“You flew in, too, right? From Maryland?”
“I actually live here now. In Houston. Left NIH for NASA last year.”
BLINK’s demonstration was a resounding success. Well, the first was a resounding disaster. But the second one went so well, got so much positive attention—likely because of the botched first attempt and the publicity it generated—that Levi and I ended up having our pick of jobs. You know how I thought I’d end up living in an underpass with a pile of angry spiders? A month later I was offered Trevor’s job. And when I declined, Trevor’s boss’s position. That’s life in academia, I guess: the agony and the ecstasy. Ebbs and flows. Did I fantasize about taking the job and forcing Trevor to write me a report on how men are stupider because their brains have lower neural densities? Often. And with almost sexual pleasure.
In the end, Levi and I considered NIH. We considered NASA. We considered quitting, building a lab in a retrofitted shed, Curie-style, and going rogue. We considered faculty positions. We considered Europe. We considered industry. We considered so much, we were doing nothing but considering for a while. （And having sex. And rewatching The Empire Strikes Back, about once a week.） In the end, we always came back to NASA. Maybe just because we have good memories here. Because deep down, we like the weather. Because we truly enjoy annoying Boris. Because the hummingbirds rely on us for their mint.
Or because, as Levi said one night on the porch, my head in his lap as we looked at the stars, “This house is in a really good school district.” He only briefly met my eyes, and I’m 74 percent sure he was blushing, but we formally accepted NASA’s offers the following day. Which means that now I have my permanent lab, right next to his. A year ago, it would have been a nightmare. Funny how these things go, huh?
The two-minute warning whistles, and people start trickling to the start line. A large hand wraps around mine and pulls me toward the crowd.
“Did you come get her because you know that otherwise she’ll run away?” Reike asks.
Levi smiles. “Oh, she wouldn’t run. More like a brisk walk.”
I sigh. “I thought I’d successfully left you behind.”
“The pink hair gave you away.”
“I don’t think I can do this.”
“I’m fully aware.”
“The longest I’ve run so far is . . . less than 5K.”
“You can start walking anytime.” His hand pushes against my lower back, where my newest tattoo resides. Just the outline of Levi’s house, with two little kitties inside. “Give it a try.”
“You’re not going to slow down your pace to match mine, are you?”
“Of course I am.”
I roll my eyes. “I always knew you hated me.” I grin up at him. When he smiles back, my heart picks up.
I love you, I think. And you are my home.
Someone blows one long whistle. I look ahead, take a deep breath, and start running.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is my hate letter to standardized testing. It’s also my love letter to neuroscience, Star Wars, women in STEM, friendships that hit rough patches but then try their best to bounce back, research assistants, interdisciplinary scientific collaborations, Elle Woods, ShitAcademicsSay, mermaids, hummingbird feeders, people who struggle with working out, and cats. But let’s focus on the hate part!
I remember studying for the GRE about ten years ago, when I was applying for Ph.D. programs, and constantly feeling like I was a total idiot （which I probably am, but for other reasons）。 I also remember being really angry and really frustrated at the amount of money, time, and energy I had to pour into learning how to calculate when exactly two trains leaving from different stations will meet, especially when I could have used that time to read up on something that was actually relevant to my field. （Or to sleep. Let’s be real, I would have probably just taken a nap.）
This book is, of course, fictional, but everything Kaylee says about the GRE is true, and tests like the GRE and the SATs are not only very sketchy when it comes to predicting future academic performance, but they traditionally favor people who come from economically advantaged backgrounds. Access to higher education is, as a rule, scarcer for those who aren’t traditionally privileged, and standardized testing only contributes to the problem. But in the last few years there has been a shift, with more and more institutions and graduate programs not requiring these tests for admission, and that’s a fantastic step in the right direction.
Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, and remember: if academia ever makes you feel like you’re not good or smart enough . . . it’s not you, it’s academia.