The Theory of Everything by Kari Luna Page A

shake with strawberries and bananas?” Callie said. “He’s pretty predictable.”
    â€œHe is, but he’s not coming,” I said. “I’m meeting someone else.”
    Callie opened her mouth, so I put my earbuds in and let The Smiths serenade me with “Ask” before she could ask questions. It was part of Dad’s
Questions and Quantum
mixtape, which also included “Destination Unknown” by Missing Persons and “Just Like Honey” by The Jesus and Mary Chain.
    â€œI like your skirt,” Callie said, pointing to my owl pocket.
    â€œThanks,” I said, yelling through my headphones. I’d picked it out that morning because it made me feel smarter. I turned my music down.
    â€œYou know Finny and I are just friends, right?” I said. “We’re not dating.”
    â€œOf course,” Callie said. “I know how much he likes you, but it’s good to have more than one friend.”
    â€œEspecially since Finny’s so busy with science.”
    â€œHavencrest’s little Einstein,” she said, grinning. “He’s going to surprise all of us one day.”
    Truth was, Finny was already pretty amazing. He was president of the Young Einsteins Club, had a head start on his science fair project and was constantly scribbling some new theory down in his notebook. While I was busy being in survival mode, he was busy changing things, setting the stage for the next big discovery. I couldn’t wait to have the brain space to think about something other than how to get through the day.
    I had just turned my music back up when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
    â€œHi,” Drew said.
    â€œHi!” I shouted. He held his ears and sat down across from me.
    â€œOh!” I said, taking my earbuds out. “Sorry.”
    â€œMy fault. I think someone once said never interrupt a girl and her music. Is that a Walkman?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “I’m a fan of the mixtape generation.”
    â€œThat’s cool,” he said. “I like analog.”
    â€œMe too!” My insides melted. I wanted to immediately ask him what else he loved besides Kerouac and vintage clothes, but I controlled myself.
    â€œWhat’s on the tape?” he asked.
    â€œMostly eighties music,” I said. “I was listening to The Smiths.”
    â€œThe Smiths are epic,” he said.
    â€œI know, right?” I sat up taller in my seat. “There are all of these bands who can’t write their own music, so they just steal riffs from Johnny Marr. It’s embarrassing.”
    For the next half hour, we bonded over Bauhaus and Beat Happening, The Psychedelic Furs and The Pixies. Drew and I clearly loved the same music. As it turned out, we liked a lot of the same books, too, like Salinger and Beat literature and the one he was named after: Nancy Drew. His mom was a librarian, which meant he was living with books while I was living with crazy. There was finally a pause in the conversation, and he asked the question I’d been dying to ask.
    â€œAre you hungry?”
    â€œFiercely,” I said, leaning back and putting my arms up on the booth. “I’m a grilled-cheese-with-tomato kind of girl. You?”
    â€œGrilled-cheese-without-the-tomato guy,” he said, flipping his hair out of the way. He had dark wavy bangs that hung down over one eye. “Want more coffee?”
    â€œYeah, but I better switch to decaf.”
    I handed him my mug and he sauntered to the counter. It wasn’t like he was arrogant or anything. I think he was just so relaxed he had no choice but to move that way. I couldn’t imagine ever feeling that calm—not with shaman pandas lurking around every corner. He practically floated back to our table like a god, coffee in hand.
    â€œYou like Sonic Youth, too?” he said, setting down my mug and pointing to the speaker above us.
    â€œShow me a girl who doesn’t like Kim