Entanglement by Gregg Braden Page B

smoking pot behind the portables?”
    â€œUh, yeah.”
    There was general laughter.
    â€œI think your brother confused the building of bongs with the building of bombs, somehow,” Peter mused, widening his eyes for effect. The students chuckled.
    â€œNext question.”
    Monica Bennett raised her hand.
    â€œYes?” Peter asked.
    â€œI think the water’s boiling.”
    Peter looked at the soda can. “So it is. Okay! Everybody put on your goggles and gather round.”
    The students put on their goggles and moved forward until they were in a circle around Peter, who pulled on his own goggles.
    â€œWhere’s the bucket?”
    Colin got a white plastic bucket filled with cold water. He set it on the floor beside the lab table.
    â€œEverybody ready?” Peter asked. “Eddie, where are your goggles?”
    Eddie Campos found them and pulled them on.
    â€œOkay,” Keller said. “What do you think’s going to happen?”
    Campos said, “Water’s gonna squirt all over us.”
    Peter looked around. “Anyone else?”
    â€œThe tab’ll pop off, and hot water will come out,” Colin ventured.
    Josh Segal said, “I don’t think anything will happen.”
    Peter said, “Okay, let’s see.” He carefully removed the soda can from over the Bunsen burner with a pair of tongs, then in one swift, sure motion turned it over and plunged it into the bucket of cold water—where it collapsed. A wave of approval swept over the class.
    â€œThat was awesome,” Eddie Campos said. “Good one, Mr. Keller.”
    The bell rang, and the students bolted for their chairs, grabbed their books and bags, and yanked off their goggles. Peter turned off the Bunsen burner and pulled off his goggles as well.
    â€œOn Monday, I want a paper from each of you on the physics behind the collapsing soda can!”
    As the students scrambled for the exit, Peter glanced out the window; a heavy rain had started falling. Then he crossed to the front of the room, where a large projection screen hung down in front of the chalkboard. He stared at the screen with a contemplative expression as the last student left the room.

    The door closed and Peter was alone. He rubbed his eyes, then turned to a filing cabinet at the side of his desk and, using a key, unlocked it. He dug inside, searching, and in the process pulled out a black-and-white photo—a beautiful young woman, olive-skinned, her almond-shaped eyes peering into the camera. He retrieved a book and a meditation pillow.
    He placed the photo on top of a large stack of papers on his desk, then leafed through the book. Finally he turned to the projection screen at the front of the room and began to raise it.
    â€œPeter?”
    Startled, he quickly pulled the screen back down again, covering what was on the chalkboard. Standing in the open door was Dori Morgan, the school’s honors French teacher. Blonde and gray-eyed, with a warm smile and gentle laugh, Dori had asked him out for coffee several times, but he’d never followed up.
    â€œHey, Peter. I was curious, are you attending the district board meeting tonight?” she asked. “Maybe we could drive together.”
    Peter fiddled with some papers and turned away. “Mmm, no. I’ve got so much grading to do.”
    Dori laughed. “It’s Friday, Peter.”
    She leaned against the door frame expectantly. He could smell her perfume. The scientist in him tried to break it down: it smelled like equal parts citrus oil and something else, maybe jasmine.
    She was getting too near—for a number of reasons. Peter was afraid that she’d see a paper of hers that he’d promised to edit months ago that was now part of the large neglected pile on his desk, including much of his own work that he simply had to gather and submit to various journals. Somehow, he hadn’t been able to muster the effort. The pile also