I stop and try to press one of his enormous cowlicks down on the side of his head. It springs back like a hydra—messier, angrier. “Let’s see if I survive this time.”
A grin spreads across his face. “That’s not a no . . .”
I laugh, and give him a little push so I can get to the doorknob. “I’ll think about it. Just don’t tell Mom and Dad.”
“What are you doing today?”
“First, Advil. Then, a shower. I haven’t allowed myself to dream beyond that.”
Will smiles as I step into the hall. “Brush your teeth,” he whispers. “You smell like the bar at Don Chilitos.”
I try to punch him in the arm, but he dodges and swings the door closed. Off balance, I stumble gently into the Wall of Fame, narrowly avoiding a collision with a picture of me and Ben. We are in second grade, standing in the front yard, soaking wet. I am wearing a red swimsuit with white polka dots. Ben has on little board shorts covered in cartoon monkeys. I should text him to say thank you for getting me home, but back in my bedroom my fingers pause over the screen, and I toss the phone on my bed. Something about that shot of us in the hall changes my mind. If I can rally after my shower, I’ll go over to his house and offer my gratitude in person.
Still smiling about the picture, I gulp down three ibuprofen, holding my hair out of the sink and slurping straight from the tap. We were playing “rainstorm on the beach” the day that shot was taken. Mom had put the sprinkler next to the sandbox, and Ben tried to explain what it felt like when the surf boils over your toes.
Stepping into a steaming shower, I remember the question I asked him that day. Can you see all the way to the other side?
He answered me with wide blue eyes and awe in his voice.
There’s only one side. The waves go on forever.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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three
IOWA WAS ONCE an ocean.
Sounds crazy, I know, but it’s true. Three hundred and seventy-five million years ago, there were no cornfields. Only a large, shallow sea filled with trilobites and mud worms and prehistoric fish, all splashing around in the soup, trying to turn their fins into legs—probably so they could walk to California before the ice age hit.
After surviving this winter, I understand that urge. Sometimes we have snow in March, but today the sun is warm on my face, and I’m glad I’m walking over to Ben’s instead of driving. It’ll take twenty minutes, and after this year’s deep freeze, the last week of upper sixties has felt like a heat wave. It’s supposed to be seventy-one degrees this afternoon—practically bikini weather. I want to soak up every ray I can. Turning the corner at the end of our block, I stare up the gentle slope of Oaklawn Avenue and try to imagine my landlocked farm town as an ancient tropical paradise.
Mr. Johnston explained all of this last fall, the very first week of geology. Rachel’s hand flew up as soon as he said the words Devonian Era. I knew what was coming before she opened her mouth. She’s my best friend, but a true forward: aggressive on the field and off. The only things Rachel loves more than scoring are the fight to get the ball, and her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
“Isn’t it true that this is all just a theory, Mr. Johnston?”
“Just a theory?”
“This whole three hundred and seventy-five million years ago thing. I mean, no one was around to see that. There’s no proof.”
Mr. Johnston turned thirty on the first day of school. I always forget how crystal clear his green eyes are until he pulls off his funky horn-rimmed glasses, which he did right then.
“Is that the point of science?” he asked Rachel. “Proof?”
“Well, yeah,” she said. “Isn’t that why we observe stuff? To prove theories are right or wrong? That’s why all this evolution stuff is just a theory. Because you can’t observe when the world began, so you can’t prove it.”
“There’s no such thing as a ‘proof’ in science,” Mr. Johnston said, and put his glasses back on. “You can have a proof in math or in logic, but not in science. Anybody tell me why?”
Lindsey Chen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and raised her hand. She’s a defender on the field, always a surprise to the opposing team. They write her off as a “little Asian girl” and are unprepared for her to be both fleet and fierce.
“Yes, Miss Chen?”
“Math and logic are closed systems. Like in algebra, there’s only one possible answer to a problem. You solve for x.”
Mr. Johnston nodded. “Exactly. There’s no such thing as ‘proving’ something true or false with science. It all comes down to what we mean when we use that word ‘theory.’”
He asked who could tell him the difference between a scientific theory and what most people mean when they say theory. Mr. Johnston pointed toward the back, and I swiveled around in surprise when I heard Ben’s voice.