“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. Königswasser, 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?

“Okay. What would you have me do with her?”

I’m going to screech. Whatever Levi says, it’s going to make me yell with rage. I’m already vibrating with an unscreamed howl. It’s rising up my throat.

“I want you to let her do her job.”

Up and up and up my larynx, through my vocal box, and —wait. What?

What did Levi say?

“I’ve done as much as I can.” Boris is faintly apologetic. Levi, on the other hand, is hard and uncompromising.

“It’s not enough. I need her to have authorized access to every BLINK-related area in the building, to have a NASA.gov email address, to attend project meetings. I need every single piece of equipment she asked for to be here

now—it should have arrived ages ago.”

“You’re the one who canceled the order that was placed.”

“Because it wasn’t the system she asked for. Why would I blow a chunk of our budget on an inferior product?”

“Levi, just like I told you every single day you’ve come to me with this last week, sometimes it’s not about science— it’s about politics.”

I am fully leaning my ear and palms against the door now. My fingers shake against the wood, but I don’t feel them. I’m numb.

“Politics is above my pay grade, Boris.”

“Not above mine. We’ve been over this—things have changed a lot, and very quickly. The director was on board with an NIH-NASA collaboration as long as NASA got credit and autonomy on the project. Then NIH insisted on having a larger role. NASA can’t have it.”

“NASA must have it.”

“The director is under lots of pressure. The possible ramifications are huge—if we patent the technology, there’s no telling how widely it can be applied and what the revenue might be. He doesn’t want NIH to own half of the patent.”

A pause, brimming with frustration. I can almost picture Levi running a hand through his hair. “NASA doesn’t have the budget to do the project alone—that’s why NIH was brought in to begin with. Are you telling me that they’d rather have BLINK not happen at all than share the credit? And who will be in charge of the neuroscience portion?”

“Dr. Königswasser is not the only neuroscientist in the world. We have several at NASA who are—”

“Not nearly as good as her, not when it comes to neurostimulation.”

This is a bizarro world. More bizarre than I could ever imagine. I’m in the Upside Down, my heart’s thudding in my ears, and Levi Ward just said something nice about me. A cold, slimy feeling coils in the pit of my stomach.

I might throw up, except that I’m completely hollow. I was full of rage when I came here, but that’s draining.