so much effort into organizing it.”

A young woman walks up to Reike with a smile. “Excuse me—Dr.

Königswasser?”

“Oh”—she points at me with her thumb—“not quite the Königswasser you’re looking for.”

“Yep, this is actually my evil twin. I’m Bee.”

“Kate. I’m a psychology grad at UMN.” She shakes my hand enthusiastically. “I’ve been following @WhatWouldMarieDo for years, and I just wanted to say how cool this is.” She gestures around herself. Three

thousand people signed up for the 5K, but it feels like three million showed up—perhaps because it turned into a grad school fair of sorts. The organizing committee decided to allow universities that pledged to guarantee a fair, holistic admission process the opportunity to set up stands to recruit at the finishing lines. I glance at the crowd, spotting Annie and waving at her. We went out for dinner last night, since she flew in for the race a day early. It’s not not strange, having a meal with your former best friend who once broke your heart, but we’re slowly mending things.

Plus, she helped out a lot with the logistics of the 5K.

I always thought that revealing my identity would ruin the fun of running WWMD for me, and I was frustrated when Guy’s actions made it impossible for me to do otherwise. Remember when I said that I was scared of being doxxed by creeps who look back wistfully to Gamergate? Well, that happened. A little bit. There was some unpleasantness as the news spread and I went public —some awkwardness, a period of adjustment. But one day Rocío called and said, “I always suspected that deep down you were cool, but I figured it was just wishful thinking. Instead, look at you!” That’s when I knew everything would be all right. And with time, it was. Being old news is such a relief.

“Thank you so much for coming all the way from

Minnesota, Kate.”

“You flew in, too, right? From Maryland?”

“I actually live here now. In Houston. Left NIH for NASA last year.”

BLINK’s demonstration was a resounding success. Well, the first was a resounding disaster. But the second one went so well, got so much positive attention—likely because of the botched first attempt and the publicity it generated— that Levi and I ended up having our pick of jobs. You know how I thought I’d end up living in an underpass with a pile of angry spiders? A month later I was offered Trevor’s job. And when I declined, Trevor’s boss’s position. That’s life in academia, I guess: the agony and the ecstasy. Ebbs and flows. Did I fantasize about taking the job and forcing Trevor to write

me a report on how men are stupider because their brains have lower neural densities? Often. And with almost sexual pleasure.

In the end, Levi and I considered NIH. We considered NASA. We considered quitting, building a lab in a retrofitted shed, Curie-style, and going rogue. We considered faculty positions. We considered Europe. We considered industry. We considered so much, we were doing nothing but considering for a while. (And having sex. And rewatching The Empire Strikes Back, about once a week.) In the end, we always came back to NASA. Maybe just because we have good memories here. Because deep down, we like the weather. Because we truly enjoy annoying Boris. Because the hummingbirds rely on us for their mint.

Or because, as Levi said one night on the porch, my head in his lap as we looked at the stars, “This house is in a really good school district.” He only briefly met my eyes, and I’m 74 percent sure he was blushing, but we formally accepted NASA’s offers the following day. Which means that now I have my permanent lab, right next to his. A year ago, it would have been a nightmare. Funny how these things go, huh?

The two-minute warning whistles, and people start trickling to the start line. A large hand wraps around mine and pulls me toward the crowd.

“Did you come get her because you know that otherwise she’ll run away?” Reike asks.

Levi smiles. “Oh, she wouldn’t run. More like a brisk walk.”

I sigh. “I thought I’d successfully left you behind.”

“The pink hair gave you away.”

“I don’t think I can do this.”

“I’m fully aware.”

“The longest I’ve run so far is . . . less than 5K.”

“You can start walking anytime.” His hand pushes against my lower back, where my newest tattoo resides.

Just the outline of Levi’s house, with two little kitties inside. “Give it a try.”

“You’re not going to slow down your pace to match mine, are you?”

“Of course I am.”

I roll my eyes. “I always knew you hated me.” I grin up at him. When he smiles back, my heart picks up.

I love you, I think. And you are my home.

Someone blows one long whistle. I look ahead, take a deep breath, and start running.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This book is my hate letter to standardized testing. It’s also my love letter to neuroscience, Star Wars, women in STEM, friendships that hit rough patches but then try their best to bounce back, research assistants, interdisciplinary scientific collaborations, Elle Woods, ShitAcademicsSay, mermaids, hummingbird feeders, people who struggle with working out, and cats. But let’s focus on the hate part!

I remember studying for the GRE about ten years ago, when I was applying for Ph.D. programs, and constantly feeling like I was a total idiot (which I probably am, but for other reasons). I also remember being really angry and really frustrated at the amount of money, time, and energy I had to pour into learning how to calculate when exactly two trains leaving from different stations will meet, especially when I could have used that time to read up on something that was actually relevant to my field. (Or to sleep.

Let’s be real, I would have probably just taken a nap.) This book is, of course, fictional, but everything Kaylee says about the GRE is true, and tests like the GRE and the SATs are not only very sketchy when it comes to predicting future academic performance, but they traditionally favor people who come from economically advantaged backgrounds. Access to higher education is, as a rule, scarcer for those who aren’t traditionally privileged, and standardized testing only contributes to the problem. But in the last few years there has been a shift, with more and more institutions and graduate programs not requiring these tests for admission, and that’s a fantastic step in the right direction.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, and remember: if academia ever makes you feel like you’re not good or smart enough . . . it’s not you, it’s academia.

Love,

Ali

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Publishing has very weird, very long timelines, which means that I’m writing the acknowledgments for my second book in October 2021, right after the publication of my first, and my heart is very full. Every good thing that has happened after the release of The Love Hypothesis I owe to my team at Berkley: Sarah Blumenstock, the best editor in the multiverse (who lets me add sex scenes till the very last minute!); Jess Brock, my fantastic publicist; Bridget O’Toole, my incredible marketer; and, of course, my most beloved agent, Thao Le, who brought me to them. Let’s be real: publishing is terrifying. But the constant support, hard work, and talent of these four women made it slightly less so. Plus, through them, I got to work with the best publisher in the world. Basically: to every single person at Berkley and at SDLA who helped with my books in any capacity, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU. I’m sorry I always turn in stuff at 11:58 p.m. on deadline days.

I’m sorry I ask the same questions forty times. I’m sorry I keep abusing the caps lock. I swear I’m trying to be better!! Special thanks to Penguin Creative (in particular Dana Mendelson) and to Lilith, the cover artist of my wildest dreams. And, of course, thank you to Jessica Clare, Elizabeth Everett, Christina Lauren, and Mariana Zapata for blurbing my first book (asking for blurbs is pantscrappingly scary, guys) and for the constant encouragement.

Love on the Brain wouldn’t be what it is without the feedback of the brilliant Claire, Julie Soto, Lindsey Merril, Kat, Stephanie, Jordan, and, of course, Sharon Ibbotson, my very first editor. Kate Goldbeck, Sarah Hawley, Celia, Rebecca, and Victoria were amazing and let me vent to them during the writing process. The Grems, the Edge Chat, TM, the Family Chat, and the

Berkletes have been crucial to my survival, and I am forever grateful to have these amazing people in my life.

And, of course, a million thanks to all the readers, booktokers, bookstagrammers, bloggers, journalists, reviewers, and fellow Reylos who supported my first book and showed enthusiasm for my second: sophomore book terrors are definitely a thing (or maybe they aren’t and it’s just me!?) and I spend a few hours every day worrying that people will hate mine, but everyone’s excitement has been helping so, sooo much.

And last but very much not least: thanks to Lucy, for being the father I didn’t know I needed, and to Jen, for holding my hand during the highs and the lows. Everybody needs a Jen, but mine is taken.

(Oh, and thanks to Stefan, I guess. But only a little.) Photo courtesy of the author