“I hope so,” said Charlie.
“Well,” said Allie, “I guess so.”
“I know so,” said Izzy. “Maybe she will, maybe she won’t; both possibilities are equally likely. I think the friendly fifty percent possibility will win. You guys think the not-friendly fifty percent will win. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Allie and Charlie exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised.
When the girls reached Izzy’s house, Charlie and Allie waved goodbye and Izzy went inside. She could hear her two older brothers in the kitchen goofing around as usual. So she slid into the serene silence of her own room, where there was no one to disturb her solitude but her fat old cat, Wickins, who only opened one eye to greet her, and then went back to sleep.
Izzy’s room was a closet, really, with one small window and a skylight so Izzy could see the stars. Her bed was lofted up high, and her desk fit neatly in the space below. The ladder doubled as a bookshelf, her clothes fit in the desk drawers, and her ice hockey skates, backpack, and flute case hung on wall hooks. Izzy had long ago learned to take care of her possessions; anything left lying around the house was sure to be chucked between her brothers like a football and inevitably broken or lost.
As Izzy changed her clothes, she stared at a snapshot of Marie and herself that was taped to her bulletin board. Izzy thought she looked pretty much the same: wiry, with big eyes that matched her dark brown skin, a cloud of curly black hair, and a shy smile. She was shorter than Marie, who smiled at the camera with confidence. They were holding between them their third-grade science fair project, which was a balsa-wood airplane powered by rubber bands and balloons. Pinned to their shirts were the first-place ribbons they’d won. Izzy still had her ribbon. It was taped next to the photo, looking a little faded now in the narrow beam of sunlight that came in through her window.
Izzy’s flute always helped her concentrate, so she took it out and began to play. The soft silvery notes usually took her mind off her troubles—but not this time.
After a while, Granddad poked his head in the door. “Your flute sounds worried,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Too much,” said Izzy. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Start where you are,” said Granddad. “That’s usually best.” He sat at Izzy’s desk and looked at her intently. He was focused and ready to listen.
“Okay, then,” said Izzy. “Tomorrow is the first day of middle school, and I’m really worried.”
“That seems normal to me,” said Granddad.
Izzy laughed. Somehow, Granddad telling her it was okay to worry made her feel better—and oddly enough, less worried.
“Be specific,” said Granddad. Even though she was only 11 years old and not turning 12 until January, Granddad always spoke to Izzy in a very grown-up way, scientist to scientist. Izzy loved it. “What precisely are you worried about?” asked Granddad.
“Well, for starters, I’m worried that I’ll be sort of invisible because I’m so little and quiet,” said Izzy.
Granddad tilted his head. “You aren’t quiet all the time,” he said. “You talk up a storm with your friends, and I’ve heard you be as loud as your brothers, The Noise Boys. Listen to them in the kitchen now. They’re making pizza, a mess, and a racket.”
Granddad was right. Her brothers were drumming a reggae rhythm on the cooking pots and crashing lids together like cymbals.
“I mean I’m quiet with people I don’t know well,” said Izzy. “I’m nervous about meeting all the new people tomorrow.”
“Mm-hmm,” said Granddad. “With strangers you are quiet—on the outside, but your brain is whirring on the inside all the time. And just because you’re quiet doesn’t mean you have nothing to say. Quiet, introspective people have lots to contribute. You know that.”
Izzy nodded.
“And I know you, Izzy,” Granddad went on. “You feel just as passionately and you get just as excited as anybody; you just keep it inside and use it as energy, like an internal combustion engine, instead of exploding like fireworks. And you’re not always shy, either. If there’s something you’re determined about, you speak up. Remember the decision about Wickins?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Izzy, smiling. Her parents had been completely against getting a cat, but Izzy had set forth her arguments with such conviction that they had finally given in. Izzy picked Wickins up now and held him close so she could feel him purring.
“Anything else?” asked Granddad patiently.
Izzy sighed. “Marie is back from Paris. Allie, Charlie, and I haven’t heard from her in a long time, but back when she did send us some pictures, she looked really different—super grown-up. Allie and Charlie think she’s gotten so sophisticated and cool that she won’t want to be our friend anymore. I don’t want to believe that, but honestly I don’t know what to expect.”
“Now you’re entering the realm of pure speculation,” said Granddad. “You have no solid evidence and no firm facts. Valid conclusions can’t be drawn from insufficient data.”
“Well, yes,” said Izzy, “but if Marie does feel the way Allie and Charlie thinks she feels, then maybe she won’t want to be our friend. We won’t know how to act, and—”
Granddad held up his hands. “Stop,” he said. “Listen, Izzy. All scientific theory follows a rule called Occam’s razor. It’s a logical principle that states that you should not make more assumptions than the minimum needed. It means simplest is best. Don’t assume things are more complicated than they appear. You are breaking that rule now by making lots of baseless assumptions, which only leads to needless worry.” He stood up and hugged Izzy, saying, “So, meeting adjourned. Come on, Ms. Izzy. We better go to the kitchen and restore order before your brothers wreak more havoc. That we know is not a baseless assumption. It is a real possibility based on lots of past evidence and experience, right?”
“Right!” said Izzy. She put Wickins down, packed her flute away, and went off to help Granddad and the boys make dinner. As she did, she thought, I’ll have to remember that Occam’s razor thing: Don’t make assumptions. Don’t make things more complicated than they need to be. Maybe Marie is still the same old Marie. Maybe middle school will be okay!
The next morning, Wednesday, Izzy was so anxious about being late that she arrived at school much too early to expect to see Allie and Charlie. She pedaled her bike around the school grounds awhile to kill time. Atom Middle School was a scruffy two-story brick building that was long overdue for a renovation. Even from the outside, Izzy wondered how 900 sixth, seventh, and eighth graders could possibly fit inside. Plans had been drawn up to expand and modernize the school with up-to-date science labs, a library with all new computers, and state-of-the-art gyms. But funds hadn’t yet been allocated for the multimillion-dollar overhaul. Still, the more Izzy looked at it, the more she liked the old building. It was on a hill that sloped down to the playing fields. There were shops across the street and woods behind the building. From the parking lot, Izzy had a view of the lake. She really, really wished that she could rewind and have it be yesterday again, when she and Allie and Charlie were at the lake together. Her stomach was queasy, and even though it was a brisk, cool morning, her hands were sweaty on the bike handlebars.