I stop. As impatient as I am to get my equipment and ruin a career, I think I love Rocío more than I hate Levi. Though it’s a close call.
“How did the GRE go?” The Graduate Record Examination is like the SATs: a stupid standardized test on which students need to get an absurdly high score to be accepted into grad school—even though it tests nothing that has to do with academic success. I remember agonizing over my scores in my last year of college, terrified that they wouldn’t be high enough to get me into the same programs as Tim. As it turned out, mine were higher than his, and I ended up with several more acceptances than he had. In hindsight, I should have gone to UCLA and left him behind. It would have saved me a lot of heartache and minimized my Wardass exposure.
“Bee.” Rocío shakes her head gloomily. “Which way is the ocean?”
I point to my left. She immediately begins shuffling her feet in that direction.
“Ro, you first have to get out of the building and . . . what are you doing?”
“I shall walk into the sea. Farewell.”
“Wait.” I circle around her. “How did it go?”
She shakes her head again. Her eyes are red-rimmed. “Low.”
“How low?”
“Too low.”
“Well, you don’t need ninety-ninth percentile to get into Johns Hopkins—”
“Fortieth for quantitative. Fifty-second for verbal.”
Okay. That is low. “—and you can always retake.”
“For two hundred bucks. And it’s my third time—I don’t get any better, no matter how much I practice. It’s like I’m jinxed.” She stares into the distance. “Is it La Llorona? Does she want me to quit academia and haunt creeks with her? Perhaps I should depart my scientific pursuits.”
“No. I’ll help you get your scores up, okay?”
“How? Will you cast a counterspell? Will you promise her your firstborn and the blood of one hundred virgin ravens?”
“What? No. I’ll tutor you.”
“Tutor me?” She scowls. “Can you even do math?”
I don’t point out that my entire body of work consists of high-level statistics applied to the study of the brain, and instead pull her in for a hug. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”
“What’s happening? Why are you squeezing me with your body?”
The entire conversation lasts less than ten minutes, but it proves to be a fatal mistake. Because by the time I’m on the mostly deserted third floor of the building, standing outside Boris’s office and ready to rat Levi out within an inch of his life, the door is closed, and I can hear voices inside.
And one of those voices is Levi Ward’s.
6
HESCHL’S GYRUS: HEAR, HEAR
I CANNOT BELIEVE he got to Boris before I could. I cannot believe he sneaked past me while I was talking with Rocío. Though I absolutely should, since it’s the exact kind of dick move I’ve come to expect from him. I actually stomp my foot like a surly six-year-old. That’s what I’ve been reduced to. What do I do? Do I barge in and stop Levi from poisoning Boris’s mind with lies? Do I wait for Levi to get out and focus on damage control? Do I curl into a ball and cry?
Dr. Curie would know what to do. Dr. K?nigswasser, on the other hand, is looking around like a lost calf, grateful that there’s no one around to see her sulking outside the director of research’s office. When I decided to become a scientist, I figured I’d grapple with theoretical framework issues, research protocols, statistical modeling. Instead here I am, living my best high school life.
And then I realize I can make out some words.
“—unprofessional,” Levi is saying.
“I agree,” Boris replies.
“And not conducive to scientific progress.” He sounds calmly exasperated, which should be technically impossible, but Levi does have a knack for bringing oxymorons to life. “The situation is unsustainable.”
“I fully agree.”
“You’ve said that every time we’ve talked before, but I doubt you understand how catastrophic the long-term repercussions can be for BLINK, for NIH, and for NASA. And this is unpleasant on an interpersonal level, too.” I lean closer to the door, white-knuckled. I cannot believe he’s feeding Boris this crap. I am unpleasant to him? How? By being offensive to look at? I’m about to slam the door open to defend myself when he continues, “She cannot continue like this. Something must be done.” Oh my God. Am I trapped in a bizarro dimension?