Page 94 of Under Story

“Mr. Nakamura,” she says, “can I ask how old your son is now?”

Alone, she looks more closely at his face. There is a small, straight scar across one cheekbone. He turns to her in a way that is less formal, more familiar, and for a moment she feels certain that they’ve met before.

“He died five years ago.”

Laurel flinches. “I’m very sorry.”

The rain has simmered to a steady tapping. Mr. Nakamura steps outside. “My wife and I were lucky to have as much time with him as we did.”

12

Wave Function

Hours before Silas died, Laurel and Eli sat with their toes in the sand. Silas snoozed on his towel. Eli was telling her about wave function.

Usually, he said, we use Newton’s laws to describe the motion and placement of an object. On the level of quantum particles, though—the smallest ones—those laws don’t work.

Laurel had asked him to explain this. She liked learning new things. She wished that Eli would ask her more about fungi.

Take an electron. Wave function describes where the electron is most likely to be detected. This means that wave function isn’t a traditional calculation. Instead of definitive answers, it gives us possibilities.

A foamy wave unscrolled in front of them. Eli pointed to its crest.

See that? In a quantum equation, the tallest part of the wave is where you’re most likely to find the electron. You’re less likely to find it in the lower parts, though it isn’t impossible. But here’s the other thing: quantum physics suggests that the location isn’t definite until someone measures it. Before that, every possibility exists in what we call a superposition.

Laurel said, Like Schrödinger’s cat?

Eli nodded.

Remind me?

An imaginary cat is locked in a steel chamber, he said, along with a radioactive substance that may or may not kill it. Until someone opens the box, the theory goes, the cat is both dead and alive.

Laurel leaned her head against Eli’s shoulder. How can something be both alive and dead?

Well, that’s the problem. People think that Schrödinger was arguing in favor of superposition. Actually, he was trying to make a different point—that quantum mechanics makes no sense when applied to large objects.

But aren’t large objects made of quantum particles? Laurel asked, and Eli smiled the way he always did when she surprised him.

They’re bickering by breakfast. Like every other restaurant in the antiuniverse, Culver’s is vegetarian. Laurel places their typical order—the mushroom fritter for her, the tofu pocket for Eli—while he waits in the car. Back on the highway, he rustles through the bag while Laurel stares out of the window, drinking coffee. When she looks back at Eli, he has one hand on the steering wheel. In the other is her mushroom fritter.

“Excuse me,” she says. “I got you the tofu pocket.”

Eli has already eaten half of the fritter. Laurel is so disappointed that she almost demands he turn around, but Culver’s is no longer visible. All she sees behind them are cows.

“I wanted the pumpkin pocket,” says Eli.

“Well, they stopped making the pumpkin pocket in September. It was a seasonal special.”

“What’s the big deal? Can’t we just switch?”

“I’ve been looking forward to the fritter since we left the house.”

“Actually, you’ve been sleeping since we left the house.”

“Which means I owe you the mushroom fritter?”

Laurel’s pitch is dangerously low, but Eli refuses to be cowed.