He gives me a puzzled look. “There wouldn’t be much to pretend.”
“No—we can pretend that we’re an inch from marriage. I can put on my lotus septum ring and leave my tattoos out. I’ll wear my AOC top and ripped jeans. Think how much they’ll hate me!”
I can see how little he wants to smile, and how little he can help it. “No one could hate you. Not even my father.”
I wink at him. “Game on, then.”
20
VENTRAL TEGMENTAL AREA: ROMANTIC LOVE
LEVI’S FATHER, AS it turns out, is perfectly capable of hating me. And so are Levi’s mother and his eldest brother, who join us for dinner in a less-than-pleasantly-surprising plot twist.
But first things first. Before The Dinner there are days of intense prep for the upcoming BLINK demonstration. Bolts are tightened; stimulating frequencies are adjusted; Guy is prodded, poked, and shocked on his scalp. He’s a trooper: the demonstration is about the helmet, but as test subject number one he’ll be front and center, and it’s clear that he’s nervous about it. In the past couple of days he’s been moody, anxious, and more tired than ever. I think he’s been keeping his fears to himself to avoid disrupting morale, which makes me want to hug him. The other night I stopped by his office to check on him: he startled like a coil spring and quickly closed all his tabs. I guess even astronauts de-stress on YouPorn?
Rocío and Kaylee are getting chummier and chummier. I overhear them in the break room while heating up the stir fry I made yesterday in an attempt to impress Levi with the one dish I can cook—which resulted in the painful realization that I can cook zero dishes.
“If she’s willing to say a few words about how the movement started, that would be amazing,” Rocío is saying.
“She seems pretty private.”
“We could blur her face. Auto-tune her. Use a helium voice app.”
“Baby, that would undercut the seriousness of the message.”
“What about a Guy Fawkes mask?”
“I do love V for Vendetta—but no.”
“What are you guys talking about?” I ask, spearing a piece of carrot that manages to be at once burnt and undercooked. Amazing. This has to be a transferable skill set.
“You know #FairGraduateAdmissions, right?” Kaylee asks.
I drop my carrot back into the Tupperware. “Ah . . . vaguely.”
“It’s about guaranteeing inclusivity in the admission process. Student organizations are really active in the movement, but Ro and I are technically not students, so . . .” She turns her laptop. “We’re making the #FairGraduateAdmissions website! Not ready yet, but we’ll launch it soon. There will be information, resources, mentorship opportunities. And we’ll ask Marie Curie for an interview.”
I finish chewing and swallow. Even though I never put the carrot in my mouth. I must be eating my tongue. “Marie Curie?”
“Not the real Marie Curie! That would be hilarious, though!” Kaylee giggles at the misunderstanding for about half a minute. Rocío stares at her for the entire duration, heart-eyed. Ah, young love. “It’s the person who started the conversation. We want to launch the website with her interview, but she’s pretty anon.” She spreads her hands. Her nails are an iridescent baby blue.
I clear my throat. “She might agree to do it via email.”
“This is actually a great idea!” Ro and Kaylee exchange an offensively impressed look. Then Kaylee licks her thumb and wipes something from the corner of Rocío’s eye. “Hang on, baby. You have a smudge.”
I walk out of the room holding Rocío’s gaze and mouthing, “Goodbye, baby.” I cannot overstate how much I love this relationship development.
With so much at stake for Friday, everyone’s too frantic to notice that Levi has taken to bringing coffee to my workstation; to making sure that I don’t go too long without a break; to smiling faintly and asking if I’m going to pass out whenever a bug flies into the lab; to teasing me about the little mounds of treats I leave for Félicette.
I have noticed. And I know he’s just being a friend, a kind person, an awesome collaborator, but it hurts a little. Not hurt hurt. But those pangs? Those little twinges I experience when Levi stares at me? When we’re running together and he effortlessly matches his pace to mine? When he leaves me the yellow vegan M&Ms because he knows they’re my favorites? （Yes, they taste better than the red.） Well, those little twinges are starting to get a bit painful. Knifing at my general chest area.