The Cinderella Theorem Read Online Free Page B

doing this weekend,
instead of saying, “Nothing really, just some math,” I’ll now be able to say,
“Nothing really, just getting away with my formerly dead father and liar mother
to the parallel kingdom in our bathtub to be introduced to a bunch of fairy
tale princesses and talking animals.”
    I’m
going to be very distracted in school today. Little people in berets keep
coming down the stairs in my mind. I’m also distracted by the fact that my
parents win the award for the World’s Strangest Marriage. When Mom told me my
dad was staying the night, I thought, Oh, well maybe the door only works
once a day or something, so he can’t get back tonight . That was a false
assumption. Any good mathematician knows that false assumptions can destroy an
otherwise sound theory. It turns out they wanted to sleep in the same
bed again. As I passed my mother in the upstairs hallway, I asked a very
rational question about this.
    “Don’t
you think having him sleep in your room will be weird, since you haven’t seen
him in fifteen years?”
    Mom
smiled. “ You haven’t seen him in fifteen years, Lil. I’ve seen him
nearly every day since you were born.”
    Of
course. This makes absolute perfect sense. Why shouldn’t she have seen him? I
mean, my goodness, the man rules a fairytale kingdom and travels through a bathtub.
Why wouldn’t he have time to see his wife?
    Mom
continued, “When you were a baby, he’d come over during your naps and later,
when you started school, your father would come over while you were gone. We’d
spend the mornings together. Or, sometimes I’d go to Smythe’s SFL to see him. Then,
he’d run the kingdom in the afternoons, and I’d get some writing done.”
    “Oh,”
I said. “It’s nice that you not only lied to me, but had secret trysts with my
father every day, too.” I started to walk away.
    “Lily,”
Mom called. “It wasn’t like that. You know he couldn’t see you until you turned
fifteen.”
    I
turned around in the doorway of my room. “I understand, Mom.” I said
impatiently. “I’m going to go to bed now–or is there something weird about my
bedroom you haven’t told me? Do the three little pigs live in my closet?”
    “Of
course they don’t, Lily. They live in the Fourth Wood.” Mom sighed. “Look. Things
are weird now. I know that. Will you just try to be understanding?” She moved a
little closer to me. “You’re lucky, Lily. You aren’t stuck living a plain-old,
normal life. You’re going to get to experience so many things that people will
never be able to imagine.”
    “Or
believe.” I closed the door to my room.
    I
cannot fathom why my mother thinks I’m lucky. And what , exactly, is
wrong with being normal? In statistics, there is a whole equation devoted to
the “normal” way data is distributed. [13] Speaking of statistics, my parents have obviously not seen any on teenagers. Otherwise,
they would know that being normal (not being royal) is the single most
important factor in the equation of high school.
    When
I got to school Friday morning, I waited by the east door for Corrie. Corrie
always arrives at 7:40. Always. This is because Corrie’s father is
obsessed with punctuality and order. He leaves for work at the same time each
day, and since he drops her off, she is always here at the same time. It’s a
simple equation.
    Usually,
I formulate some equations about the number of kids at the door before and
after she arrives, but before the bell rings at 7:55. Sometimes I estimate how
many will arrive before her or what percentage will be wearing a certain color.
But today, I didn’t really feel like doing math.
     
    Not
feeling like doing math = a clue that something is seriously wrong in my life.
     
    “Happy
birthday!” Corrie gave me a clumsily wrapped present. “I would have given it to
you yesterday, but—”
     “But
you were busy faking sick to get out of your math placement test?”
    “I
really did have an upset