Well, he was a photographer, but he didn’t make things from nothing, from the inside of his mysterious head. The way Jack did. The way Jack was doing right now.
His concentration was so complete, so beautiful, she couldn’t interrupt it. Also, she felt shy.
Instead of talking to him, she went downstairs and walked with EllaBella down to the lake. It was nice to have the dog for company.
* * *
—
Two days after Adelaide met Jack, philosophers began creeping onto campus. There were signs posted on noticeboards in nearly every building hallway. They read “Welcome to the Illogic of the Multiverse, a Philosophy Intensive.”
Alabaster Preparatory Academy didn’t run summer programs. It rented its facilities out for groups. College students were coming for a six-week summer program about, apparently, the multiverse. The flyers announced course locations, meeting schedules, film series, and panel discussions.
The philosophers lugged duffel bags and coffeemakers. They were only nineteen or twenty years old, but they all had the serious look of people who choose to spend their summer off from college doing more college. Some faculty arrived too, professorial types with black adult suitcases on rollers, sweating in the heat as they lugged their bags upstairs.
Adelaide was buying a Diet Coke at the vending machine when a philosopher stopped to ask questions. She was a willowy young woman, maybe twenty, with brown skin and very thick dark hair that looked like it had been straightened. She was dressed all in black—a menswear jacket, black jeans, black T-shirt—with brightly colored running shoes on her feet. She asked for directions to the campus gymnasium, and then to the post office.
They got to talking. Her name was Perla Izad. She was a student at Wash U in St. Louis, studying philosophy of mind—“Perception. Mental function. Consciousness. That kind of thing.” She had plantar fasciitis. She didn’t have a boyfriend. Well, not anymore. Did the gymnasium have a pool? Was there a bar nearby?
Yes. And Adelaide didn’t know.
How was the cafeteria food?
There was unlimited ranch dressing.
Where did Adelaide want to go to college?
Ugh. A touchy subject.
Was she interested in philosophy?
Maybe. Adelaide didn’t know.
Perla explained multiverse this way: “It’s a beautiful day, right?”
“Right.”
“And we can agree upon this true statement: It’s not raining. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“Well. That statement implies that sometimes, in our world, it does rain. Right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And we can also say truthfully: It isn’t raining blobs of peach Jell-O today.”
“Yup.”
“Okay, then what we have implied is, It could have rained blobs of peach Jell-O, yeah? And even though there is obviously no way it rains blobs of Jell-O in our world, the fact that we can say it at all implies the existence of parallel universes where it does rain peach Jell-O, other possible worlds,” said Perla. “There’s got to be another possible world for every way that our world might have been but isn’t. That’s what our symposium is on. It’s an idea from this guy David Lewis,” she explained. “It’s controversial. But whatever. Everything in philosophy is controversial.”
Then she asked whether there was a sauna. And whether there was air-conditioning in the library. And did Adelaide want to go to a party? Because Perla was going to a party that night.
“What kind of party?”
“A philosophy party. Kicking off the intensive.” It was at the home of Martin Schlegel, a classics teacher at Alabaster. Perla had been promised “a cheese plate of surpassing beauty” by someone who knew what was up with the catering. “I’m nervous,” she said. “About the party. Is my hair all right? I hate humidity.”
“Your hair is spectacular.”
“It’s not the kind of party where I relax and act like my real self. It’s the kind of party where I watch my alcohol intake and try to talk to professors.”
“That doesn’t sound like a party at all.”
“The food will be good. You should come,” Perla said. “It’ll be nice to have a friendly face there.”
Adelaide said yes. There wasn’t anything else to do, and she wanted to stop thinking about Mikey Double L.
Also, she was flattered that an actual college woman would notice her. Even someone as desperate as Perla.
* * *
—
They met up that evening in front of Wren Hall, Adelaide’s old dormitory. Perla was holding a paper map of the campus and carrying her jacket, which was too warm for the heat of the evening.
They walked past the chapel, through an avenue of trees, and through the brick gateway that marked the edge of the campus. Two blocks later, they arrived at Mr. Schlegel’s. Adelaide had never had him for class, since he taught Greek, but her father had become friendly with him. Maybe not actual friends, but she knew Levi had invited Schlegel and Kaspian-Lee to his home for dinner.
The downstairs of the house was jam-packed with people. They were standing on the porch, sitting on the railing and in the porch swing, leaning forward and gesticulating with their hands. They talked low and intensely, without the squeals or big laughs that Adelaide thought of as the noise of parties.
B-Cake was tied by her leash to a post. She lay sleeping on the lawn, her belly exposed.
“I know that dog,” Adelaide said to Perla. She bent down and stroked B-Cake’s awkward pink belly. The dog lifted her head slightly. Oh, it’s you, B-Cake said. Yeah, I thought you might be at this party.
They went inside. Perla disappeared immediately into the crowd. Adelaide got trapped in the foyer by Sunny Kaspian-Lee.
The teacher wore a large navy garment that was more triangular than dress-shaped, tiny white socks, and brown men’s oxfords. Her black hair was cut sharp at the chin. There were lines in her forehead. She was shorter than Adelaide by several inches. “Adelaide Buchwald, you know you owe me a model.” She clutched Adelaide’s arm and spoke with a serious intensity.
Ugh. Of course Adelaide knew. She had the D in Global and the failing grade in Set Design.
“Come with me now,” said Kaspian-Lee. “We’ll discuss.”
Adelaide had already met with her teachers, and for Global, there was nothing she could do. She had to take the grade. But Kaspian-Lee had given her an extension, since she’d had an A in Design for the Theater, fall term. And if Adelaide got a B or higher on the final set design project, she wouldn’t be kicked out of Alabaster.