Mr. Smyth drives to Ocotillo High every morning in his dusty blue 93’Volvo. Ketchup-streaked Whataburger wrappers and greasy fry containers lie crumpled on the floorboards. In the back, next to a car seat, there’s a stuffed Brontosaurus he bought his son Timmy last time they were at the Phoenix Zoo. He makes yet another mental note to clean the car out, to finally get the crack in the windshield fixed as he pulls into the school parking lot. Promises himself today will be different.

Mr. Smyth teaches eleventh-grade physics, and this week they’re learning about the Many-Worlds Theory. They’re discussing the multiverse, the idea that every choice a person could make leads to another version of the universe, another version of themselves. Mr. Smyth’s lessons include discussions about the musings of men like Brian Greene and Neil deGrasse Tyson, physicists who believe the multiverse is possible. Every year when he teaches this his students say they’re pumped, it always leads to rad class discussions. Today is no exception.

In class, Anthony tips back in his chair, asks if there’s another world where he gets all the babes. Cynthia suggests maybe it’s a world where he brushes his teeth and the class laughs when Anthony mottles red. Tiffany wishes for a universe where she can eat Twinkies all day and still look like Kate Moss, her mother’s idol. Clara hopes there’s a replica of her family somewhere still living in their house on Saguaro Street, where her dad didn’t lose his job at the General Store, where his breath doesn’t stink of Wild Turkey every morning.

Mr. Smyth tells them Many-Worlds Theory is only a theory, but no student has ever questioned it. Mr. Smythe thinks he understands why. He can’t imagine there’s not a world where Timmy still sits in his car seat, holding Brontosaurus. Can’t imagine there’s not a world where he remembers to buckle him in, to tighten the straps. A world where he sees the red light.