All this time (all twenty-ish hours of it), I had been taking Wynonna’s word for it—that the swapping happened exactly at 3:14 a.m. I guess she was off. That actually wasn’t terribly surprising, considering that she was recording these times after she was waking up in my sleep-inept, insomniac body.

And then I had an absurd, seemingly irrelevant thought: Pi wasn’t 3.14. It wasn’t even 3.14159265359, although that was a little bit closer. Pi couldn’t be perfectly defined by a written number because pi was infinite.

3.1415…

I glanced at the second hand on the clock.

Thirteen… fourteen… fif—

Flash.

“It’s pi,” I said.

This was the very first thing I said to Wynezra when she picked me up. I know what you’re saying: “Why was she picking you up? I thought she hated you?” Well, I thought so, too. But for reasons beyond my understanding, she was in an inconceivably better mood now. She had called this morning, apologized for last night, and said she had good news on the prom-plan front, which—she admitted—she hadn’t done shit with so far, and she apologized for that, too. Also, she had an addendum to our agreement. That was actually the main thing she wanted to talk about. I appreciated her honesty. I told her she could offer all the addendums she wanted, but only after I told her about a very important discovery I had made. Then she picked me up, and I told her, “It’s pi.”

“Please tell me you’re talking about dessert,” she said, “and not fucking math.”

“Why would I be talking about dessert?”

Wynezra dropped her head on the steering wheel and sighed.

“I was watching the clock,” I said, “counting down the seconds, and we swapped at exactly three-fourteen and fifteen seconds. Wynonna, the next two digits in pi are one and five! I bet if I timed it with a clock that counted in measurements smaller than seconds—milliseconds and nanoseconds and… and… and yoctoseconds—”

“Yoctoseconds?”

“—I’m willing to bet it would measure the digits of pi right down to the nearest planck!”

“What the hell is a planck? Actually, scratch that. I don’t want to know. What makes you think your clock is even that accurate?”

“I check and adjust all the clocks in our house weekly to an online world clock. It’s one of my hobbies when everyone’s asleep. You’re just going to have to trust me when I say that I’m very anal about the time.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”