22
“Excuse me, Mr. Dobosh, do you have a second?”
“Yes, Audie, of course.”
I had waited until everyone else filed out of our physics class before approaching the teacher. Mr. Dobosh is a nice man—he’s always been one of my favorites—and he said he’s writing me a great recommendation for my Columbia application. He’s not exactly cutting-edge when it comes to modern physics—I think he wishes the whole field had stopped with Einstein, and he’d never even heard of Bell’s Theorem or M-theory or any of that—but he’s been a good basic teacher for me, and I really appreciate how encouraging he’s been, despite my horrendous situation with math.
“Have you ever heard of someone named Dr. Whitfield?” I asked. “Skip Whitfield?”
“Skip, Skip . . .” Mr. Dobosh tapped his chin. “Yes, I think maybe so—
