek mythology, there’s this river called Mnemosyne. Mnemosyne was a Titan, actually. She was the mother of the Muses. Including Calliope, the Muse of epic poetry. I mean, you probably know that epic poetry has its own Muse. I didn’t. And, um, I just wanted to mention that…because it made me think of you. Because poetry. I mean, you should look it up. So…goodbye, Jazz. I’ll never forget you. Bye.”
* * *
—
The next morning, the doorbell woke me up. I sprinted downstairs in my pajamas, thinking IknewitIknewitIknewit. He wouldn’t let me leave without saying goodbye. I beat Mom to the door and opened it.
Airika was wearing a yellow hoodie and shiny leggings. “Last day of freedom!” she said. Rex was standing beside her. I leaned out the door to see if Jazz was behind them.
“He isn’t here,” said Rex, whose arms were tan and glossy.
It dawned on me that Rex’s biceps were huge. “Dude,” I said. “Have you been working out?”
“People do things,” said Rex. “Wanna get doughnuts?”
I sighed. I still couldn’t believe they weren’t Jazz. “Sure,” I said. “Where are your bikes?”
“Rex made us walk,” said Airika. “His true love Lincoln loves walking, so now he acts like he does, too.”
Rex said, “Leave me alone.”
Sometimes Rex and Airika really did seem like brother and sister. I went upstairs to get dressed.
* * *
—
As we walked down the hill together in the crisp August air, Rex and Airika kept bickering about nothing. I wondered what it would be like to grow up with someone. The closest thing I’d ever have to a sibling was friends, and I was about to leave mine behind.
A dried frond from a palm tree was lying on the sidewalk. It reminded me of a dinosaur’s rib cage. We stepped into the street to walk around it.
The more we walked, the worse I felt. I felt like an old version of myself. The version who was nervous and lonely, and never got anything right.
Finally I broke down and asked what I wanted to know. “How’s Jeremiah?”
“He’s been hanging out at his cousin’s new space,” said Rex. “Eva’s surf shop is gonna be gnarly.”
“Sophomore year will be torture for you two, forced to tangle with the wreckage of your love every single day,” said Airika.
“Jazz will forget me sooner than you think,” I said.
Rex said, “Don’t count on it.”
Where Highway 1 met Main Street, I noticed a small black lizard sunbathing on a rock. It lifted its lizardy chin and looked around with its big yellow eyes. Another creature trying so hard to see more than it ever could.
Rex and Airika turned onto Main Street. I hesitated. I needed to say goodbye to them right now. The longer I waited, the more difficult it would be. I said, “You guys, I have some stuff to do before school starts. I should skip doughnuts.”
“Really?” said Airika.
I nodded, but couldn’t look in her eyes.
“See you tomorrow, Fi,” said Rex, giving me a rare smile.
When I hugged Rex, an epic wave of feelings washed through me. Rex was the kind of person you wanted around keeping an eye on things, even if you didn’t always like what he saw. When I finally let him go, he said, “You’re sad about Jazz, huh?”
“Something like that,” I said.
Then I turned to Airika and found myself clinging to another true friend who was about to disappear.
“See you tomorrow!” she said, and I tried to smile as I said, “Goodbye, guys.”
I watched them head for the doughnut shop. Then I went to the Big Blue Wave.
* * *
—
I leaned against the blood-red wall.
“Are you ready?” asked Chicago.
“I guess so,” I said.
“You’re gonna make it,” she said.
“I think so, too,” I said. “But somehow, this moment doesn’t feel quite as amazing as I thought it would.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” said Chicago. “That app almost drove you insane.”
“It did?”
The photograph didn’t respond.
“I guess it kind of did.”
“The experiment changed you,” said Chicago. “That was the point, wasn’t it?”
I stood up straight. “Part of it.”
“See you tomorrow,” she said.
I said, “Unless you don’t.”
Chicago was silent, which I found unnerving. But I blew her a kiss and said, “Goodbye, Chicago.”
She sang, “You say goodbye, and I say hello.”
Which is the chorus of a Beatles song. That was unexpected. It’s an upbeat tune. Fun and perky, not depressing and failure-y. It made me think that if I looped again, I’d be in, you know, agony, but Chicago would be here to say hello. That was comforting.
I’d never figured out who Chicago was exactly, but she’d always been just a little bit smarter than me. I hummed the melody feeling almost better as I clomped downstairs and took the long way home.
* * *
—
To kill time until Mom and Dad went to bed, I decided to clean the Lab. I hoped cleaning would prepare me for the moment Jeremiah disappeared from my life forever. Instead I felt weak, lost in memories of making discoveries together. I couldn’t throw away a single sticky note.
When it was dark, Mom called, “Nephele!”
“I’m skipping dinner,” I yelled, clutching my writhing stomach, willing it to calm down.
“You have a guest!” yelled Mom.
I stopped breathing. “Who?”
“Let’s stop yelling! You first!”
I went to the top of the stairs. Jazz was sitting backward on a chair at the green table, picking at a bowl of olives. When he looked up, I almost called the whole thing off.
Almost.
* * *
—
Jeremiah was standing in the middle of my bedroom wearing a black-and-blue-striped sweater that was unraveling at the bottom, the blue suede shoes and orange jeans. He hadn’t said anything yet. I decided to go first. “I’m glad you came over, J.J.”
He didn’t respond. Should I say, Because I love ya? No. Not that, definitely. I took a deep breath and zipped my hoodie to the top.
Jazz raised his eyebrow and looked at my desk, where my phone was resting beside my lamp. Then he looked directly at me without smiling. “So last night I read in a coding book that one definition of intelligence is unpredictability. Computer programs can’t spontaneously decide to do things and then do them. If they could, they’d be intelligent. Not artificially intelligent—actually intelligent.”
I said, “Why are you still reading coding books?”
Jazz started to pace. “Naturally, intelligence made me think about magicians. Magic tricks don’t perform themselves. Magicians pull off illusions by using their intelligence to distract the audience from following the mechanics of a trick. Without the element of surprise, the audience is too smart to be fooled. If they’re watching closely, anyway. Good magicians are intelligent. But great magicians have soul.”
He really was just starting midstream tonight, wasn’t he? I was going to have to stop watching his lips move and focus. I sighed.
“Okay, okay, hang on. So—soul. Meaning…?”
“Great magicians can make anyone believe anything. Or, at least, can make them want to. They can take an audience into their arms and dance.”
When Jazz stopped pacing, he was within touching distance. His eyes were the same shade of violet-blue as the sunset through the window behind him.
“Fi,” he said. “I know what’s missing from Dirk Angus.”
“You do?”
“Your timeship needs to
be unpredictable.”
I had no idea what that meant. But he was looking at me like I should know. I said, “I’m sorry. I’ve hardly slept all summer. Are you saying that I need to be more intelligent?”
“Not you.” His voice was intense. “Dirk Angus. Dirk Angus needs to use its intelligence like a magician and dance with its audience. Which is the universe. Your timeship has to surprise the universe, and make it want to believe. Then it can pull off its trick. Which is time travel.”
My brain felt like a wet washcloth. All I wanted to do was bury my face in Jeremiah’s striped, sweatered shoulder. I looked around for something that was not a boy to hold on to. What did I want? Something solid and comforting. A burrito.
“Fi, I’m telling you that your timeship needs a soul.”
“A—what?”
“You haven’t been inventing a time machine, Nephele. I mean, you have. But you’re also doing something bigger.”
“Um, not really—”
“Of course you are! All along, you’ve been using artificial intelligence to teach Dirk Angus how to make choices—”
“Yes, but I wasn’t using artificial intelligence to invent a droid. To create Dirk Angus, my buddy the robot.”
Jazz pointed at me. “You’ve turned your smartphone into the most powerful decentralized quantum supercomputer in the history of the world. But more and more, I’ve been wondering—do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
If I ever died, that question would be my epitaph. Nephele Weather: Did she have any idea what she was doing?
“Not entirely,” I said. “But in my defense, nobody does. Scientists hate to admit it, but even our most sophisticated understanding of the universe contains a mysterious gap.”
“Listen, Fi. I read Coding for Doofus-y Ding-Dongs like five times. Bazillions of people are working on artificial intelligence, as you know. But nobody has figured out how to give a computer a soul so that it can be itself out in the world. That’s you, Fi. That’s your rightful place in history.”
Time Travel for Love and Profit Page 21