Part 2 (2/2)

”Every particle in the universe has led us up to this point,” Quentin said. ”Every quark of every atom of every molecule has led us here.”

”Great. Now you got him started.”

”Every single snowflake falling outside of this window was created due to the interaction of millions and millions of particles over billions and billions of years. Because it is falling, it was meant to fall. There was no other way for it to happen.”

Mark leaned back in his chair and put his hands on top of his head. ”Thanks, philosopher king. See what I told you, Brynn? This is worse than that one month he decided to go vegetarian.”

”I did go vegetarian, you idiot. I'm still vegetarian.”

”So there's no such thing as probability?” I asked. ”Like, if everything has to happen in a particular way, then everything that happens has one hundred percent probability.”

”Exactly,” Quentin said. ”Well, no. If you have perfect initial conditions, then you can theoretically figure out what will happen in the next step of the universe.”

”Perfect initial conditions.”

”So everything has to happen in a certain way,” Mark said. ”Isn't that predetermination? Like, G.o.d?”

”There is no G.o.d.” Quentin said. ”It's just physics.”

I let my head fall forward onto the table in mock relief. ”Whew! Glad that's settled. Guess we can do some of this homework now.”

”What do you think, Brynn?” Mark asked, not letting the subject drop. ”G.o.d or physics? Or free will?”

”Or ghosts,” Quentin said. ”Don't forget ghosts.”

”I am one hundred percent indifferent to matters of fate,” I said, picking up my pen. ”Sorry to bring it up. Let's do these homework problems.”

”I bet you think it's fate,” Quentin said, but turned to the next question along with me.

If fate was guiding my life, it was doing a p.i.s.s poor job of it, I thought. And although on the surface I agreed with Quentin, I had to think that there was something else to the way the universe worked. I couldn't accept the fact that my mother's death had sentenced me to such a horrible fate just by chance. If randomness had broken my life, how could I hope to put together the pieces myself? I had to believe in some kind of free will, or at least a rational destiny, that would give some meaning to the darkness that had crept into my world.

Three hours later, we had untangled most of the th.o.r.n.i.e.s.t questions in the homework set. Question nine hung between us unanswered, with Mark and Quentin still arguing over symmetry on a subtle point in the relation's definition. The caffeine had long since disappeared from my system, and I covered my mouth in a deep yawn.

”Ok, guys,” Quentin said, closing his book with a decisive thud. ”See you all tomorrow at the auditorium, where I will beat every single one of you motherf.u.c.kers out for that interns.h.i.+p.”

Mark guffawed. ”You wish,” he said.

”See you guys later.” I waved to Quentin who just held his hand up in farewell as he hurried down the stairs.

”Want me to walk you back to your apartment?” Mark said. I was tempted-it was late, after all-but he had already packed up and all of my papers still lay spread out in front of me. Also, I felt like being alone for a while.

”Nah,” I said. ”Gotta check out a book before I go. See you later!”

”Okay,” Mark said, a half-smile dimpling his face. ”See you!”

I stood up and stretched, looking through the windows overlooking the lawn below. I half-expected to see the man standing there below, staring up at me. Eliot.

He wasn't there. A few drunken undergraduates stumbled across the snow-crusted gra.s.s, clothed in overly skimpy miniskirts and Ugg boots. n.o.body in California knew how to dress for the cold. My eyes focused on the snowflakes stuck to the window pane. It was cold. I should go home. The interns.h.i.+p thing was Sunday, and I had been running on a sleep deficit for far too long.

This is important to you, right?

Mark's words came back to me as I stared out the window, and the snowflakes blurred into a cottony white as tears filled my eyes. All of the junior-level math majors vied for the interns.h.i.+p each year, but for me this prize was more personal. Sure, the free travel was tempting, and the semester abroad at the Hungarian Academy of Sciences would brighten my resume with prestige. But that wasn't the main reason I wanted to win the interns.h.i.+p prize, not by far.

CHAPTER THREE.

”The pleasure we obtain from music comes from counting, but counting unconsciously. Music is nothing but unconscious arithmetic.” - Liebniz I woke up in darkness. The clock at the side of the bed glowed green: 11:41. I rolled out of bed, pulled on some warm clothes sleepily, and tiptoed down the hall.

Four times already this week I'd woken like this in the middle of the night, not being able to go back to sleep until I'd taken a long walk. I'd read once about how humans used to wake up all the time, just like this, before the industrial age. Benjamin Franklin had written about it-the odd hours between first and second sleep where people would wake up and read, pray, or make love.

Me? I took walks. Most of the time I would walk to campus, just a few blocks from our apartment. At night the sidewalks were empty and the buildings loomed like ghosts over my head. Everything seemed older then, bigger. I would walk, think about math, and then I would be back in my bed, ready to slumber at two or three in the morning.

I tugged on my boots and slid my keys into my pocket, closing the door behind me as quietly as I could. Shannon had agreed to cover for me, and I didn't want to wake her up the night before she worked my s.h.i.+ft. Hurrying down the stairs, I greeted the night as a friend, not even minding the rush of cold air and the soft sprinkling of snow. Perhaps it was my sleepiness, but I didn't feel as cold during my night walks as I did during the day, even though the temperature dropped ten degrees or so.

Pa.s.sing briskly through the stone archways onto the campus, I let my mind wander to the interns.h.i.+p test I would be taking tomorrow. Tomorrow, or today? I didn't know the time. Six hours of the hardest math problems, or so I'd heard. I wondered if I would be up to the task.

From somewhere in the distance I heard a bell ring out, and my mind jolted back to the present. I halted in my tracks, not sure where on campus my feet had taken me. The snow had stopped falling, and everything seemed unnaturally hushed. No whisper of cars on the neighboring streets, no rustle of night birds in the eaves of the buildings. Silence wrapped the world in a cradling hold.

I blinked hard and looked up to see the music building in front of me. My body had brought me here unconsciously and now something urged me to go inside, to get out of the night. I looked around, my heart beating quickly as though expecting some predator to jump out of the shadows toward me, but nothing moved. I climbed the stone steps of the building slowly, careful not to slip on the icy granite.

Security always locked the doors for the night, but as I reached for the bra.s.s handle I knew that this one would be open. Indeed, the oak door swung outward, a gust of warm air escaping like smoke into the chilly night. I turned back to survey the deserted campus, and again felt a thrill of fear, as though some monster watched me as I moved. A wolf, maybe, though I knew there were no wolves here. Still, I pulled the door closed behind me and locked the bolt myself, shutting out the night.

One of the oldest on campus, the music building boasted an ornate interior, deep carvings in every square inch of the oak walls and thick red carpet lining the floors. My boots sank into the newly-vacuumed carpeting, leaving dark prints behind. The yellow lights above shone dimly through the hallway as I walked on, pus.h.i.+ng through a high swinging oak door into the practice halls. Here the lights were dimmed, almost entirely off, and I moved through the darkness, letting one hand trail along the wall to guide me forward.

Then I heard something that stopped me in my steps. Soft music drifted down the hall, muted by the carpet. A piano.

For a moment, I thought someone might just be practicing late at night, an overzealous music major anxious to impress or a chemistry student embarra.s.sed by her amateur playing. But as I moved tentatively down the hall, I could tell that it wasn't an amateur at the keys. All of the normal practice rooms stood open, their doorways black and empty. The only closed door lay at the very back of the practice hall, and light shone brightly from the insulated gla.s.s panel above the door. The piano behind that door was the Bosendorfer.

The midnight piano.

Moving closer, I could hear the notes more distinctly. I recognized the song as a piece by Erik Satie, one of the Gymnopedies. The melody tiptoed along the higher register, a lonely, slow song full of simple repet.i.tion. The quarter notes came hesitantly, carefully, building louder as the song continued, but still restrained. The walls, designed to m.u.f.fle the sound of studious beauty, made the music sound as distant as though it came from another country, far, far away.

Was someone playing a prank on me? Perhaps it was a recording. I pressed my ear to the door and listened.

The music eased into the final chords, the pause between them lingering a moment too long, and then only silence remained. I still had my ear pressed to the door when it opened, sending me tumbling forward into the arms of the midnight piano ghost.

I shrieked as I fell forward. But the arms that caught me were strong and altogether more corporeal than any spectre. I looked up into piercing blue eyes, and gasped as I saw who had been playing the Bosendorfer.

”Valentina. What a pleasant surprise.” Eliot smiled as he helped me find my balance again. His hands supported me easily, and I didn't want him to let go.

”You're not a ghost.” I said the first thing I could think of, but I guess Eliot wasn't familiar with the legend.

”A ghost?” His smile touched his eyes with sincerity. ”Not quite.”

”Sorry. I, um, I just- I heard you playing- I didn't mean-”

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