Page 59 of The Otherworld

“Which we don’t realize are intentional when we do them.”

“Exactly. That’s my theory, anyway.” I twist the last ripe tomato off the vine and hand it to her. “I mean, nothing ‘just happens.’ It can’t. Right?”

Orca moves on to the pepper plants, which are overflowing with fruit—orange, red and yellow.

“Even the word chaos,” I add. “It means nothing—it’s Latin, from the Greek khaos, meaning a vast chasm or void. So, nothingness. But nothing comes from nothing.”

“Khaos,” Orca murmurs, pulling the peppers out of their leafy beds. “Do you know a lot of Latin?”

“No, not a lot. I’m still learning.”

“What does tenens infinitum mean?”

A ghost of a smile brushes across my face. “Holding the infinite.”

Orca’s gaze drifts down to the golden peppers in her hands. “The infinite,” she whispers. “That’s like the void, isn’t it? Nothingness. But at the same time… it could be everythingness.”

I smile.

Everythingness.

“If we’re the butterflies,” Orca muses, “then we decide what the void will be, right? Maybe it’s not nothing. Maybe it’s just… infinite possibilities.”

Listening to her is more captivating than any lecture I’ve ever heard. I could volley ideas at her for hours just to listen to her analysis on them. For a moment, I forget where we are and what we’re doing—I’m so awed by the fact that I’m discussing chaos theory and Latin root words with this incredibly beautiful girl.

“You wrote something about quantum physics,” Orca continues, “and how it makes the multiverse possible. But you also said that the butterfly couldn’t turn back time. Why not?”

I ponder her question for a moment before turning and squinting at her. “Are you trying to poke holes in my theories, Orca?”

She laughs. “No, I’m just curious. About the time thing. The extra dimensions of time, how it’s all invented and not so much a progression as… a repetition. So is there a way for the butterfly to actually turn back time, then?”

I think for a moment, my gaze trailing over the snap pea vines, which Orca is now gently untangling. “I guess there is S equals K log W.”

She frowns. “What does that mean?”

“It’s the equation to reverse entropy, which is physics’ version of chaos. Science actually allows disorder to switch direction. To return to order.”

Orca stares at me, wonder glinting in her sea-green eyes. “So the hurricane can go back to the butterfly’s wings.”

I grin, wishing professors would say it like that. “Exactly.”

She dwells on this idea for a moment, her gaze softening as she studies my face. For the first time, I notice the freckles scattered across her cheeks. She smiles, looking up at something just above my head.

“What is it?”

She nods to the thing I can’t see and says, “They like you, too.”

18

To Fill the Void

ORCA

Adam smiles when I point out the tiny yellow butterflies landing on his head. He looks younger with no facial hair, and his eyes are the same heavenly blue as the morning glories blooming acrobatically above us.

That’s when a light-headed, joyful feeling floods me, making everything else lose its luster and fascination, everything but him. It’s impossible to describe this floating, dreamy rush of happiness stirring inside me. I have to force myself to focus on the job at hand: harvesting the vegetables.

With Adam’s help, the task takes half the time it usually does. Our hands brush against each other behind curtains of green leaves. Every time I feel the warmth of his skin against mine, little flashes of excitement spark through me—like bursts of sunlight between clouds when they move fast through the sky on a windy day. A glimpse of warm, golden glow; there for a moment, then trapped by a shadow.

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