The Theory of Everything by Kari Luna Page A

science project, anyway, so this works out great. And don’t worry—the subjects are always anonymous.”
    I wasn’t thrilled about being the topic of an experiment, but I also knew Finny couldn’t leave a puzzle alone. So if helping his science project meant helping me, I was in.
    â€œLet’s do it,” I said. “What’s first?”
    â€œEstablish a constant,” he said.
    â€œI don’t have one,” I said. “My life is totally random.”
    â€œYou are, but your episodes are not,” he said. “They’re consistent. They’re the constant.”
    â€œOkay,” I said, even though hearing it out loud made me cringe. “What’s next?”
    â€œWe gather data, recognize patterns and develop a theory.”
    I remembered Dad doing the same thing, working on problems he never seemed to solve. Developing theories that never went anywhere. Maybe I would be the exception.
    â€œSo here’s the deal,” Finny said. “You live your life the way you always would, listening to music, hanging out with me, making cool clothes, having episodes, normal stuff. I just need you to do one thing.”
    â€œYou just called my episodes normal,” I said. “I’ll give you my KLM Airlines bag if you want it.”
    â€œI love that bag, but no,” he said. “Just buy a journal and document everything: what you ate for breakfast, how you’re feeling, what you see, that kind of thing. Then I’ll analyze it and hopefully identify a pattern.”
    â€œAnd if we identify a pattern, we can prevent it, right?”
    â€œIn theory,” he said. “That’s why they call it an experiment.”
    â€œExperiment Sophie?”
    â€œMore like the Normalcy Project,” he said, smiling. “Based on the idea that everyone is abnormal until proven normal.”
    â€œI love it,” I said, feeling like I could breathe again. “I could totally see that on a T-shirt.”
    I could also see myself without episodes one day, with Finny to thank for it. He was a genius at science. But as he paced around the tree house, stopping to scribble on the butcher paper, I noticed something else. Finny was also a genius at being my friend.
    â€œIt’s getting cold up here,” I said. “Want to take the big experiment to my house?”
    â€œThe Normalcy Project,” he said, drawing his hand across his shirt like it was printed there. “Also known as your life. And yes, let’s get out of here.”
    Finny threw a few things in his bag, I grabbed mine, and we climbed down the stairs, one rung at a time. One step closer toward normalcy. When we got to the bottom, we linked arms and headed down the street, dusk at our backs.

TWELVE

    I unlocked the door of my house, ready to endure whatever Mom was going to dish out. Since I was, like, three hours late and hadn’t bothered to call, it was going to be major. Good thing I had Finny as a buffer.
    â€œMom?” I said, looking around. “Hello?”
    â€œIs she here?” Finny said.
    â€œNope,” I said, pulling him into the kitchen. “Let’s take advantage of it.” I grabbed a bag of carrots and cans of ginger ale out of the fridge and headed upstairs, Finny and Balzac following. I flopped on the bed, and Finny stood in front of the collection of black and white postcards, staring.
    â€œWarhol and Nico,” he said, touching one of them. “That’s new. How is it I could notice that but totally miss that you hallucinate?”
    â€œHave episodes,” I said.
    â€œThat’s not a scientific term,” Finny said. “Can we say hallucination, just for the sake of the experiment?”
    I traced the circles on my bedspread with my finger. “As along as you understand that’s not what they are,” I said.
    â€œYou’re going to have to help me with that,” Finny said. “But first: when are