“Consider it explored,” she says. “And I really do mean good luck. It’s brutal out there.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“This isn’t about me, it’s about you,” she says. She takes off her glasses and her eyes get a little smaller. “I had high hopes.”
“Well, you never said.”
“I’m your adviser, not your therapist. Now go, I’ll sign whatever paperwork you want me to sign. Surat Chowdhury wants to transfer to my lab and I can give him the good news. At least someone will end up happy.”
And that is how I leave my coveted place in Dr. Stein’s lab, with a stupid wave and a promise to keep in touch. When I tell my parents, I try to cast it in a better light—I tell them it’s a little break, more like a sabbatical: a chance for technology to catch up with my ideas—and within weeks, Cyrus and I move to New York and, because there is nowhere else to go, into my parents’ half-converted basement.
* * *
I had neglected to think about where we were going to live in New York, and Cyrus never thinks about things like that. It isn’t that he doesn’t care about where we are going to sleep, it’s more that things always seem to work out for him. I feel like I’m living with Inspector Gadget. Most of the time it’s less exhausting to just see what fate will throw his way—in this case, my parents and their basement. I don’t want to return to Merrick, but the basement is free and takes some of the edge off my new status as a dropout. My mother and father can tell their friends how happy they are to have us at home. Like most Bengali parents, they’re still surprised I ever left.
We have no savings and no income, so Jules is going to move in with an aunt, and the three of us are going to live off his allowance. The aunt lives in a co-op on the Upper East Side, but Jules is scrupulous about dividing his allowance equally, so we’ve committed to a regime of subways and lunchboxes for the foreseeable future.
We take a weekend to drive our things down, an afternoon to unpack our few possessions, and then we are ready for our adventure.
Four
I HEART NEW YORK
Li Ann greets us at the door, looking like she stepped straight off a magazine spread for super-smart yet totally hot women. When I see her I am immediately gripped by paranoia, imagining it’ll only be a matter of time before she and Cy screw each other’s brains out. Then I scold myself for a） doubting Cyrus, b） being unsisterly and assuming that all women are out to fuck each other over, c） making a kind of heteronormative assumption about Li Ann’s sexuality, and d） ruining the first day of my exciting new life. I get a grip and try to enjoy the moment.
Li Ann, Marco, and Rory give us the drill. “We’re happy to welcome you to the community,” Li Ann says. “We just wanted to go over the ground rules and make sure you don’t have any questions.”
“We’re glad to be here,” Cyrus replies, following my explicit instructions to come with us on the first day, introduce himself, and be nice.
“We wanted to let you know that one of your obligations as members of the community is to sit on the admissions committee once a year. We all take turns. It’s actually quite fun.”
“Last week,” Marco tells us, “we had a detailed pitch from an apocalypse-porn company.” He raises his eyebrows, daring me to take the bait, but even though I’m itching to know how apocalypse porn is different from regular porn, I don’t ask.
“The other rule is that you don’t talk about Utopia to anyone. You don’t talk about other people in the community, you don’t post on socials, you don’t give people tips on how to get in.”
Jules and Cyrus and I look at each other. “Okay,” we say, nodding, “sure.”
Rory asks if we’d like a tour. He seems friendlier today, but it’s hard to tell because his face moves so little.
We take the tour. The place is like a combination of laboratory, yoga studio, and toddler playroom. In some of the spaces, there are hardly any desks. People sit on the floor with their laptops or balance on giant balls or recline on squishy, unformed sofas. There is a gym, a swimming pool, and a meditation room. And then there is Rory’s lab, which we are not allowed to enter. Through a small window we see two people in white lab coats hunched over long tables, surrounded by walls covered in plants.
“We’re trying to grow vegetables without soil—just electricity and cell regeneration,” Rory explains. “That way, when the bee population collapses and there are no more farms, humanity won’t starve.” I check to see if he’s joking, but of course he’s not.