Chaos Theory: April 5–Phase 1

First piece of anonymous, unsolicited advice: Maybe don’t have any more to drink?

His head rolls to the side and the tree blur triggers another round of literal comeuppance.

Throughout the fifty-five-minute class, it’s almost impossible for Shelbi to focus on relativity, because all she can think about is how four years of what had to be hard work—salutatorian is kind of a big deal, is it not?—were basically nullified by one crap decision.

Not that she can blame them: from what Shelbi knows about Andy Criddle, he seems to be the prototypical golden boy. SAT Verbal 800 Club, headed to Brown (according to the “Who’s Who Among Windward Academy Seniors” web page), and some kind of martial arts state champion to boot.

And while Shelbi certainly knows from experience that “Academically High-Achieving” and “Occasionally Susceptible to Poor Decision-Making” aren’t mutually exclusive, she really was surprised to see UNDERAGED SON OF SENATE CANDIDATE DRIVES DRUNK on the front page of Daddy’s Sunday paper.

Because some random girl popping up with your wallet after you total your car is probably a smidge discombobulating.

She looks up to gauge his reaction, but his face is blank.

I’m sober this time. And totally lucid.

Dad throws an arm around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze, and a little bloom of jealousy shoots up and out of Andy’s chest like a noxious gas cloud.

“I think he might like you. Certainly doesn’t listen that intently when I’m talk—”

That had been the last thing he saw before he drifted off to sleep on the day that changed his life irrevocably.

Now, though, Andy’s staring out his bedroom window at the sinking ball of fire that keeps the earth at the perfect temperature to sustain life.

Hey, so as a person living with a bona fide mood disorder who deals with high levels of existential sadness, I can tell you’re pretty down.

The whole ordeal had been so bizarre, starting with Mama busting in on Shelbi’s afternoon yoga session, looking like she’d debunked the mystery of dark matter.

He shot Mama his signature Uh-oh, she’s about to crack look, and then they approached Shelbi slowly, speaking in their “calming voices” about how it’s time for Shelbi to “become more autonomous” since she’s headed to college in just a few months.

Andy runs a fingertip over the wood paneling in the door and looks around. The word that pops into his head is opulent.

“For now, a change of subject is in both of our best interests.”
“Okay.” (Why are girls so…enigmatic?)

He relaxes into the supple leather as they (finally) reach the entrance to his neighborhood—a journey that takes him all of forty-five seconds but has taken Shelbi a good three minutes.

On the other side of the field behind Andy’s house is a mansion the color of cotton candy. Andy can see its extravagant back façade and huge in-ground pool from his house’s guest room window.

Andy can see its extravagant back façade and huge in-ground pool from his house’s guest room window.

Despite knowing how cliché it is, Andy’s beginning to equate her laughter with music.

“Mine is more like infamous. Cris Criddle is known for five things: her love of the ‘Holy Word,’ her commitment to corporate capitalism, her zeal for the unborn, her gun collection, and the fact that she’s a Black woman holding these views,” he says.

“We spent the first week in Bengaluru, and the fact that I could see the slums from the window of our cushy hotel room really messed with my head. Like out one window were all these shiny buildings and shopping malls and nice cars. But out the other, rows and rows of shanties with rusted roofs. And I knew they were filled with people who didn’t have enough to eat.”

Valedictorian is blathering on about failure.

He’d just gotten to the part where Connor—aka the White Gangsta—found Tay-Tay sitting outside in the rain after her boyfriend Quantavious kicked her out because he claimed she was cheating (ahem…guy had guilty conscience).

Andy used to resent the old man for reasons he didn’t understand, but now that he’s gotten older, Andy realizes he was picking up on the little digs Mom would whisper about Dad when she thought Andy wasn’t listening.

His mind clouds over as the ugly circumstances of his and Steph’s demise bust their way to the forefront of his memory.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think I can get mad at you, Shelbi.” And Andy instantly wishes he could take that back because it sounded really sappy.

Yes, Becky is one of the few people who has never treated Shelbi like one of those wildly ornate, precious-gemstone-covered eggs that no one will handle without gloves on—hence her having no problem missing Shelbi’s phone calls.

She feels like there’s a battle between nuclear fusion and fission going on inside her chest, and she’s fully aware—intellectually—that her brain’s hyper-panicked response doesn’t actually fit the circumstances.

I, ________________, on this ___ day of _____, as regards entry into a formal friendship with Shelbi Camille Augustine, knowingly and willfully agree to abide by the terms set forth below.

The use of any and all mental illness slurs—cuckoo, (“cuckchoo,” “for Cocoa Puffs,” etc.), cray, cray-cray, crazy, crazypants, nuts, nutty, nutjob, wackjob, whackadoodle, off her rocker, deranged, basket case, head case, mental case, insane (“in the membrane”), spaz, loon(ey), yahoo, fruitcake, demented, crackpot, loca, lunatic, meshuggah, lost her marbles, “bipolar” (used derogatorily), etc.—is strictly prohibited.

Along those lines, if Shelbi confirms that she is dealing with an episode, don’t take any action that will exacerbate things or be the opposite of helpful.

If it becomes too much to handle, be forthright and friend-break-up with Shelbi.

“Well, in a nutshell, because of inertia, the atmosphere and oceans would continue to move at over a thousand miles per hour. Which would equal a natural disaster unlike any this planet has ever seen.”

“My whole world stops dead, but everything around me keeps going. I get thrown into this, like, emotional cataclysm and feel completely out of control.”

Having her athletic prowess acknowledged makes her feel pretty dang good.

“I’m sick of pretending like everything is hunky-dory.”

My mom’s scream is what woke me up. By the time I got to the patio door, my dad was performing CPR, but her skin was like…I could tell it was too late. Sorry, that’s really morbid.

“Here, there’s really nothing between earth and sky. I consider this my rendezvous point with the universe.”