“Anyway,” I said, “that’s the gist of my hypothesis. Although I don’t really know where to go with it from there. The sci-fi nerd in me wants to say it has something to do with the fourth dimension—time added to space—but that actually makes no sense. Our measurement of time is a human construct, and even then, there are time zones to account for. Why Central Time? I would hardly say that the space-time continuum is somehow bending to a construct that allows states like Texas to know when the Dallas Cowboys are gonna get their asses kicked.”

Wynezra looked at me like I was the dumbest thing on YouTube.

“God,” she said. “You make me sound like such a geek. You have a total hard-on for pi, don’t you?”

She wasn’t wrong. There was something just a little provocative about pi. By definition, pi was the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter. This was significant because, no matter how big or small that circle was, the ratio remained the same. This was what you would call a mathematical constant. It indicated a certain infinitude to the nature of the circle. Pi was—in mathematical terms, no less—a transcendental number. It was non-algebraic. It wasn’t the root of any polynomial integer. Pi was an irrational number with an infinite number of digits in its decimal representation, never settling into a repeating pattern. Which was fascinating, and awesome, and—yes—even a little sexy.

But I refused to admit that out loud.

“Whatever,” I said. “You have a hard-on for the eighties. I bet you jerk off to John Hughes films.”

That caused Wynezra to snort and laugh in a hysterical sort of way. When she finally regained control of herself, she said, “I like that you can say I jerk off to anything, and it isn’t even anatomically incorrect. And, for the record, John Hughes films are the sexiest. Anyway, that’s not important. What’s important is the addendum.”

“Which is?”

“Carol visits my mom once a week. If you’re in my body when she does, I want you to go with her.”

I blinked. “Wait. You want me to visit your mother’s grave?”

“Carol was nice to me all evening. Like, I was a total bitch to her, and she was nice to me. I think she thought I was having a mental breakdown or something. I mean, I probably was, but… Anyway, you two seem to get along well, and I feel bad about everything, and, like… it’s not like I don’t want to visit my mom. It’s just… it’s hard, you know? It makes me feel terrible about myself and my life.”