15

For months, the memory of that dreadful day when you were expelled—the worst day of your life—rises unbidden to trouble your sleep and mock your waking hours. You replay it in your head a thousand times, trying to discern what you could have said or done differently. How else do you spend your time?

You retreat to your parents' garage, where you stare fixedly at your schematics and tools, as well as the half-built time machine itself, searching for solutions to seemingly intractable problems. You had thought you were so close, until your confidence was badly eroded. The memory of Dean Mean's scorn and your humiliation torments you, making it hard to concentrate.

In the end, it's Brett who saves you. One day, she shows up at your door wearing a goofy triceratops cap, three horns bobbing about. You have to laugh and invite her in.

"I got you one, too." Brett takes out an even sillier cap. Its elongated brown brim resembles the wide muzzle of a hadrosaur. Two eyes adorn the cap's crown beneath its green top, which is meant to imitate the curved bony crest of some duckbills. "Here, put it on."

You do so, to humor your friend.

Pulling out a bottle of wine, she says, "Hey, remember how we wanted to go see the dinosaurs more than anything?"

You make a face as you pour a couple of glasses. "I still want that. But…" You throw up your hands. "It's hopeless."

"No, it isn't. Sure, it's a crazy hard problem, but solving it would be so worth the effort." She holds up a glass. "Here's to time travel."

"To time travel," you echo, clinking glasses, not feeling it.

"It seemed like you were close, Guth."

"I thought so too, but…"

"But those bastards did a number on you." Brett's quivering with indignation on your behalf.

Then your friend does a remarkable thing. Gently, patiently, by the time you two have finished the bottle, Brett persuades you to dig out your schematics and tools, and try that modification you'd come up with.

A Fresh Start