Love On The Brain (2)

["laptop in her bag. \u201cHome.\u201d \u201cBut\u2014\u201d \u201cSince the computers will be here tomorrow, there\u2019s no point in staying.\u201d \u201cBut we can still\u2014\u201d She\u2019s gone before I can remind her that I\u2019m her boss\u2014I will learn to exert authority, but today\u2019s not the day. I don\u2019t mind too much anyway. Because when the door closes behind her, I spring out of my chair again and jump up and down a little bit more.","8 PRECENTRAL GYRUS: MOVEMENT FUN FACT: DR. Curie\u2019s BFF was an engineer. Seems unlikely, huh? I sit across from the best and brightest of Levi\u2019s team\u2014total Cockcluster\u2122, naturally\u2014and think: Who would voluntarily spend time with the engineering ilk? And yet it\u2019s true, like turkey-flavored candy corn, pimple-popping videos, and many other unlikely things. It\u2019s painful even to think about it, but here goes my least favorite Marie fact: after Pierre died, she started seeing a strapping young physicist named Paul Langevin. Honestly, it\u2019s what she deserved. My girl was a young widow who spent most of her time stomping on uranium ore like it was wine grapes. We can all agree that if she wanted to get laid, the only adequate response should have been: \u201cWhere would you like your mattress placed, Madame Curie?\u201d Right? Wrong. The press got ahold of the gossip and crucified her for it. They treated her like she\u2019d boarded a train to Sarajevo and assassinated Franz Ferdinand herself. They whined about the lamest things: Madame Curie is a home- wrecker (Paul had separated from his wife ages before); Madame Curie is tarnishing Pierre\u2019s good name (Pierre was probably high-fiving her from physics heaven, which is full of atheist scientists and apple trees for Newton","and his buddies to sit under); Madame Curie is five years older than almost- forty-year-old Paul (gasp!) and therefore a cradle-robber (double-gasp!!). If there is one thing men hate more than a smart woman, it\u2019s a smart woman who makes her own choices when it comes to her own sex life. It was a whole thing: lots of sexist, antiSemitic crap was written, pistol duels were held, the words \u201cPolish scum\u201d were used, and Dr. Curie plunged into a deep depression. But that\u2019s where the engineer BFF comes in. Her name was Hertha Ayrton and she was a bit of a polymath. Think of your high school friend who always got straight A\u2019s but was also the captain of the soccer team, did lights for the drama club, and moonlighted as a suffragette leader. Hertha\u2019s famous for studying electric arcs\u2014lightning, but way cooler. I like to fantasize about her using her scientific knowledge to burn Marie\u2019s enemies to a crisp, Zeus-style, but the truth is that their mutual love and support mostly translated into vacationing together to escape the French press. Sometimes friendship is made of quiet little moments and doesn\u2019t involve lethal lightning bolts. Disappointing, I know. Then again, other times friendship is made of betrayal, and heartache, and spending two years trying to forget that you blocked the number of someone whose take-out orders you used to have memorized. Anyway. The moral of this particular story is, I believe, that engineers are not all bad. But the ones I\u2019m attempting to collaborate with are often stabable. Like now, for example. I have Mark, the materials guy on BLINK, looking me in the eye and telling me for the third time in two minutes: \u201cImpossible.\u201d Okay. Let\u2019s try again. \u201cIf we don\u2019t move the output channels farther apart\u2014\u201d \u201cImpossible.\u201d Four. Four times in\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. Welp. Still two minutes. I take a deep breath, remembering a technique my old therapist used. I saw her for a short time after Tim and I broke up, when my self-confidence was six feet under, partying it up with disgruntled grubs and Mesozoic","fossils. She taught me the importance of letting go of what I cannot control (others) and focusing on what I can (my reactions). She\u2019d often do this crafty little thing: reframe my own statements to help me achieve self- realization. Time to therapize Mark the Material Engineer. \u201cI understand that I\u2019m asking you to do something that is currently impossible, given the inner shell of the helmet.\u201d I smile encouragingly. \u201cBut maybe, if I explain what needs to be done from a neuroscience perspective, we can find a way to achieve a middle ground\u2014\u201d \u201cImpossible.\u201d I don\u2019t head-desk, but only because Levi happens to enter the room right at that moment, nodding his good morning in our general direction and rolling up the sleeves of his Henley. His forearms are strong and insanely attractive\u2014and why the hell am I even noticing them? Aargh. Kaylee let us know he\u2019d be late because of something at Penny\u2019s school. Which, I guess, is the name of his daughter. Because Levi has a daughter. I promise I\u2019ll stop repeating this fact as soon as it becomes less shocking to me (i.e., never). Everyone greets him, and I feel a jolt to my stomach. We\u2019ve been emailing, but we haven\u2019t talked in person since yesterday, when I gave him official permission to abhor me\u2014as long as he\u2019s professional about it. I\u2019m curious to see how he\u2019ll play. In deference to his tender sensibilities I\u2019m wearing my tiniest septum ring and the single Ann Taylor dress I own. It\u2019s an olive branch; he damn better appreciate it. \u201cI see what you\u2019re saying,\u201d I tell Mark. \u201cThere are physical impossibilities inherent to the materials, but we might be able to\u2014\u201d He repeats the only word he knows. \u201cImpossible.\u201d \u201c\u2014find a solution that\u2014\u201d \u201cNo.\u201d I\u2019m about to praise the sudden variety in his vocabulary when Levi interjects. \u201cLet her finish, Mark.\u201d He takes a seat next to me. \u201cWhat were you saying, Bee?\u201d Huh? What\u2019s happening? \u201cThe\u00a0 .\u00a0 .\u00a0 . um, the issue is the outputs placement. They need to be positioned differently if we want to stimulate","the intended region.\u201d Levi nods. \u201cLike the angular gyrus?\u201d I flush. Come on, I apologized for that! I glare at him for shading me in front of his team, but I notice an odd gleam in his eyes, as though he\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. Wait. It\u2019s not possible. He\u2019s not teasing me, is he? \u201cY-yes,\u201d I stammer, lost. \u201cLike the angular gyrus. And other brain regions, too.\u201d \u201cAnd what I told her,\u201d Mark says with all the petulance of a six-year-old who\u2019s too short for the roller coaster, \u201cis that given the property of the Kevlar blend we\u2019re using for the inner shell, the distance between outputs needs to stay the way it is.\u201d Actually, what he told me was \u201cImpossible.\u201d I\u2019m about to point that out when Levi says, \u201cThen we change the Kevlar blend.\u201d It seems to me like a perfectly reasonable avenue to explore, but the other five people at the table seem to think it\u2019s as controversial as the concept of gluten in the twenty- first century. Murmurs rise. Tongues cluck. A guy whose name might be Fred gasps. \u201cThat would be a significant change,\u201d Mark whines. \u201cIt\u2019s unavoidable. We need to do proper neurostimulation with the helmets.\u201d \u201cBut that\u2019s not what the Sullivan prototype calls for.\u201d This is the second time I\u2019ve heard the Sullivan prototype mentioned, and the second time a dense silence ensues when it\u2019s brought up. The difference today is that I\u2019m in the room, and I can see how everyone looks to Levi uneasily. Is he the main author of the prototype? Can\u2019t be, since he\u2019s new to BLINK. Sullivan is the name of the Discovery Institute, so maybe that\u2019s where it\u2019s from? I want to ask Guy, but he\u2019s off setting up equipment with Roc\u00edo and Kaylee this morning. \u201cWe\u2019ll be as faithful as possible to the Sullivan prototype, but it was always meant to be a vehicle for the neuroscience,\u201d Levi says, firm and final as usual, with that competent, big-dick calm of his, and everyone nods somberly, more so than one would expect from a bunch of dudes who throttle one another over donuts and come into work in their pajamas.","There\u2019s clearly something I don\u2019t know. What is this place, Twin Peaks? Why\u2019s everyone so full of secrets? We hammer out details for a couple more hours, deciding that for the next weeks I\u2019ll focus on mapping the individual brains of the first batch of astronauts while engineering refines the shell. With Levi present, his team tends to agree to my suggestions more quickly\u2014a phenomenon known as Sausage Referencing\u2122. Well, to Annie and me, at least. In Cockcluster\u2122 or WurstFest\u2122 situations, having a man vouch for you will help you be taken seriously\u2014the better-regarded the man, the higher his Sausage Referencing\u2122 power. Notable example: Dr. Curie was not originally included in the Nobel Prize nomination for the radioactivity theory she had come up with, until G\u00f6sta Mittag-Leffler, a Swedish mathematician dude, interceded for her with the all-male award committee. Less notable example: halfway through my meeting with the engineers, when I point out that we won\u2019t be able to stimulate deep into the temporal lobe, Maybe Fred tells me, \u201cActually, we can. I took a neuroscience class in undergrad.\u201d Oh, boy. That was probably two weeks ago. \u201cI\u2019m pretty sure they stimulated the medial temporal lobe.\u201d I sigh. On the inside. \u201cWho?\u201d \u201cSomething\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. Welch? In Chicago?\u201d \u201cJack Walsh? Northwestern?\u201d \u201cYeah.\u201d I nod and smile. Though maybe I shouldn\u2019t smile. Maybe the reason I have to deal with this crap is that I smile too much. \u201cJack did not stimulate the hippocampus directly\u2014he stimulated occipital areas connected to it.\u201d \u201cBut in the paper\u2014\u201d \u201cFred,\u201d Levi says. He\u2019s sitting back in his chair, dwarfing it, holding a half-eaten apple in his right hand. \u201cI think we can take the word of a Ph.D.- trained neuroscientist with dozens of publications on this,\u201d he adds, calm but authoritative. Then he takes another bite of his apple, and that\u2019s the end of the conversation. See? Sausage Referencing\u2122. Works every time. And every time it makes me want to flip a table, but I just move on to the next topic. What","can I say? I\u2019m tired. And now I crave an apple. My stomach growls when I slip out to fill my water bottle. I\u2019m thinking wistfully of the Lean Cuisine currently unthawing at my desk when I hear it. \u201cMeow.\u201d I recognize the chirpy quality of it immediately. It\u2019s my calico\u2014well, the calico\u2014peeking at me from behind the water fountain. \u201cHey, sweetie.\u201d I go down on my knees to pet her. \u201cWhere did you go the other day?\u201d Chirp, meow. Some purrs. \u201cWhat are you doing all alone?\u201d A headbutt. \u201cAre you hunting mice? Do you work as c-law enforcement?\u201d I laugh at my own pun. The cat gives me a scathing look and wanders away. \u201cOh, come on, it was a good joke. It was hiss-terical!\u201d One last indignant glare, and she turns the corner. I giggle, then hear steps coming up behind me. I don\u2019t look back. I don\u2019t need to, since I already know who it is. \u201cThere was a cat,\u201d I say weakly. Levi walks past me to fill his water bottle. He\u2019s so tall, he needs to hunch over the fountain. His biceps shift under the cotton of his shirt. Was he this big in grad school? Or did I get even shorter? Maybe it\u2019s the stress. Maybe early onset osteoporosis is kicking in. Gotta buy some calcium-set tofu. \u201cRight,\u201d he says, noncommittal. His eyes are on the water. \u201cNo, for real.\u201d \u201cUh-huh.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m serious. She went that way.\u201d I point to my right. Levi looks in that direction with a polite nod and then walks back inside the room, sipping his water. I stay on my knees in the dead middle of the hallway and sigh. I don\u2019t care if Levi Wardass believes me. He probably hates cats anyway.","\u2022\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2022 \u201cEQUIPMENT\u2019S READY. AND Guy set up our computers,\u201d Roc\u00edo says as we walk back to our apartments. I smile into the soupy afternoon air. \u201cAwesome. How was working with Guy and Kaylee?\u201d \u201cHow was working with your lifelong sworn archfoe?\u201d I give her the stink eye. \u201cRo.\u201d My time with her is perfect practice for the adolescent daughter I might never have. \u201cIt was fine,\u201d she mutters. I frown at her tone. \u201cYou sure?\u201d \u201cYeah.\u201d \u201cIt doesn\u2019t sound fine. Is there a problem?\u201d \u201cYes. Several. Global warming, systemic racism, the overpopulation of ecological niches, the unnecessary American remake of Swedish romantic horror masterpiece Let the Right One In\u2014\u201d \u201cRoc\u00edo.\u201d I stop on the sidewalk. \u201cIf there\u2019s something off in the way you\u2019re being treated, if Guy\u2019s making you uncomfortable, please feel free to \u2014\u201d \u201cHave you seen Guy?\u201d she scoffs. \u201cHe looks like the harmless love child of a meerkat and an altar boy.\u201d \u201cThat is very rude and\u201d\u2014I blink\u2014\u201cdisturbingly accurate, but it sounds like you had an unpleasant day, so if there\u2019s anything that bothers you, I\u2014\u201d She mutters something I can\u2019t hear. I lean closer. \u201cWhat did you say?\u201d Another mumbled reply. \u201cWhat? I can\u2019t\u2014\u201d \u201cI said, I hate Kaylee.\u201d She screams it so loud, a man pushing a stroller on the other side of the street turns to look at us. \u201cYou hate\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. Kaylee?\u201d She whirls around and starts walking. \u201cI said what I said.\u201d I hurry after her. \u201cWait\u2014are you serious?\u201d \u201cI\u2019m always serious.\u201d","She\u2019s not. \u201cDid she do something to you?\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d \u201cThen tell me, please.\u201d I put my hand on her shoulder, trying to be reassuring. \u201cI\u2019m here for you, whatever it is\u2014\u201d \u201cHer stupid curls,\u201d Roc\u00edo spits out. \u201cThey look like a damn Fibonacci spiral. They\u2019re logarithmic, and their growth factor is the golden ratio\u2014not to mention that they even look like spun gold. Is she Cinderella? Is this Disneyland Paris?\u201d I blink. \u201cRo, are you\u2014\u201d \u201cAnd what self-respecting person wears that much glitter? Unironically?\u201d \u201cI like glitter\u2014\u201d \u201cNo, you don\u2019t,\u201d she growls. I can only nod. Okay. Don\u2019t like glitter anymore. \u201cAnd earlier she dropped something and you know what she said?\u201d \u201cOops?\u201d \u201c\u2009\u2018Lordy.\u2019 She said, \u2018Oh, Lordy!\u2019\u2014do you understand why I cannot work with her?\u201d I nod to buy time. This is\u00a0 .\u00a0 .\u00a0 . interesting. At the very least. \u201cI, um, understand that you two are very different and might never be friends, but I need you to overcome your\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. revulsion for sequins\u2014\u201d \u201cPink sequins.\u201d \u201c\u2014for pink sequins, and to get along with her.\u201d \u201cImpossible. I quit.\u201d \u201cListen, none of these things are grounds for a formal complaint. We can\u2019t police our coworkers\u2019 sense of fashion.\u201d Roc\u00edo frowns. \u201cWhat if I told you that she had a lollipop? The kind with gum inside?\u201d \u201cStill no.\u201d I smile. \u201cWanna know something? Everything you feel about Kaylee, Levi feels about me.\u201d \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d \u201cHe hates my hair. My piercings. My clothes. I\u2019m pretty sure he thinks my face is on par with a splatterpunk movie.\u201d","\u201cSplatterpunk movies are the best.\u201d \u201cSomehow I don\u2019t think he\u2019d agree. But he ignores the fact that I\u2019m a total swamp hag so we can collaborate. And you should do the same.\u201d Roc\u00edo resumes walking, morose. \u201cDoes he really hate the way you look?\u201d \u201cYep. Always did.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s strange, then.\u201d \u201cWhat\u2019s strange?\u201d \u201cHe stares at you. Plenty.\u201d \u201cOh, no.\u201d I laugh. \u201cHe puts a lot of effort into not staring at me. It\u2019s his CrossFit.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s the opposite. At least when you\u2019re not looking.\u201d I\u2019m about to ask her if she\u2019s high, but she shrugs. \u201cWhatever. If you won\u2019t support me in my hatred for Kaylee I have no choice but to call Alex and rage at him while I listen to Norwegian death metal.\u201d I pat her back. \u201cSounds like the loveliest of evenings.\u201d At home, I just want to stuff my face with peanut butter cups and send twelve @WhatWouldMarieDo tweets about the injustice of Sausage Referencing\u2122, but I limit myself to checking my DMs. I smile when I find one from Shmac: SHMAC: How are things? MARIE: Weirdly, much better. SHMAC: Did camel dick burst into ames? MARIE: Lol, no. I do think he might be less of a camel dick than I thought. Still a dick, don\u2019t get me wrong. But maybe not camel. Maybe he\u2019s like, idk, a duck dick? SHMAC: Have you ever seen a duck dick? MARIE: No? But they\u2019re small and cute, right?","I watch the wheel spin as the picture he sends me loads. I initially think it\u2019s a corkscrew. Then I realize that it\u2019s attached to a little feathered body and\u2014 MARIE: OMG WHAT IS THAT ABOMINATION SHMAC: Your colleague. MARIE: I take it back! I un-demote him! He\u2019s a camel dick again! MARIE: How\u2019s your girlfriend? SHMAC: Yet again: I wish. MARIE: How are things with her? There\u2019s a long pause after, in which I decide to act like the motivated adult that I\u2019m not and put on running shorts and my Marie Curie & The Isotopes\u2014European Tour 1911 T-shirt. SHMAC: A mess. MARIE: How come? SHMAC: I fucked things up. MARIE: Beyond repair? SHMAC: I think so. There\u2019s a lot of history here. MARIE: Want to tell me? The three dots at the base of the screen bounce for a while, so I check my Couch-to-5K app. Looks like today I need to run five minutes, walk one","minute, and then run five more minutes. Sounds feasible. Oh, who am I kidding? It sounds harrowing. SHMAC: It\u2019s complicated. Part of it is that I rst met her when I was younger. MARIE: Please don\u2019t tell me you have a secret stemlord past. SHMAC: I have an asshole past. MARIE: How many ladies have you harassed on the internet? SHMAC: Zero. But I did grow up in a hostile, uncommunicative environment. I was an uncommunicative person before I realized that I couldn\u2019t spend the rest of my life like that. I got therapy, which helped me gure out how to deal with feelings that are\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. overwhelming. Except every time I talk to her my brain blanks and I become the person I used to be. MARIE: Ouch. SHMAC: I never suspected how some of my actions came across, but in hindsight they make complete sense. Still, something she said makes me wonder if her husband told her some lies that aggravated the situation. MARIE: You should tell her. If it were me, I\u2019d want to know. SHMAC: In the end it doesn\u2019t matter. She\u2019s happy with him.","I take a deep breath. MARIE: Okay, listen. For years I thought that I was happy in a relationship with someone who turned out to be a chronic liar. And in my experience relationships that are based on lies can\u2019t last. Not in the long term. You\u2019d be doing her a favor, if you came clean. I don\u2019t mention to him that all relationships can\u2019t last. People tend to get defensive when I do. They have to figure it out on their own. SHMAC: I\u2019m sorry that happened to you. MARIE: I\u2019m sorry this is happening to you. SHMAC: Look at us. Two sorry scientists. MARIE: Is there any other kind? SHMAC: Not that I know of. My heart hurts for Shmac as I put on my sneakers. I can\u2019t even imagine how awful it must be, to be in love with a married person. Heartbreaking situations like this vindicate the corporate mission of Bee, Inc.: keep up the Bee-fence. Never, ever fall for someone. If my heart gets broken again, neuroscience will be the one. It\u2019s sure to do a much cleaner job than stupid Tim, anyway. Doctor Curie would support me in this decision, I\u2019m positive. I spring up from the couch and venture out into the soup-like Houston air for my run. \u2022\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2022","IF I RUN at the Space Center, someone I know might see me crawl my way about, and I wouldn\u2019t wish that sight upon an innocent bystander. Google comes to my aid: there\u2019s a little cemetery about five minutes away. Reading baby names like Alford or Brockholst on gravestones might be a nice distraction from the gut-wrenching torment of exercising. I slip in my AirPods, start an Alanis Morissette album, and head that way. It\u2019s 6:43, which means that I can be home and showered in time to watch Love Island. Don\u2019t judge. It\u2019s an underrated show. Disappointingly, sitting on the couch thinking about working out has not improved my aerobic fitness. I realize it on minute three of my run, when I collapse in front of the tombstone of Noah F. Moore (surprisingly fitting), 1834\u20131902. I lie in the grass drenched in sweat, listening to my heart pound in my ears. Or maybe it\u2019s just Alanis screaming. I\u2019m not meant for this. And by \u201cthis\u201d I mean using my body for anything more strenuous than reaching for my treat cupboard. Which, incidentally, is all my cupboards. Yes, okay: Dr. Curie bonded with her husband over their shared love of cycling and nature walks, but we can\u2019t all be like her: gentlewoman, scholar, and athlete. When I notice that the sun is setting, I scrape myself off the ground, bid farewell to Noah, and start hobbling home. I\u2019m almost back at the entrance when I notice something: there is no entrance. The tall gates I ran through on my way here are now closed. I try to shake them open, but no dice. I look around. The walls are too high for me to climb\u2014because I\u2019m five feet tall and everything is too high for me to climb. I take a deep breath. This is okay. It\u2019s fine. I\u2019m not stuck in here. If I follow the walls I\u2019ll find a shorter segment I can easily climb over. Or not. I definitely haven\u2019t found one fifteen minutes later, when Houston\u2019s firmly in dusk territory and I have to turn on my flashlight app to see a few feet away from me. I sum up the situation in my head: I\u2019m alone (sorry, Noah, you don\u2019t count), stuck in a cemetery after sundown, and my phone is at 20 percent. Oops.","I feel a wave of panic swell and immediately leash it. No. Down. Bad panic. No treats for you. I need to engage in some goal-oriented problem- solving before I can wallow in despair. What can I do? I could yell and hope someone hears me, but what could they do? Build a makeshift rope with their belts? Hmm. Seems like a traumatic brain injury waiting to happen. Pass. I could call 911, then. Though 911 is probably busy saving people who actually deserve to be saved. People who didn\u2019t moronically get themselves locked inside a cemetery at night. Calling someone I know would be better. I could ask someone to bring me a ladder. Yes, that sounds good. I have the phone numbers of two people who currently live in Houston. The second doesn\u2019t count, because I\u2019ll sleep cradled by the slimy arms of Noah\u2019s skeleton before calling it. But that\u2019s okay, because the first is Roc\u00edo, who could ask the super for a ladder and drive here in our rental. Let\u2019s be real: cemeteries at night are her natural habitat. She\u2019ll love this immensely. If only she bothered to answer her phone. I call her once, twice. Seven times. Then I remember that Gen Zs would rather roll around in nettles than talk on the phone, and I text her. No answer. My stupid battery is at 18 percent, mosquitos are sucking blood out of my shins, and Roc\u00edo is probably having Skype sex to a band called Thorr\u2019s Hammer. Who else can I call? How long would it take Reike to fly here? Is it too late to ask her for the number of nose-tongue guy? What are the chances that Shmac secretly lives in Houston? Should I email Guy? But he has a kid. He might not check his email at night. My phone is at 12 percent, and my eyes fall on the 832 number in my incoming call log. I haven\u2019t even bothered saving it. Because I thought I\u2019d never use it. I can\u2019t. I can\u2019t. I can\u2019t call Levi. He\u2019s probably at home, having a Stepford dinner with his wife, playing with his dog, helping his daughter with math homework. Penny of the black curls. No. I can\u2019t. He\u2019d hate me even more. And the humiliation. He\u2019s already saved me once. Nine percent, the world is pitch black, and I hate myself. There\u2019s no alternative. I have successfully defended a Ph.D. dissertation, overcome a","depressive episode, gotten my chuncha fully waxed every month for years, and yet tapping once on Levi\u2019s number feels like the hardest thing I\u2019ve ever done. Maybe I should just settle in for the night. Maybe a pack of bobcats will let me snuggle in their pile. Maybe\u2014 \u201cYes?\u201d Oh, shit. He answered. Why did he answer? He\u2019s a millennial; we also hate talking on the\u2014 \u201cHello?\u201d \u201cUm, sorry. This is Bee. K\u00f6nigswasser. We, um, work together? At NASA?\u201d A pause. \u201cI know who you are, Bee.\u201d \u201cRight. Yes. So\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d I close my eyes. \u201cI am having a bit of a problem and I was wondering if you could\u2014\u201d He doesn\u2019t hesitate. \u201cWhere are you?\u201d \u201cSee, I\u2019m in this little cemetery by the Space Center. Greenwood?\u201d \u201cGreenforest. Are you locked in?\u201d \u201cI\u2014 How do you know?\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re calling me from a cemetery after sundown. Cemeteries close at sundown.\u201d That would have been a useful piece of information forty-five minutes ago. \u201cYeah, so\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. the walls are sort of tall, and my phone is sort of dying, and I\u2019m sort of\u2014\u201d \u201cGo stand by the gates. Turn off the flashlight if you have it on. Don\u2019t talk to anyone you don\u2019t know. I\u2019ll be there in ten minutes.\u201d A beat. \u201cI\u2019ve got you. Don\u2019t worry, okay?\u201d He hangs up before I can tell him to bring a ladder. And, come to think of it, before I can ask him to come rescue me.","9 MEDIAL FRONTAL CORTEX: MAYBE I WAS WRONG? THE SECOND LEVI appears I want to kiss him for rescuing me from the mosquitos, and the ghosts, and the ghosts of the mosquitos. I also want to kill him for witnessing the extent of the humiliation of Bee K\u00f6nigswasser, human disaster. What can I say? I contain multitudes. He steps out of an oil-guzzling truck that I sadly have no right to complain about anymore, surveys the wall, and comes to stand on the other side of the gate. To his credit, if he\u2019s smirking he\u2019s doing it on the inside. His expression is neutral when he asks, \u201cYou okay?\u201d Does thoroughly mortified count as okay? Let\u2019s say: \u201cYeah.\u201d \u201cGood. This is what we\u2019re going to do: I\u2019ll slide in the ladder through the gates, and you\u2019ll use it to get on top of the wall. I\u2019ll be on the other side to catch you.\u201d I frown. He sounds very\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. in charge. Self-assured. Not that he usually doesn\u2019t, but it\u2019s having a new\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. effect on me. Oh my God. Am I a damsel in distress? \u201cHow will we retrieve the ladder?\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll drive by tomorrow morning and pick it up.\u201d \u201cWhat if someone steals it?\u201d","\u201cI\u2019ll have lost a precious heirloom passed down my family for generations.\u201d \u201cReally?\u201d \u201cNo. Ready?\u201d I\u2019m not, but it doesn\u2019t matter. He lifts the ladder like it\u2019s a feather and slides it through the gate. It feels a little less-than-cool when I find that it\u2019s so heavy, I can barely hold it upright. I tell myself that I have other talents as he has to patiently guide me through the process of releasing the catches and setting the safety mechanism. He must notice how annoying I find being coached, because he says, \u201cAt least you know about the angular gyrus.\u201d I turn to hiss at him, but stop when I see his expression. Is he teasing me again? For the second time? In a day? Whatever. I climb up, which proves to be a nice distraction. Because you know how I mentioned that my body likes to faint? Well. Heights make it like to faint even more. I\u2019m halfway to the top, and my head starts spinning. I clutch the sidebars and take a deep breath. I can do this. I can maintain normal blood pressure without passing out. I\u2019m not even that high up. Here, if I look down I can\u2014 \u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d Levi orders. I turn to him. I\u2019m a few inches taller, and he looks even more handsome from this angle. God, I hate him. And myself. \u201cDon\u2019t what?\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t look down. It\u2019ll be worse.\u201d How does he even know that\u2014 \u201cLook up. Take one step after the other, slowly. Yes, good.\u201d I don\u2019t know if his advice works, or if my blood pressure naturally spikes when I\u2019m told what to do, but I make it to the top without crumpling like a sack of potatoes. At which point I realize that the worst is yet ahead. \u201cJust lower yourself from the edge,\u201d Levi says. He\u2019s standing right below me, arms raised to catch me, his head a few inches from my dangling feet. \u201cJesus.\u201d Forget fainting. I\u2019m about to barf. \u201cWhat if you don\u2019t catch me? What if I\u2019m too heavy? What if we both fall? What if I break your neck?\u201d","\u201cI will, you\u2019re obviously not, we won\u2019t, and you won\u2019t. Come on, Bee,\u201d he says patiently. \u201cJust close your eyes.\u201d See? This is what you get yourself into when you work out. Stay in the safe harbor of your couch, kids. \u201cYou ready?\u201d he asks encouragingly. Trust falls. With Levi Wardass. God, when did this become my life? Dr. Curie, please watch out for me. I let myself go. For a second I\u2019m suspended in air, sure that I\u2019ll splatter Humpty-Dumpty style. Then strong fingers close around my waist, and I\u2019m in Levi\u2019s arms for the second time in ten days. I must have pushed from the wall a little too forcefully, because we end up closer than I intended. My front rubs against him as he lowers me to the ground, and I feel everything. Everything. The hard muscles of his shoulders under my hands. The heat of his flesh through the shirt. The way his belt bites into my abdomen. The dangerous tingling in my lower belly as he\u2014 What? No. I step back. This is Levi Ward. A married man. A father. A camel dick. What am I even thinking? \u201cAre you okay?\u201d I nod, flustered. \u201cThank you for getting here so quickly.\u201d He looks away. He may be flushing. \u201cYou\u2019re welcome.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m so sorry to disrupt your evening. I tried to call Roc\u00edo, but she was\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. I\u2019m not sure where.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m glad you called me.\u201d Is he? I seriously doubt it. \u201cAnyway, thank you so much. How can I return the favor? Can I pay for gas?\u201d He shakes his head. \u201cI\u2019ll drive you home.\u201d \u201cOh, there\u2019s no need. I\u2019m just five minutes away.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s pitch black and there are no sidewalks.\u201d He holds the passenger door open, and I have no choice but to get in. Whatever. I can survive one more minute in close proximity with him. The inside of his truck is pristine and smells good\u2014not something I believed possible\u2014with a handful of L\u00e4rabars in the back that make my stomach cramp with hunger, and a half-full CamelBak that I\u2019d risk his germs for. He also drives a stick shift. Hmph. Show-off.","\u201cYou\u2019re staying at the lodging facilities, right?\u201d I nod, pulling at the hem of my shorts. I don\u2019t like how high they ride when I sit. Not that Levi would ever voluntarily look at my thighs, but I\u2019m a bit self-conscious, since Tim used to make fun of me for being bowlegged. And Annie would defend me, growl at him that my legs were perfect and his opinion was unnecessary, and I would\u2014 The truck starts. A familiar voice fills the cabin, but Levi quickly switches to NPR. I blink. The anchor is talking about mail-in ballots. \u201cWas that\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. Pearl Jam?\u201d \u201cYeah.\u201d \u201cVitalogy?\u201d \u201cYep.\u201d Humph. Pearl Jam\u2019s not my favorite, but it\u2019s good, and I hate that Levi likes good music. I need him to love Dave Matthews Band. To stan the Insane Clown Posse. To have a Nickelback tramp stamp. It\u2019s what I deserve. \u201cWhat were you doing in a cemetery?\u201d he asks. \u201cJust\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. running.\u201d \u201cYou run?\u201d He sounds surprised. Offensively so. \u201cHey, I know I look like a wimp, but\u2014\u201d \u201cYou don\u2019t,\u201d he interjects. \u201cLook like a wimp, I mean. Just, in grad school you\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d I turn to him. The corner of his mouth is curving upward. \u201cI what?\u201d \u201cOnce you said that time spent working out is time one never gets back.\u201d I have no memories of saying that. Especially to Levi, since we exchanged approximately twelve words at Pitt. Though it does sound like something I\u2019d say. \u201cAs it turns out, the higher your aerobic fitness, the healthier your hippocampus. Not to mention the overall connectivity of your Default Mode Network and multiple axon bundles, so\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d I shrug. \u201cI find myself resentfully acknowledging that according to science, exercise is a good thing.\u201d He chuckles. Crow\u2019s-feet crinkle the corners of his eyes, and","it makes me want to continue. Not that I care about making him laugh. Why would I? \u201cI\u2019m doing this Couch-to-5K program, but\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. ew.\u201d \u201cEw?\u201d \u201cEw.\u201d His smile widens a millimeter. \u201cHow long\u2019s the program?\u201d \u201cFour weeks.\u201d \u201cHow long have you been on it?\u201d \u201cCouple weeks.\u201d \u201cWhat distance are you up to?\u201d \u201c.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0Point two miles. I hit the wall. On, um, minute three.\u201d He gives me a skeptical glance. \u201cTo be fair, this is only my second time running since I was in middle school.\u201d \u201cThe heat here is terrible. You might want to run in the morning. But you\u2019re not a morning person, right?\u201d He bites his lip pensively. I wonder how he could possibly know that, and realize that sadly, one needs only to take a look at me before eleven a.m. \u201cThere\u2019s a gym in the Space Center you should have access to.\u201d \u201cI checked. It\u2019s not free for contractors, and I\u2019m not sure the health of my nervous system is worth seventy bucks a month.\u201d Ari Shapiro is asking a correspondent about some Facebook lawsuit. \u201cYou run 5Ks?\u201d I ask. \u201cNo.\u201d My eyes narrow. \u201cIs it because you only run marathons and above?\u201d \u201cI\u00a0 .\u00a0 .\u00a0 .\u201d He hesitates, looking sheepish. \u201cI run half marathons, sometimes.\u201d \u201cWell, then,\u201d I say conversationally as he pulls into the parking lot, \u201cthank you very much for the rescue and the ride, but I need to be alone so I can hate you in peace now.\u201d He laughs again. Why does it sound so nice? \u201cHey, I struggle with running, too.\u201d I\u2019m sure he does. Around mile thirty-four or so. \u201cWell, thanks. It\u2019s the second time you saved me.\u201d Despite the fact that we\u2019re nemeses. Outstanding, huh? \u201cThe second?\u201d","\u201cYeah.\u201d I release the seat belt. \u201cThe other time was at work. When I was almost\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. pancaked?\u201d \u201cAh.\u201d Something jumps in his jaw at the mention. \u201cYeah.\u201d \u201cWell, have a great night.\u201d I pat my pockets. \u201cApologies for\u2014\u201d I pat some more. Then I twist around in the seat, inspect it for something that might have slipped out, and find nothing. It\u2019s as pristine as when I got in. \u201cUh\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d \u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d \u201cI\u2014\u201d I close my eyes, trying to remember my day. I put on shorts. Put my keys into the pocket. Felt them bounce against my leg while I was running, up until\u00a0 .\u00a0 .\u00a0 . Shit. I think they fell out when I collapsed on the grave. \u201cDamn you, Noah Moore,\u201d I mutter. \u201cWhat?\u201d \u201cI think I left my keys in the cemetery.\u201d I groan. \u201cShit, the super leaves at seven.\u201d Jesus, what\u2019s wrong with this day? I bite my lower lip, rifling through options. I could sleep on Roc\u00edo\u2019s couch and go pick up my keys first thing in the morning. Of course, I\u2019m not sure where Roc\u00edo is, or whether she\u2019ll come to the door. The fact that my phone is at 4 percent does not\u2014 I startle when Levi starts the truck again. \u201cOh, thanks, but there\u2019s no need to go back to the cemetery. I wouldn\u2019t know how to get in, and\u2014\u201d \u201cI\u2019m not taking you to the cemetery.\u201d He\u2019s not looking at me. \u201cFasten your seat belt.\u201d \u201cWhat?\u201d \u201cFasten your seat belt,\u201d he repeats. I do, confused. \u201cWhere are we going?\u201d \u201cHome.\u201d \u201cWhose home?\u201d \u201cMy home.\u201d My jaw drops. I must have misheard. \u201cWhat?\u201d \u201cYou need a place to stay, no?\u201d \u201cYeah, but\u2014Roc\u00edo\u2019s couch. Or I\u2019ll call a locksmith. I can\u2019t come to your house.\u201d","\u201cWhy?\u201d \u201cBecause,\u201d I say, sounding like a shrill twelve-year-old. Why is he being so nice all of a sudden? Does he feel guilty for not telling me about the NASA mess? Well, he should. But I\u2019d rather sleep under a bridge and eat plankton than go to his place and see his perfect family life. Nothing personal, but the envy would gut me. And I can\u2019t meet his wife smelling like dirty socks and graveyard. Who knows what Levi already told her about me? \u201cYou probably have plans for the evening.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t.\u201d \u201cAnd I\u2019d put you out.\u201d \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t.\u201d \u201cPlus, you hate me.\u201d He briefly closes his eyes in exasperation, which worries me. He\u2019s driving, after all. \u201cIs there any nonimaginary reason you don\u2019t want to stay at my place, Bee?\u201d he asks with a sigh. \u201cI\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. It\u2019s very nice of you to offer, but I don\u2019t feel comfortable.\u201d That gets through to him. His hands tighten on the wheel and he says calmly, \u201cIf you don\u2019t feel safe around me, I absolutely respect that. I\u2019ll drive you back to your place. But I\u2019m not going to leave until I\u2019m sure that you have a secure place to\u2014\u201d \u201cWhat? No. I feel safe around you.\u201d As I say it, I realize how true it is, and how rare for me. There\u2019s often a constant undercurrent of threat when I\u2019m alone with men I don\u2019t know very well. The other night Guy came by my office to chat, and even though he\u2019s never been anything but nice, I couldn\u2019t stop glancing at the door. But Levi\u2019s different, which is odd, especially considering that our interactions have always been antagonistic. And especially considering that he\u2019s built like a Victorian mansion. \u201cIt\u2019s not that.\u201d \u201cThen\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0?\u201d I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the headrest. There\u2019s no way I\u2019m going to be able to avoid this, is there? Might as well lean in to the clusterfuck.","\u201cThen, thank you,\u201d I say, trying not to sound as dejected as I feel. \u201cI\u2019d love to stay with you tonight, if it\u2019s not too much trouble.\u201d \u2022\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2022 THE SECOND I see Levi\u2019s house I want to burn it down with a flamethrower. Because it\u2019s perfect. To be fair, it\u2019s a totally normal house. But it perfectly matches my ideal, which, to be fair again, is not particularly lofty. My lifelong dream is a pretty brick home in the suburbs, a family with two point five children, and a yard to grow butterfly-friendly plants. I\u2019m pretty sure a psychoanalyst would say that it has to do with the nomadic lifestyle of my formative years. I\u2019m a stability slut, what can I say? Of course, when I say \u201clifelong dream\u201d I mean until a couple of years ago. Once I realized how life-alteringly cruel humans can be, I scrapped the family part from the dream. The house lingers, though, at least according to the pang in my heart when Levi pulls up the driveway. First thing I notice: he grows hummingbird mint in his garden\u2014nature\u2019s hummingbird feeder, and my favorite plant. Grrr. Second: there are no cars in the driveway. Weird. But some lights inside are on, so maybe his wife\u2019s is just in the garage. Yeah, that\u2019s probably it. I jump out of the truck\u2014which is unjustly tall\u2014with already-sore muscles and already-itchy legs. \u201cAre you sure this is okay?\u201d He gives me a silent look that seems to mean Haven\u2019t we been over this seven times already? and leads me up his driveway, where we\u2019re surrounded by a delightful amount of fireflies. I\u2019m explosively jealous of this place. And I\u2019m about to meet Levi\u2019s significant other, who probably has a nickname for me, her husband\u2019s ugly former lab mate. Something like FrankenBee. Or Beezilla. Wait, those nicknames are actually pretty cute. I hope for their sake that they came up with something meaner. The inside of the house is silent, and I wonder if the family is already asleep. \u201cShould I be quiet?\u201d I whisper.","He gives me a puzzled look. \u201cIf you want,\u201d he says at regular volume. Maybe the walls are soundproof? Either Levi is a very strict dad, or he and his wife are pros at picking up after their kid. The house is immaculate and sparsely furnished, no toys or clutter in sight. There are some engineering journals, a handful of sci-fi posters on the walls, and an open Asimov book on the coffee table\u2014one of my favorite authors. How is this man I hate surrounded by everything I love? It\u2019s the ultimate mindfuck. \u201cThere are three unused bedrooms upstairs. You can pick the one you like best.\u201d Three unused bedrooms? How big is this house? \u201cOne\u2019s technically my office, but the couch pulls out. Do you want to shower?\u201d \u201cShower?\u201d \u201cI didn\u2019t mean to\u2014\u201d He looks flustered. \u201cIf you want to. Because you ran. You don\u2019t have to. I don\u2019t mean to imply that\u2014\u201d \u201cThat I smell like the sweaty crotch of a trout?\u201d \u201cUh\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d \u201cThat I\u2019m as dirty as a gas station restroom?\u201d He\u2019s definitely flustered, and I laugh. The blush makes him almost endearing. \u201cDon\u2019t worry. I smell gross and I\u2019d love a shower.\u201d He swallows and nods. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to use my en suite. Soap and towels are in there.\u201d But isn\u2019t his wife\u2014? \u201cI can wash and dry your clothes if you want. Give you something of mine in the meantime. Though I don\u2019t have anything that will fit. You\u2019re very\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d He clears his throat. \u201cSmall.\u201d Wait a minute\u2014is he divorced? Is that why he doesn\u2019t wear a ring? But then he wouldn\u2019t have pics of his wife in his office, would he? Oh my God, is she dead? No, Guy would have told me. Or would he? \u201cYou have an iPhone, right?\u201d He exits the living room and comes back holding out a charger. \u201cHere you go.\u201d I don\u2019t take it. I just stare up at his irritatingly handsome face, and\u2014 God, this is driving me nuts. \u201cListen,\u201d I say, perhaps more aggressively than","I should, \u201cI know it\u2019s rude, but I\u2019m too weirded out not to, so I\u2019m just going to ask you right out.\u201d I take a deep breath. \u201cWhere is your family?\u201d He shrugs, still holding out the charger. \u201cIt\u2019s not rude. My parents are in Dallas. My eldest brother lives on the Air Force base in Vegas, and the other recently deployed to Belgium\u2014\u201d \u201cNot that family. Your other family.\u201d His head tilts. \u201cDoes my father have a secret family you want to tell me about, or\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0?\u201d \u201cNo. Your kid, where is she?\u201d \u201cMy what?\u201d He squints at me. \u201cThere\u2019s a picture of her in your office,\u201d I say weakly. \u201cAnd Guy told me you two babysit together.\u201d \u201cAh.\u201d He shakes his head with a smile. \u201cPenny\u2019s not my kid. But she gave me that picture. She made the frame in school.\u201d She\u2019s not his\u2014 Oh. \u201cYou\u2019re with her mother, then?\u201d \u201cNo. Lily and I dated briefly ages ago, but now we\u2019re friends. She\u2019s a teacher, and a single mother for the past year. Sometimes I\u2019ll watch Penny for her, or drop her off at school if she\u2019s running late. Stuff like that.\u201d Oh. \u201cOh.\u201d Boy, do I love feeling like an idiot. \u201cSo you live\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. alone?\u201d He nods. And then his eyes widen and he takes a step back. \u201cOh. I see.\u201d \u201cSee what?\u201d \u201cWhy you asked. I\u2019m sorry, I didn\u2019t even think that you might feel unsafe sleeping here if it\u2019s just the two of us. I will\u2014\u201d \u201cOh, no.\u201d I take a step forward to reassure him. \u201cI asked because I was curious. Honestly, it seemed incredibly weird to me that you\u2014\u201d I realize what I\u2019m about to say and snap my jaw shut before I continue. Levi\u2019s not fooled. \u201cWere you shocked that someone would marry me?\u201d he asks, biting back a smile. Yup. \u201cNot at all! You\u2019re smart. And, um, tall. Still have all your hair. And I\u2019m sure that with women you don\u2019t hate you\u2019re nicer than you have historically been with me!\u201d \u201cBee, I don\u2019t\u2014\u201d He exhales hard. \u201cGet in the truck.\u201d","\u201cWhy?\u201d \u201cI\u2019m driving you back to the cemetery and feeding you to the coyotes.\u201d \u201cHistorically,\u201d I hurry to say. \u201cYou\u2019ve been nice to me today! You saved me from a zombie attack, for sure. And from Fred and Mark!\u201d He frowns. \u201cI\u2019m not sure what\u2019s wrong with them.\u201d \u201cLots of misogyny\u2019s my guess.\u201d I debate whether continuing. Then I think: fuck it. \u201cAlso, it doesn\u2019t help that your team is exclusively male and almost exclusively white.\u201d I expect him to contradict me. Instead he says, \u201cYou\u2019re right. It\u2019s appalling.\u201d \u201cYou chose the members.\u201d He shakes his head. \u201cI inherited the team from my predecessor.\u201d \u201cOh?\u201d \u201cThe only new hire I made was Kaylee.\u201d He sighs. \u201cI officially reprimanded Mark. His behavior today is in his file. And I called a team meeting this afternoon, in which I reiterated that you are co-leader and that what you say goes. If anything like today ever happens again, let me know. I\u2019ll deal with it. Come, I\u2019ll find you something to wear.\u201d I\u2019m a little shell-shocked that he called a meeting to officially Sausage Reference\u2122 me, so I follow him without questions. The upstairs area is just as pretty as the first floor, but with more personality. I spot a vinyl player and CDs, pictures on the walls, even some Pitt swag I recognize from my own apartment. His bedroom, though\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. his bedroom is magic. Something out of a catalog. It\u2019s a corner room with two large windows, wooden furniture, ceiling-high bookshelves, and, in the middle of the king-sized bed, sleeping softly on top of the comforter\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. \u201cAre you allergic to cats?\u201d he asks, rummaging through a drawer. I shake my head, then remember that he\u2019s not looking at me. \u201cNo.\u201d \u201cSchr\u00f6dinger\u2019s probably going to leave you alone, anyway. He\u2019s old and grumpy.\u201d Schr\u00f6dinger! \u201cI thought you hated cats.\u201d He turns with a confused look. \u201cWhy?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know. You seemed a bit hostile toward my cat today.\u201d","\u201cYou mean, your cat that doesn\u2019t exist?\u201d \u201cF\u00e9licette exists! I have literally wiped boogers from her eyes, so\u2014\u201d \u201cF\u00e9licette?\u201d I press my lips together. \u201cIt\u2019s the name of the first cat in space.\u201d He lifts one eyebrow. \u201cAnd you named your imaginary cat after her. I see.\u201d I roll my eyes and drop the topic. There\u2019s nothing I want more than to pet the black ball of fur curled on the bed, but Levi\u2019s holding out a white V- neck T-shirt and\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. \u201cHow offended would you be if I offered you boxers a friend gave me as a joke? They\u2019re very small, I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve ever worn them.\u201d \u201cIs that\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. flamingoes?\u201d His cheeks redden. \u201cThe size isn\u2019t the only reason I never wear them. Also, you might want this.\u201d It\u2019s a tube of itch-relief cream. \u201cThanks. How did you know?\u201d He shrugs, still a little flushed. \u201cYou\u2019ve been scratching your legs a lot.\u201d \u201cYeah, bugs love me.\u201d I roll my eyes. \u201cMy ex used to say that he only kept me around as a decoy for mosquitos.\u201d Looking back to Tim\u2019s behaviors, it probably wasn\u2019t even a joke. Ten minutes later I make my way downstairs, hair wet and pine scented, reflecting that out of all the implausible roller coasters of events that have befallen me in the past weeks, the weirdest is knowing that Levi and I use the same deodorant. What can I say? Men\u2019s products are cheaper, smell better, and block my BO more effectively. Not sure how I feel about the fact that Levi\u2019s armpits and mine have similar needs, but I\u2019m going to let that slide. The kitchen, which is cozy and surprisingly well-equipped, smells like the most delicious meal I\u2019ve never had. Levi works at the stove, his back to me, and I\u2019m reasonably sure that he\u2019s wearing the same shirt I have on in a different color. Except that it fits him perfectly. On me it looks like a circus tent. \u201cFood will be\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d he starts, and then stops when he turns around and sees me in the room.","I grab two fistfuls of my shirt and pretend to curtsy. \u201cThank you for this gown, my good sir.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d He sounds hoarse. \u201cYou\u2019re welcome. Food will be ready in five minutes.\u201d I wince as he turns back to the pans and pots. There\u2019s no way he cooked without meat and dairy. God, why is he being so damn nice? \u201cThank you, but\u00a0 .\u00a0 .\u00a0 .\u201d I pad to the stove. He\u2019s making tacos. Ugh. I love tacos. \u201cYou didn\u2019t have to.\u201d \u201cI was going to make myself dinner anyway.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s really kind of you to offer, but I doubt I can eat\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d I stop when my eyes fall to the filling. It\u2019s not meat, but portobello mushrooms. Beside a jar of dairy-free sour cream, and a bag of shredded plant-based cheddar. My eyes narrow. On impulse, I push on my toes and open the cabinet closest to me. I find quinoa, agar powder, and maple syrup. In the next one there are nuts, seeds, a package of dates. I scowl harder and move to the fridge, which looks like a richer, better version of mine. Almond milk, tofu, fruits and vegetables, coconut-based yogurts, miso paste. Oh my God. Oh. My. God. \u201cHe\u2019s a vegan,\u201d I mutter to myself. \u201cHe is.\u201d I look up. Levi is staring at me with a puzzled, patient expression, and I have no idea how to tell him that this is, like, the tenth thing we have in common. Sci-fi and cats and science and obviously men\u2019s deodorants and who knows what else. It\u2019s so incredibly upsetting to me, I can\u2019t even imagine how much he\u2019d hate it if he knew. I toy with the idea of telling him, but he doesn\u2019t deserve it. He\u2019s been very nice today. Instead I just clear my throat. \u201cUm, me too.\u201d \u201cI figured. When you\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. scolded me. About the donut.\u201d \u201cOh, God. I\u2019d forgotten about that.\u201d I bury my face in my hands. \u201cI\u2019m sorry. So sorry. Believe it or not, I\u2019m usually not a deranged asshole who scares her colleagues away from plant-based products.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s fine.\u201d","I massage my temple. \u201cIn my defense, you drive the least environmentally friendly vehicle.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s a Ford F-150. Pretty friendly, actually.\u201d \u201cIs it?\u201d I wince. \u201cWell, in another defense of mine, weren\u2019t you a hunter back in grad school?\u201d His shoulders stiffen imperceptibly. \u201cMy entire family hunts, and I\u2019ve gone on more hunting trips than I\u2019d have liked as a teen. Before I could say no.\u201d \u201cThat sounds awful.\u201d He shrugs, but it looks a little forced. \u201cOkay. I guess I have no defense at all. I\u2019m just an asshole.\u201d He smiles. \u201cI didn\u2019t know you were a vegan, either. I remember Tim bringing you meat lunches back at Pitt.\u201d \u201cYeah.\u201d I roll my eyes. \u201cTim was of the school of thought that I was being stubborn and that a taste of meat would convert me back to a regular diet.\u201d I laugh at Levi\u2019s appalled expression. \u201cYeah. He\u2019d sneak non-vegan stuff into my food all the time. He was the worst back then. Anyway, how long have you been a vegan?\u201d \u201cTwenty years, give or take.\u201d \u201cOoh. Which animal was it for you?\u201d He knows exactly what I mean. \u201cA goat. In a cheese commercial. She looked so\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. cogent.\u201d I nod somberly. \u201cIt must have been very emotional.\u201d \u201cSure was for my parents. We fought over whether white meat is really meat for the better part of a decade.\u201d He hands me a plate, gesturing for me to fill it. \u201cWhat about you?\u201d \u201cA chicken. Really cute. He\u2019d sometimes sit next to me and lean against my side. Until\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. yeah.\u201d He sighs. \u201cYeah.\u201d Five minutes later, sitting in a breakfast nook I\u2019d literally give my pinkie to own, plates full of delicious food and imported beer in front of us, something occurs to me: I\u2019ve been here for one hour and I haven\u2019t felt uneasy\u2014not once. I was fully ready to spend the night pretending to be in","my happy place (with Dr. Curie under a blooming cherry tree in Nara, Japan), but Levi has made things weirdly\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. easy for me. \u201cHey,\u201d I say before he can take a bite of his tacos, \u201cthank you for today. It can\u2019t be easy, to be so welcoming to someone you don\u2019t particularly get along with or like, or to have them stay in your house.\u201d He closes his eyes, like every other time I mention the obvious fact that there\u2019s no love lost between us (he is surprisingly truth-averse). But when he opens them, he holds my gaze. \u201cYou\u2019re right. It\u2019s not easy. But not for any reason you think.\u201d I frown, meaning to ask him what exactly he means by that, but he beats me to it. \u201cEat up, Bee,\u201d he orders gently. I\u2019m starving, so I do just that.","10 DORSOLATERAL PREFRONTAL CORTEX: UNTRUTHS \u201cI\u2019M GOING TO switch off your speech center, now.\u201d Guy looks up from under his eyelashes with a defeated sigh. \u201cMan, I hate it when people do that.\u201d I laugh. Guy\u2019s the third astronaut I\u2019ve tested this morning. He works on BLINK, so we weren\u2019t originally planning to map his brain, but someone pulled out of the pilot group last minute. Brain stimulation is tricky business: it\u2019s complicated to predict how neurons will respond, and even harder in people who have a history of epilepsy or electric misfiring. Just drinking a cup of strong coffee can mess up brain chemistry enough to make a well-consolidated stimulation protocol dangerous. When we found out that one of the astronauts we selected had a history of seizures, we decided to give his spot to Guy. Guy was ecstatic. \u201cI\u2019m going to target your Broca\u2019s area,\u201d I tell him. \u201cAh, yes. The famed Broca\u2019s area.\u201d He nods knowingly. I smile. \u201cThat would be your left posterior-inferior frontal gyrus. I\u2019ll stimulate it with trains up to twenty-five hertz.\u201d \u201cWithout even buying me dinner first?\u201d He clucks his tongue. \u201cTo see whether it\u2019s working, I\u2019ll need you to talk. You can recite a poem, free-style it, doesn\u2019t matter.\u201d The other astronauts I tested today","chose a Shakespeare sonnet and the Pledge of Allegiance. \u201cWhatever I want?\u201d I position the stimulation coil one inch from his ear. \u201cYep.\u201d \u201cVery well, then.\u201d He clears his throat. \u201cMy loneliness is killing me and I, I must confess I still believe\u2014\u201d I laugh, like everyone else in the room. Including Levi, who appears to be fairly close to Guy. It speaks highly of him (Guy, not Levi; I refuse to speak highly of Levi), considering he probably should have been BLINK\u2019s leader. Guy doesn\u2019t seem to mind, at least judging by the chummy chat they had over some sportsball game\u2019s lineup while I was setting up my equipment. \u201c.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0my loneliness is killing me and I, I must c\u2014\u201d Guy frowns. \u201cSorry, I must c\u2014\u201d He frowns harder. \u201cMust c\u2014\u201d he sputters one last time, blinking fast. I turn to Roc\u00edo, who\u2019s taking notes. \u201cSpeech arrest at MNI coordinates minus thirty-eight, sixteen, fifty.\u201d The ensuing applause is unnecessary, but a tiny bit welcome. Earlier this morning, when the entire engineering team dragged their feet to the neurostimulation lab to observe my first brain mapping session, it was obvious that they\u2019d rather be pretty much anywhere else. It was equally obvious that Levi had instructed them not to say so much as a peep about their total lack of interest. They\u2019re good guys. They tried to fake it. Sadly, there\u2019s a reason that in high school, engineers tend to gravitate toward the robotics shop instead of drama club. Thankfully, neuroscience has a way of defending her own honor. I just had to pick up my coil and show a few tricks. With stimulation at the right spot and frequency, decorated astronauts with IQs well into the triple digits and drawers full of graduate diplomas can temporarily forget how to count (\u201cWoah! Is that for real?\u201d), or move their fingers (\u201cFreaky!\u201d), or recognize the faces of people they work with every day (\u201cBee, how are you even doing that?\u201d), and, of course, how to speak (\u201cThis is the coolest thing I\u2019ve ever seen in my entire damn life.\u201d). Brain stimulation kicks ass, and anyone who says otherwise shall know her wrath. Which is why the lab is still","crammed. The engineers were supposed to leave after the first demonstration but decided to stick around\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. indefinitely, it seems. It\u2019s nice to convert a bunch of skeptics to the wonders of neuroscience. I wonder if Dr. Curie felt the same when she shared her love for ionizing radiation. Of course in her case, long-term unshielded exposure to unstable isotopes eventually led to chronic aplastic anemia and death in a sanatorium, but\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. you get my point. Which is that when I say, \u201cI think I got all I need from Guy. We\u2019re done for today,\u201d the room erupts into a disappointed groan. Levi and I exchange an amused look. To be clear: we\u2019re not friends or anything. One dinner together, one night sleeping in a room that happens to contain three-quarters of my favorite books, and one yawny car ride to Noah Moore\u2019s grave, during which he politely respected that I\u2019m not a morning person and remained blissfully quiet, did not make Levi and me friends. We still dislike each other, rue the day we met, wish the pox on the other\u2019s house, etc., etc. But it\u2019s like last week, over vegan tacos, we managed to form an uneasy, rudimentary alliance. I help him do his thing, and he helps me do mine. It almost feels like we\u2019re actually collaborating. Crazy, huh? For lunch, I heat up my ever-so-sad Lean Cuisine, grab a stack of academic articles I\u2019ve been meaning to read, and make my way to the picnic tables behind the building. I\u2019ve been nibbling on chickpeas for about five minutes when I hear a familiar voice. \u201cBee!\u201d Guy and Levi are walking toward me, holding paper cups and sandwich bags. \u201cMind if we join you?\u201d Guy asks. I do a little, since this paper on electrotherapy isn\u2019t going to read itself, but I shake my head. I shoot Levi an apologetic look (Sorry you\u2019re stuck eating with me because Guy doesn\u2019t know that we\u2019re archenemies), but he doesn\u2019t seem to get it and takes a seat across from me, smiling faintly as though he doesn\u2019t mind. I watch the play of muscles under his shirt, and a frisson of warmth licks down my spine. Hmm. Weird. Guy sits next to me with a grin, and I think to myself, not for the first time, that he\u2019s wholesome, charming, and truly a Cute Guy\u2122.","This is incredibly objectifying and reductive, and if you tell anyone I\u2019ll flatly deny it, but back in grad school Annie told me that there are three types of attractive men. I don\u2019t know if she came up with this taxonomy herself, if Aphrodite announced it to her in a dream, or if she stole it from Teen Vogue, but here they are: There is the cute type, which consists of guys who are attractive in a nonthreatening, accessible way, as a combination of their nice looks and captivating personalities. Tim falls into this group, just like Guy and most male scientists\u2014including, I suspect, Pierre Curie. Come to think of it, all the guys who ever hit on me do, perhaps because I\u2019m small, and dress quirky, and try to be friendly. If I were a dude, I\u2019d be a Cute Guy\u2122; Cute Guys\u2122 recognize that at some elemental level, and they make passes at me. Then there\u2019s the handsome type. According to Annie, this category is a bit of a waste. The Handsome Guy\u2122 has the kind of face you see in movie trailers and perfume ads, geometrically perfect and objectively amazing, but there\u2019s something inaccessible about him. Those guys are so dreamy, they\u2019re almost abstract. They need something to anchor them to reality\u2014a personality quirk, a flaw, a circumscribed interest\u2014otherwise they\u2019ll float away in a bubble of boredom. Of course, society doesn\u2019t exactly encourage Handsome Guys\u2122 to develop brilliant personalities, so I tend to concur with Annie: they\u2019re useless. Last but not least, the Sexy Guys\u2122. Annie would go on and on about how Levi is the epitome of the Sexy Guy\u2122, but I\u2019d like to formally object. In fact, I don\u2019t even acknowledge the existence of this category. It\u2019s preposterous, the idea that there are men you can\u2019t help yourself from being attracted to. Men who give you the tingles, men you can\u2019t stop thinking about, men who pop up in your brain like flashes of light after stimulation of the occipital cortex. Men who are physical, elemental, primordial. Masculine. Present. Solid. Sounds fake, right? \u201cHit me,\u201d Guy tells me with a Cute Guy\u2122 smile. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with my brain?\u201d \u201cNothing, as far as I can tell.\u201d","\u201cAmazing news. Could you help me convince my ex-wife that I\u2019m certifiably sane?\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll write you a note.\u201d \u201cNice.\u201d He winks at me. He winks at me a lot, I\u2019m noticing. \u201cSo, how are you liking Houston?\u201d \u201cI haven\u2019t really seen much yet. Besides the Space Center.\u201d \u201cAnd a cemetery,\u201d Levi interjects. I give him a dirty look and steal a cluster of his grapes in revenge. He lets me with a small smile. \u201cI could help you out,\u201d Guy offers. \u201cSure,\u201d I say distractedly, busy glaring at Levi and making a show of chewing on his grapes. \u201cReally?\u201d \u201cUh-huh.\u201d Levi lifts one eyebrow and bites into his sandwich. It feels a lot like a challenge, so I steal a strawberry, too. \u201cMaybe we could go to dinner,\u201d Guy says. \u201cAre you free tomorrow night?\u201d Levi and I instantly turn toward him. I mentally rewind the conversation, trying to recall what I agreed to. A date? Exploring Houston? Marriage? No. No, no, no. I have zero interest in dating, zero interest in Guy, and subzero interest in dating Guy. You know what I do have? Weird, intrusive thoughts. For instance, I\u2019m currently remembering the way Levi\u2019s hands felt around my waist as he slid me down his body. \u201cUm, I\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d \u201cOr this weekend?\u201d \u201cOh.\u201d I give Levi a panicked glance. Help. Please help. \u201cThanks, um, but actually I\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d \u201cJust name the night. I\u2019m flexible and\u2014\u201d \u201cGuy,\u201d Levi says, voice deep and low. \u201cYou might want to take a look at her left hand.\u201d I glance down, confused. My fingers are still clutching the strawberry. What does he\u2014 Oh. My grandmother\u2019s wedding ring. I put it on this morning. Some good luck for the brain mapping sessions.","\u201cShit, I\u2019m sorry,\u201d Guy immediately apologizes. \u201cI had no idea that you \u2014\u201d \u201cOh, it\u2019s fine. I\u2019m not\u00a0 .\u00a0 .\u00a0 .\u201d Married, I want to say, but it would be a waste of the amazing out Levi gave me. I cough. \u201cI\u2019m not bothered.\u201d \u201cOkay. My apologies, again.\u201d He leans toward Levi, asking with a conspiratorial tone, \u201cOut of curiosity, how big\u2019s her husband? And how prone to violent rage?\u201d \u201cOh, no.\u201d I shake my head. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t really\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d exist. \u201cDon\u2019t worry,\u201d Levi tells Guy. \u201cTim\u2019s mild mannered.\u201d I face-palm internally. I can\u2019t believe Levi told Guy that I\u2019m married to Tim. It\u2019s the worst, most easily disprovable lie ever. Couldn\u2019t he make up a random dude? \u201cShould I still get a groin protection cup?\u201d Guy asks. Levi shrugs. \u201cMight be safest.\u201d I look down at my chickpeas, wishing they were Levi\u2019s lunch. Fruit\u2019s so much better. Believable lies are so much better. \u201cYou sure you\u2019re not mad, Bee?\u201d Guy asks, a touch concerned. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean to make you uncomfortable.\u201d This is what I get for asking The Wardass for help. I give Levi the stink eye, snatch another strawberry, and sigh. \u201cNope. Not mad at all.\u201d \u2022\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2022 REIKE: What do you mean, Levi lied and said you\u2019re married to Tim??? BEE: He saw how ustered I was and tried to help me out. REIKE: First: Guy Fieri has no business putting you in that position. BEE: NOT his name! BEE: But valid point. REIKE: Second: this is a terrible lie, easily refutable if Guy Fieri talks with literally anyone else who knows you. It\u2019s going to bite you in the ass. BEE: I am aware. REIKE: Third: Levi does know you\u2019re not married to Tim, right?","BEE: Yeah. He and Tim are buds, they collaborate. Levi was the one who told Tim to nd someone better back in grad school. REIKE: Honestly, you should have just told Guy Fieri no. You screwed up. BEE: I know but you\u2019re my sister and I\u2019m human I NEED LOVE AND COMPASSION NOT JUDGMENT REIKE: You need a full psychiatric evaluation. REIKE: But I sip on a blueberry smoothie and look around the busy coffee shop, waiting for Roc\u00edo to show up for our first GRE tutoring session. It\u2019s probably going to be fine. My marital life (or lack thereof) is unlikely to come up with Guy. And I have other things to think about. Like the stimulation protocols I\u2019m creating. Or income inequality. Or the fact that I haven\u2019t seen F\u00e9licette in a while, but I think she\u2019s been eating the little treats I left for her in my office. Important stuff. \u201cDid you know,\u201d Roc\u00edo greets me, sliding into the chair across from me, \u201cthat blood is the perfect substitute for eggs?\u201d I blink. She takes it as an invitation to continue. \u201cSixty-five grams per egg. Exceedingly similar protein composition.\u201d \u201c.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0Interesting.\u201d Not. \u201cYou could have blood cake. Blood ice cream. Blood meringues. Blood pappardelle. Blood pound cake. Blood omelet or, if you prefer, scrambled blood. Blood tiramisu. Blood quiche\u2014\u201d \u201cI think I got the gist.\u201d \u201cGood.\u201d She smiles. \u201cI wanted to let you know. Just in case blood is vegan.\u201d I open my mouth to point out several things, but settle on, \u201cThank you, Ro. Very thoughtful of you. Why\u2019s your hair wet? Please don\u2019t say \u2018blood.\u2019\u2009\u201d \u201cI went to the gym. I like to channel Ophelia in the lazy river, pretend I\u2019m drowning in a Danish brook after a flimsy willow branch collapsed under my weight.\u201d \u201cWhat was she doing on a willow?\u201d","\u201cShe was mad. For love.\u201d Roc\u00edo glares at me. \u201cAnd they say a woman\u2019s heart is fickle.\u201d Right. \u201cSounds like a nice pool.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s like a Sir John Everett Millais painting. Except that swim caps are mandatory and medieval dresses forbidden. Fascists.\u201d \u201cHmm. Maybe I should buy the membership after all.\u201d \u201cYou don\u2019t need to, it\u2019s free for NASA employees.\u201d \u201cBut not for contractors, right?\u201d \u201cThey didn\u2019t make me pay.\u201d She shrugs and pulls a GRE prep book out of her backpack. \u201cCan we start with quantitative reasoning? Though parallelograms make me want to drown myself in a Danish brook. Again.\u201d Half an hour later, the reason my intelligent, math-savvy, articulate RA has been scoring so poorly on the GRE becomes unmistakably clear: this test is too dumb for her. In related news: we\u2019re about to murder each other. \u201cThe correct answer is B,\u201d I repeat, seriously considering ripping a page off the book and stuffing it into her mouth. \u201cYou don\u2019t need to solve for other options. X is a factor of y squared\u2014\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re assuming that X is an integer. What if it\u2019s a rational number? A real number? Or, even worse, an irrational number?\u201d \u201cI guarantee you that X is not an irrational number,\u201d I hiss. \u201cHow do you know?\u201d she growls. \u201cCommon sense!\u201d \u201cCommon sense is for people who are not smart enough to solve for pi.\u201d \u201cAre you implying that\u2014\u201d \u201cHey, girls!\u201d \u201cWhat?\u201d we bark in unison. Kaylee blinks at us from above a very pink drink. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean to interrupt\u2014\u201d \u201cNo, no.\u201d I smile reassuringly. \u201cSorry, we got carried away. We\u2019re having some\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. issues.\u201d She\u2019s wearing a purple jumpsuit and heart-shaped sunglasses, and her hair is pulled over her shoulder into a fishtail braid that reaches her rib cage. Her purse is shaped like a watermelon, and her necklace is a pink flower with the letter K in its middle.","I want to be her. \u201cAw.\u201d She tilts her head. \u201cCan I help?\u201d There is something earnest about the way she asks, like she actually cares. I ignore Roc\u00edo\u2019s kicks under the table and ask Kaylee, \u201cWould you like to join us in fighting the hegemony of the Graduate Record Examination?\u201d I\u2019m not sure what reaction I expected, but Kaylee huffing, eye-rolling, and pulling a chair up to our table was not it. \u201cIt\u2019s an indignity. GRE, SATs, all these tests are institutionalized gatekeepers, and the extent to which graduate programs over-rely on them for student admission is obscene. We are two decades into the twenty-first century, but we\u2019re still using a test based on a conceptualization of intelligence that\u2019s about as outdated as the Triassic. Graduate school success depends on qualities that are not measured by the GRE\u2014we all know it. Why aren\u2019t we moving toward a holistic approach to graduate admission? Also, the GRE costs hundreds of dollars! Who has the financial solubility for that? Or for the prep courses, the materials, the tutors? Let me tell you who doesn\u2019t: not-rich people.\u201d She wags her finger at me, precise and wildly graceful. I am mesmerized. \u201cYou know who traditionally does poorly on standardized tests? Women and marginalized individuals. It\u2019s a self-fulfilling prophecy: groups that are constantly told by society that they\u2019re less smart walk into a testing situation anxious as hell and end up underperforming. It\u2019s called Stereotype Threat, and there\u2019s tons of literature on that. Just like there\u2019s tons of literature showing that the GRE does a terrible job at predicting who\u2019ll finish grad school. But the heads of graduate admission all over the country don\u2019t care and persist in using an instrument made to elevate rich white men.\u201d She shakes out her hair. \u201cBurn it down, I say.\u201d \u201cBurn\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. what down?\u201d \u201cAll of it,\u201d Kaylee says fiercely with her high-pitched voice. Then she sucks a delicate sip from her straw. I really want to be her. I glance at Roc\u00edo and do a double take. She\u2019s staring at Kaylee, breathing quickly, lips parted and cheeks flushed. Her right hand clutches the prep book like it\u2019s the edge of a ravine. \u201cYou okay, Ro?\u201d I ask her. She nods without breaking her stare.","\u201cAnyway,\u201d Kaylee continues with a shrug, \u201cwhy are we talking about the GRE?\u201d \u201cRoc\u00edo is taking it, and I was helping her out. With\u201d\u2014I clear my throat \u2014\u201cmixed results. I believe we were about to shank each other over irrational numbers?\u201d \u201cSounds about right,\u201d Roc\u00edo mumbles. \u201cOh\u201d\u2014Kaylee waves her hand airily\u2014\u201cyou shouldn\u2019t be talking about irrational numbers. The thing about the GRE is, the less you know the better off you are.\u201d I give Roc\u00edo my best told you so look. She kicks me again. \u201cIf you take a prep class, they teach you little tricks useful to pass the test\u2014 more so than actually knowing math.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019ve taken the GRE?\u201d Roc\u00edo asks. \u201cYep. This manager thing is a temporary gig\u2014I\u2019m starting my Ph.D. in education in the fall. At Johns Hopkins.\u201d Roc\u00edo frowns. \u201cYou\u2019re\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. going to Johns Hopkins?\u201d \u201cYes!\u201d Kaylee nods happily. \u201cMy parents paid for a prep course, and I have tons of notes. Plus I remember most of it. Why don\u2019t I help you?\u201d Roc\u00edo turns to me with an aghast look that almost makes me laugh. Almost. Instead, I grab my smoothie and stand. \u201cIt\u2019s so lovely of you to offer.\u201d Roc\u00edo tries to kick me again, but I slither away. \u201cI\u2019m going to check out the gym at the Space Center. Roc\u00edo said that it might be free.\u201d \u201cIt is. Levi had me change your status the other day.\u201d \u201cWhose status?\u201d \u201cYours. And Roc\u00edo\u2019s.\u201d She winks. \u201cI switched you to team members in the system, so you can get some of the perks.\u201d \u201cOh, thank you. That was very\u2014\u201d Unexpected? Out of character? Something you must have made up on the spot because why would he do that? \u201c\u2014generous.\u201d \u201cLevi\u2019s awesome. Best boss I ever had. He harassed NASA into giving me health insurance!\u201d She smiles and turns to Roc\u00edo, who looks ready to drown herself in a Danish brook. Again. \u201cWhere did you want to start?\u201d Roc\u00edo incinerates me with her eyes as I wave goodbye. Honestly, she\u2019s in excellent hands. Doesn\u2019t even deserve it. On the sidewalk, I take out my","phone and quickly type up a tweet. @WhatWouldMarieDo\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. if one of the major obstacles preventing access to higher education were the GRE, a test that is 1) expensive 2) poorly predictive of overall graduate school success, and 3) biased against individuals who are lower-income, BIPOC, and non-cis-males? I slip my phone into my pocket, and my thoughts go back to the gym. Levi probably just wants me to be able to use it so he doesn\u2019t have to retrieve me from a different cemetery every week. Can\u2019t blame him, honestly. Yeah. That must be it.","11 NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS: GAMBLING \u201cLEVI? COULD YOU send me the newest\u2014\u201d \u201cBlueprints are on the server,\u201d he mumbles around the miniature screwdriver he\u2019s holding between his teeth. He doesn\u2019t look up from the mound of wires and plates he\u2019s working on. It\u2019s past nine on a Friday. Everyone else has left. We\u2019re alone in the engineering lab, like most nights this week, in what I\u2019ve come to think of as our Hostile Companionable Silence\u2122. It\u2019s very similar to other types of silence, except that I know that Levi doesn\u2019t like me, and Levi knows that I know he doesn\u2019t like me and that I don\u2019t like him in return. But he doesn\u2019t bring it up, and I don\u2019t really think about it. Because we have no reason to. So, yeah. Our Hostile Companionable Silence\u2122 is basically a regular companionable silence. We sit facing each other at different workbenches. We dim the lights to see the shapes of the outside trees. We focus on our respective tasks. Every once in a while, we exchange comments, thoughts, doubts regarding BLINK. We could do the same from our respective offices, but looking up from my laptop and verbally asking a question beats writing it out in an email. Typing out, Hey, Levi and Best, Bee is such a pain.","Plus, Levi packs snacks. He brings them to work for himself, but he\u2019s lousy at gauging portions and always makes too much. So far I\u2019ve had homemade trail mix, guac and saltines, rice cakes, popcorn, pita chips and bean dip, and about four kinds of energy balls. Yes, he\u2019s a better cook than I\u2019ll ever be. No, I\u2019m not too proud to accept his food. I\u2019m not too proud to accept anyone\u2019s food. Plus, I\u2019ve been in Houston for a month, and we\u2019re already close to a working version of the prototype. I deserve some celebratory face-stuffing. \u201cThe old blueprint is on the server, not the new one.\u201d He takes the screwdriver out of his mouth. \u201cIt is. I put it there.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s not the correct file.\u201d He looks up. \u201cCould you check again, please?\u201d I roll my eyes and sigh heavily, but I comply. Because today he made dark chocolate and peanut butter energy balls, and they were life- shatteringly good. \u201cDone. Still not here.\u201d \u201cAre you sure?\u201d \u201cYes.\u201d \u201cIt has to be there.\u201d He gives me an impatient look, like I\u2019m pulling him away from the crucial task of securing the country\u2019s nuclear codes. \u201cIt\u2019s not. Do you want to bet something on it?\u201d \u201cWhat would you like to bet?\u201d \u201cLet\u2019s see.\u201d His face when he finds that I\u2019m right is going to be better than sex. Better than sex with Tim, for sure. \u201cA million dollars.\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t have a million dollars. Do you?\u201d \u201cOf course I do, I\u2019m a junior scientist.\u201d He chuckles. Something flutters inside me, and I ignore it. \u201cLet\u2019s bet Schr\u00f6dinger.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m not betting my cat.\u201d \u201cBecause you know you\u2019re going to lose.\u201d \u201cNo, because my cat is seventeen and needs regular manual expression of his anal glands. But if you still want him\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d I make a face. \u201cNo, I\u2019m good.\u201d I drum my fingers on my biceps, wondering what else Levi has that I want. I could make him cook for me","every day for a month, but he\u2019s sort of already doing that without realizing. Why change something that works? \u201cIf I win, you get a tattoo.\u201d \u201cOf what?\u201d \u201cA goat. Alive,\u201d I add magnanimously. \u201cCan\u2019t.\u201d \u201cWhy?\u201d \u201cAlready have one.\u201d I laugh. \u201cOh, I\u2019ve got it! Your mug? The one that says Yoda Best Engineer?\u201d \u201cYeah?\u201d \u201cI want one. But it needs to say \u2018neuroscientist,\u2019 of course.\u201d He lifts one eyebrow. \u201cThis is the equivalent to someone buying their own World\u2019s Best Boss mug. Congratulations, you\u2019re officially NASA\u2019s Michael Scott.\u201d \u201cAnd proud of it. Okay,\u201d I say, turning my computer around for him to see. \u201cDeal. Come marvel at the lack of blueprints on the server.\u201d \u201cWait. What about me?\u201d \u201cWhat about you?\u201d \u201cWhat will you do if I win?\u201d \u201cOh.\u201d I shrug. \u201cWhatever you want. I\u2019m right anyway. Would you like my hard-earned million dollars?\u201d \u201cNope.\u201d He shakes his head, pensive. \u201cShould I come over and express poor Schr\u00f6dinger\u2019s anal glands for the duration of my stay in Houston?\u201d \u201cTempting, but Schr\u00f6dinger\u2019s intensely private about his anus.\u201d He taps his masculine, chiseled chin. Huh? Why am I even noticing? \u201cIf I win, you\u2019re going to sign up for a 5K here in Houston.\u201d I shrug. \u201cSure. I\u2019ll sign up for a\u2014\u201d \u201cAnd you\u2019re going to run it.\u201d I burst into laughter. \u201cThere is no way.\u201d \u201cWhy?\u201d \u201cBecause I\u2019m currently on step four of my program, and still unable to run more than half a mile without collapsing. Running a 5K sounds about as","pleasant as bloodletting. By leeches.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll run with you.\u201d \u201cYou mean, you\u2019ll walk next to me with your seventy-mile-long legs?\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll train you.\u201d \u201cOh, Levi. Levi. You sweet summer child.\u201d I point at myself. Tonight I\u2019m wearing a nose stud, galaxy leggings, and a white tank top. My purple hair is loose on my shoulders. I\u2019m pretty sure one of my back tattoos is visible. Everything about me screams Levi\u2019s kryptonite. \u201cYou see this scrawny, stunted, unmuscled body? It\u2019s built to live in parasitic symbiosis with a couch. It resists training with the force of many million ohms.\u201d Levi does stare at my body for a considerable amount of time, but then he looks away, flushed. Poor guy. Must be a tough sight for him. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter, does it? Since you\u2019re sure that you\u2019ll win?\u201d \u201cTrue.\u201d I shrug. \u201cDeal. Come taste the bitterness of defeat.\u201d He does come, stalking to my bench in a few strides with those ridiculous seventy-mile-long legs. However, he doesn\u2019t stop in front of the laptop I conveniently turned for him. Instead he circles around the bench, comes to stand behind me, and then slides the computer in our direction. For me to better witness his impending massacre, I assume. \u201cI can\u2019t wait to sip your tears out of my new mug,\u201d I murmur. \u201cWe\u2019ll see.\u201d He leans his left hand against the bench and grabs the mouse with the other. Even on my high stool, he\u2019s still many inches taller than me, effectively caging me at my seat. It should feel uneasy, suffocating, but he leaves me enough room that I don\u2019t mind. Plus, I know it doesn\u2019t mean anything. Because he\u2019s Levi. And I\u2019m Bee. It\u2019s actually almost pleasant, the heat he radiates in the blasting AC. He could have a successful second career as a weighted blanket. \u201cThis is weird.\u201d I hear the frown in his voice. \u201cThe file\u2019s missing.\u201d \u201cCan the mug be twenty ounces?\u201d \u201cIt should be here.\u201d He leans forward, and his chin brushes the crown of my hair. It\u2019s not terrible. Sort of the opposite. \u201cI saved it.\u201d \u201cMaybe you dreamt it? Sometimes in the mornings I think that I got up and brushed my teeth even though I\u2019m still in bed. Though with my new","mug I\u2019ll be extra motivated to wake up early and have my coffee.\u201d \u201cWeird.\u201d Pity he\u2019s not paying attention to my gloating. I\u2019m doing a pretty good bit, if I say so myself. \u201cLook.\u201d He types quickly, the inside of his elbows brushing against my upper arms, pulling up a log interface. \u201cSee? Someone\u2014me\u2014saved the file at 1:16 p.m. Then at 4:23 someone else removed it\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d I know immediately where he\u2019s going with this. I tilt my neck back to look up at him, and he\u2019s already staring down from two inches above. God, his eyes. He invented a new color green. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t me!\u201d I blurt out. \u201cHow much do you want my cat?\u201d \u201cConsiderably less now that I know about his colorectal issues.\u201d \u201cAnd my mug?\u201d \u201cA lot, but I swear it wasn\u2019t me!\u201d He hums skeptically. I can feel his breath against my face. Mint, with a hint of peanut butter. \u201cI\u2019m inclined to believe you, but only because this is not the first time.\u201d \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d \u201cThe frequencies list for the parietal electrodes you sent me yesterday? The one you emailed and put on the server? It wasn\u2019t there.\u201d I scowl. \u201cBut I put it there.\u201d \u201cI know. The engineers complained about missing and misplaced files, too, corrupted stuff. Lots of little things.\u201d \u201cProbably a server error.\u201d \u201cOr people screwing up.\u201d \u201cCan you tell who moved the file?\u201d He types a few more strokes. \u201cNot from the logs. The system isn\u2019t coded that way. You know what it can do?\u201d I shake my head, bumping against some spot on his chest. \u201cIt can tell me where the file was moved, and if it\u2019s still on the server but in a different folder. Which in the case of the blueprints is\u201d\u2014he presses the space bar and pulls up an image\u2014\u201cright here.\u201d \u201cOh, perfect. That\u2019s exactly what I was\u2014\u201d My teeth click as I shut my mouth. \u201cWait a minute.\u201d","\u201cWhat 5K should we sign up for?\u201d He\u2019s roaming the inside of his cheek with his tongue. \u201cThere\u2019s usually a space-themed one in June\u2014\u201d \u201cNo way.\u201d I twist around. \u201cThe file was not where it was supposed to be.\u201d \u201cThe terms of the bet were that the file should be on the server.\u201d He gives me a satisfied smile. \u201cBet you\u2019re glad I didn\u2019t agree to the anal expression.\u201d \u201cYou know I meant in a specific folder.\u201d \u201cHow unfortunate that you didn\u2019t specify, then.\u201d He puts a hand on my shoulder in mock reassurance\u2014I seriously consider biting it off\u2014and it\u2019s ridiculous, how much every part of him dwarfs every part of me. Also ridiculous? The way those stupid intrusive thoughts of his body pressed against mine can\u2019t seem to let up. And that having him so close reminds me of his thigh pushing up between my legs, solid and insistent against the seam of my\u2014 \u201cWhat are you two doing?\u201d Boris is standing in the entrance of the lab, and my first instinct is to push away from Levi and scream that nothing happened, nothing happened, we were just working. But the distance between us is perfectly appropriate. It just feels like it isn\u2019t, because Levi is so large. And warm. Because he\u2019s Levi. \u201cWe were just about to sign up for a 5K,\u201d he says. \u201cHow are you, Boris?\u201d \u201cA 5K, huh?\u201d He stays under the doorframe, studying us with his customary tired expression. \u201cActually, I come bearing news.\u201d \u201cBad news?\u201d \u201cNot good.\u201d \u201cBad, then.\u201d Boris comes closer, holding a printout. \u201cYou guys planning to go to Human Brain Imaging?\u201d HBI is one of many academic conferences in neuroscience. It\u2019s not particularly prestigious, but over the years it has cultivated a \u201cparty\u201d reputation: it takes place in fun cities, with lots of satellite events and","industry sponsorships. It\u2019s where young, hip neuroscientists network and get drunk together. But I\u2019m not hip. And Levi is not a neuroscientist. \u201cNo,\u201d I tell Boris. \u201cWhere is it this year?\u201d \u201cNew Orleans. This coming weekend.\u201d \u201cFun. You planning on going?\u201d He shakes his head and holds out the printout. \u201cNo. But someone is.\u201d \u201cMagTech?\u201d Levi says, reading from above my shoulder. \u201cWe\u2019ve been keeping tabs on them. The company will present a version of their helmets at HBI.\u201d \u201cHave they filed for a patent?\u201d \u201cNot yet.\u201d \u201cThen going public seems like\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d \u201cA less-than-intelligent move? I think they\u2019re trying to get visibility to pull in new investors. Which is a great opportunity for us to find out where they\u2019re at.\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re suggesting we send someone to New Orleans, have them attend HBI, and report back on what MagTech\u2019s progress is compared to ours?\u201d \u201cNo.\u201d Boris smiles for the first time since stepping inside the room. \u201cI\u2019m ordering the two of you to do that.\u201d \u2022\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2022\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2022 \u201cI JUST DON\u2019T think that driving to New Orleans to play Inspector Gadget is the best use of our time,\u201d I tell Levi as he walks me home like he insisted on (\u201cHouston is dangerous at night,\u201d \u201cYou never know who\u2019s lurking around,\u201d \u201cEither you let me walk you home, or I follow ten feet behind you. Your choice\u201d). He\u2019s pushing his bike, which he apparently rides to work most days. Hmph. Overachiever. His helmet, strapped to his belt, bounces against his thigh every few steps. The soothing rhythm provides a solid backdrop to my bitching. \u201cWe\u2019re at least Inspector Columbo.\u201d","\u201cGadget outranks Columbo,\u201d I point out. \u201cDon\u2019t get me wrong, I see the value of keeping tabs on the competition, but wouldn\u2019t it be better to send someone else?\u201d \u201cNo one else is as familiar with BLINK as we are, and you\u2019re the only person who knows the neuroscience.\u201d \u201cFred did take that class in undergrad.\u201d Levi smiles. \u201cAt least it\u2019s over the weekend. We won\u2019t miss workdays.\u201d I lift one eyebrow. We\u2019ve both worked every single weekend. \u201cWhy are you taking this so well?\u201d He shrugs. \u201cI pick my battles with Boris carefully.\u201d \u201cIsn\u2019t this worth fighting for? We\u2019re talking about two days in close quarters with the person you most despise in history.\u201d \u201cElon Musk is coming, too?\u201d \u201cNo\u2014me.\u201d He sighs heavily, rubbing his forehead. \u201cWe\u2019ve been over this, Bee. Besides, the team keeps screwing up basic stuff like file backup,\u201d he adds wryly. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t trust them with\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0. espionage.\u201d He smiles when he says the last word, and my heart jumps. I\u2019m inexplicably getting Cute Guy\u2122 vibes from him\u2014maybe because when he\u2019s amused he looks damn cute. \u201cI still think it\u2019s not human error,\u201d I say, trying not to think about things like cuteness. \u201cEither way, I\u2019ll call a meeting with the engineers and scare them into being more careful.\u201d \u201cWait.\u201d I stop under my building. \u201cYou can\u2019t do that if you\u2019re not sure that it\u2019s someone on the team.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m sure.\u201d \u201cBut you have no proof.\u201d He looks at me with a puzzled expression. \u201cYou don\u2019t want to accuse them of something they might not have even done, do you?\u201d \u201cThey did.\u201d I huff, frustrated. \u201cWhat if it\u2019s a weird fluke?\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s not.\u201d"]