“What is?”
“Having no parents to disappoint.”
He mulls it over. “Can’t argue with that logic.”
After that we go back to our Hostile Companionable Silence™. And after a little longer I fall asleep, Thom Yorke’s voice low and soothing in my ears.
• • •
I HAVE BEEN at HBI for three and a half minutes when I meet the first person I know, a former RA in Sam’s lab who’s now a Ph.D. student at—I glance at his badge—Stony Brook. We hug, catch up a bit, promise to get together for drinks over the weekend (we won’t). By the time I turn around, Levi has met someone he knows (an elderly guy with a fanny pack and an eyeglass chain that scream “engineer” from the top of the Grand Canyon). The cycle lasts about twenty minutes.
“Jesus,” I mutter once we’re alone. It’s not as though we’re famous, or anything like that, but the world of neuroimaging is very insular. Incestuous.
Inescapable. And lots of other I adjectives.
“I had more social interactions in the past twenty minutes than in the last ten months,” he mumbles.
“I saw you smile at least four times.” I pat his arm comfortingly. “That can’t have been easy.”
“I might have to lie down.”
“I’ll get an ice pack for your cheeks.” I look around the crowded hall, suddenly reminded of why I hate academic conferences. “Why did we come today, anyway? MagTech’s
presentation’s not until tomorrow.”
“Boris’s order. A feeble attempt to look like we’re not just here to snoop, I believe.”
I grin. “Do you ever feel like we’re super-spies and he’s our handler?”
He gives me a half-amused, half-withering look. “No.”
“Come on. Boris’s totally the M to my James Bond.”
“If you’re James Bond, who am I?”
“You’re the Bond girl. I’m going to seduce you in exchange for blueprints and stab you while I sip on my martini.” I wink at Levi, then realize that he’s flushing. Did
I go too far? “I didn’t mean to—”
“There are a couple of engineering talks I want to go to,” he says abruptly, pointing at the conference program and sounding remarkably normal. I must have imagined it.
“You?”
“There’s a panel at four that sounds interesting. Also, it’s my sacred duty to go out for a drink. Big Easy and all that.”
“Oh. Did you want to . . .”
I cock my head. “Want to?”
He clears his throat. “Did you want company? Were you already planning to go with your friend, or—”
“My friend?”
“That friend of yours.”
“Who?”
“I forgot her name. That girl who was in Sam’s lab? Dark hair, did fNIRS
research, and . . .” He squints. “Nah, that’s all I remember.”
“Are you talking about Annie Johansson?”
He glances back at the program. “Maybe? That sounds right.”
I can’t believe Levi forgot Annie’s name after she pursued him mercilessly for ages. She knew his damn blood type, for cake’s sake. Probably his social security number, too. “Why would I go for drinks with her?”
“I just assumed,” he says absentmindedly. “You two were inseparable.”
My heartbeat picks up. Probably for no reason. “But she’s not here.”
Levi’s still reading the program, not really paying attention to me. “I thought I saw her a minute ago.”
I whirl around. Yes, my palms are starting to sweat, but just because sometimes they do. All palms sweat sometimes, right? I look about frantically, but I’m sure that
Annie’s not here. She can’t be. Levi didn’t even remember her name—he can’t be right about this. He probably thinks that all women with dark hair look the same and— Annie.
