This Is My Brain on Boys (2 page)

“I
know you!” she exclaimed. “You go to the Academy.”

He flinched, backing off. “355?”

She nodded, trying to place him, which was often a challenge. People who weren't in her advanced science classes, who didn't spend all their free time in the library or the lab or live in her all-girls dorm were, even in their small school, strangers.

“Heads down, please.” A flight attendant placed slight pressure on Addie's head. She and 11B did as they were told.

“This actually helps with the dizziness,” he said, inhaling deeply. “Probably not as much as a kiss, but . . .”

“This was going to be my second option, though it's
more effective with a bag.” She peeked at 11A, whose lips were moving rapidly in a silent prayer. “So, how come we've never met before?”

“I'm fairly new,” he said, palming sweat off his brow. “I used to go to Andover, but I transferred in January after I came back from Nepal.”

Something crashed in the overhead bins. “What were you doing there?”

“Volunteered with Projects Abroad to help rebuild after the earthquake. Most amazing experience of my life. You can't imagine the devastation in Kathmandu. No running water. Some people walking around like ghosts, having lost their entire families, others opening what was left of their homes to you, just grateful to be alive. It was surreal.

“On top of that, I went to China on the way back and saw the Great Wall, which totally blew my mind. Made everything else I'd ever seen seem meaningless in comparison.”

“And that's where you got the scorpion key chain.”

He nodded. “Along with a whole new perspective on the world. Just that.”

“Just that,” she repeated.

“Which was why I couldn't go back to school. I barely lasted a month. Guys who'd been my best friends seemed like such dirtbags. They'd go, ‘Dude, wish I thought of
that, padding the college résumé with some humanitarian crap. Yale eats up that kind of stuff.'”

Addie cringed. “So cynical.” She wanted to keep him talking. Distraction was an excellent antidote for anxiety-induced hyperventilation.

“I know, right? I mean, by the time I left, my family in Nepal was like my own. They weren't just a thing on my college to-do list. So, I dropped out of Andover in October and switched to the Academy for the next term. And I'm a semester behind.”

Which explained why he wasn't in her classes, she thought, noticing that his thumb had quit twitching even though the turbulence was so rough the seats squeaked as they plowed through the clouds.

“Cognitive changes,” she said.

“Pardon?”

The plane lurched and she closed her eyes briefly, willing her stomach to quit churning. “Dealing with unfamiliar surroundings stimulates the creation of new neural pathways, thereby leading to a greater range of cogitation. Similarly, mastering Liszt's famously complex Hungarian Rhapsody no. 2 might broaden a pianist's skill at playing subsequent pieces.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Greater range of cogitation, huh? If I knew what that meant I'd say you're right, maybe.”

Maybe?
She was
always
right, but she didn't quibble. “My theory is that even transferring to the Academy didn't solve your existential crisis. No doubt, having witnessed human suffering firsthand along with the Great Wall of China's majestic grandeur, you found it nearly impossible to rejoin the game. Striving for a perfect 4.0 and a perfect score on the SAT became irrelevant.”

“Exactly! Where were you when I was trying to explain that to my parents when I dropped out of Andover?”

Addie checked her mental calendar. “If it was during Christmas break, then probably back home in the suburb where my parents live outside of Philly.”

He chuckled. “Good one.”

She didn't get what was so funny. She
had
been at home; the prospect of a ski vacation or a winter trip to the Caribbean would have been prohibitively expensive for the Emersons' shoestring budget. Unlike Tess, who spent every Christmas in Wales.

Tess was forever doing cool stuff on her vacations: surfing off the coast of Australia, basking on a beach in Thailand, riding elephants in Zimbabwe, where her mothers sponsored a school for girls. Last summer, she skied in Norway. In June. At midnight. In the sun.

Meanwhile, Addie was at home in Perkiomen, Pennsylvania, babysitting the twins. For free.

“Of course I won't pay you to watch your sisters,” her father said indignantly when she politely asked to be compensated for sacrificing her free time to entertain two demanding little girls with endless games of Pretty, Pretty Princess. “I'm surprised by your selfishness, Adelaide. We all chip in here as a family, and even though you go to boarding school, when you're in this house, you're expected to be a team player.”

Unfortunately, pleading to her mother was useless, since her mother was usually off researching venomous arachnids in some remote outback without cell service.

The upshot was that with all of her father's attention focused on his second family and all of her mother's energy devoted to the Karakurt spider, Addie's interests fell through the cracks. So she'd learned to look out for herself, even finding a way to pay for college—the reason she was on the plane to begin with.

Final submissions were due in two weeks for the Athenian Award—the highest honor granted to high school seniors who planned to pursue careers in neuroscience. She and her lab partner, Dex, planned to turn in their step-by-step Brain Adrenaline, Dopamine, and Amine Synthesis System, otherwise known as B.A.D.A.S.S.

Winners received a full scholarship to the college of their choice for four years. This meant nothing to Dex, whose parents annually dashed off $50,000 checks the
way some people hand out Halloween candy. But for Addie, who relied on the good graces of Academy benefactors to cover her schooling, every penny counted. Dex had already promised that he would donate his half of the money to her if they won.

That was a big
if
.

Even their project advisor, Dr. Brooks, doubted that the Athenian Committee would vote for the controversial premise that she and Dex could make anyone fall in love with anyone by implementing a few simple methods.

“I fear a glorified love potion is too silly to win an Athenian,” Dr. Brooks told them last semester when they pleaded for her faculty endorsement, a key requirement for all high-school submissions. “I will keep an open mind, however, and wait for your trial presentation this summer. By then you should have finished your experiments and honed your thesis. At that point, the headmaster and I decide whether to endorse this project.”

The trial presentation was scheduled for that afternoon, and the truth was, they weren't even close to finished. They still had one more experiment to run, the make-or-break test that would determine whether they could duplicate the results of previous experiments. It was totally nail biting.

Dex had been at the Academy all summer refining the project, but Addie had been allowed to return now only
because her father and his new wife, Jillian, were taking the twins on a one-month tour of Europe. Not that they'd even considered asking her to come along—even as a free au pair.

“At least your parents are involved in your life,” she told 11B. “If I didn't take care of my twin sisters, my father probably wouldn't notice if I fell off the face of the earth. Not that such a thing would be possible, seeing as how the earth doesn't have a face and, of course, because of gravity.”

He laughed again. “You're pretty funny, you know that?” He took advantage of his position to tie his sneaker laces. “Wish I met you last semester instead of . . .”

She waited.

He said nothing, just switched to the other shoe to redo those laces, too.

“Instead of what?” she asked.

He sat up and looked around. “Instead of . . .” He paused. “I didn't know anyone and I was a junior-year transfer student. . . .”

“You should resume the crash position,” Addie said, as the smoke grew thicker. “We're about to make contact.”

He lowered his head, his dark curls falling over his face and obscuring his features so she couldn't see his expression. Not that this was an obstacle. When it came to reading body language, Addie was the first to admit that she sucked.

“Anyway,” he said, “I ended up doing things I shouldn't have done, so I'm going back for summer school. To atone for past sins.”

Sin
was such an odd word. Academy 355 was strictly secular, not Catholic like Gonzaga or Episcopalian like St. Paul's. Those “things he shouldn't have done” must have been really, really bad. “Did you kill someone?”

He turned to her and furrowed his brows. “No.”

“Steal an item valued at over three thousand dollars, such as a late-model car?”

“Grand theft auto? Yeah, I don't think so.”

“Torture an animal?”

“
Me?
I'd be the last person to hurt an animal. That's why I gave away that key chain.”

He opened his brown eyes wide. Addie noted that his lashes were freakishly long and curled up at the edges.

“Then,” she said, “I hardly see why you have to make amends.”

“Let's put it this way: if I don't, there's a place reserved for me at a certain all-boys military school in Colorado.” He exhaled. “All. Boys. How frightening is that?”

“Depends on who's going. My best friend, Tess, would love it.”

For some reason, that, too, made him laugh. Though it was true. Despite—or perhaps because of—her vegan actor liberal parents, Tess was instantly attracted to boys with an overabundance of militarized patriotism and a
penchant for buzz cuts. Case in point, her ROTC boyfriend, Ed.

“How about you?” 11B said. “Ever have an existential crisis?”

“Not per se,” she said slowly, playing with the strap on her sandal. “But that's because I realized that existence was overrated. Like reality, it is nothing more than the result of our brain's ability to process stimuli.”

“In other words, you think existence is only what you perceive?” He had to shout to be heard above the flaps that were being lowered with a loud groan.

There was no way to answer this without launching into a long and detailed explanation—complete with diagrams—illustrating how sight, smell, sounds, taste, and touch, i.e., the sum total of existence, were unfixed and fluid depending on one's brain. But since Tess had often cautioned her against “nerding out,” all she said was “Yes.”

There was a deafening thud and a jolt followed by a roaring screech. Involuntarily, she hugged her legs and braced her body, preparing for final impact. Seconds passed where the entire plane held its collective breath. . . .

“Hey!” 11B was sitting up and pointing past 11A out the window to the scenery passing by: other planes, the runway lights, the flashing of awaiting fire trucks.

It was over. The cabin broke out into thunderous
applause. Addie sat up and clapped, too.

“We made it!” 11B exclaimed, breaking into a huge grin.

And that's when he did it.

He was so fast, she didn't have time to process his movements and react appropriately. Hand reaching out, sliding behind her ear, the sensation of warm fingers along her jawbone, on her hairline. The way he hesitated for a half of a half second and then brought his lips to hers.

She let out a muffled gasp of, “Oh!” But he didn't recoil in shock at his impulsivity. He let his lips linger, soft and firm, like he was trying to leave a message.

Addie could count on one hand the times she'd been kissed by a boy. There was the necessary exploratory testing of lip-on-lip contact with Michael Utard in kindergarten. (She remembered he tasted disgustingly of peanut butter and sour milk.) In seventh grade, Nick Elias had tried to sneak a quick peck during a school dance and she promptly squished his toes in retribution. Park, the son of one of her mother's boyfriends, had made out with her down at the Jersey Shore a few times, and then there was that moment of weakness with Dex. An incident of which they never spoke.

Ever
.

But this was a completely different experience. Michael, Nick, Park, and Dex had been her friends or
classmates. 11B, however, was a stranger she referred to by a JetBlue seat number.

They broke apart. 11B held up his hand. “You were right. That did it. My thumb isn't twitching anymore.”

“I don't even know your name,” she whispered, still half in shock.

“Kris.” A corner of his mouth curled upward. “And you?”

“Adelaide Emerson. Addie.”

His lower jaw dropped. “
You're
Addie Emerson?”

He acted like she'd just introduced herself as Kate Middleton.

Or Godzilla.

“Yes, Addie Emerson,” she said. “Is that good or bad?”

He collapsed in his seat. “I have no idea.”

S
o, that was Addie Emerson.

Holy crap.

Addie Emerson was the reason he was headed to summer school, the cause of his spring demerits and near expulsion, though that wasn't exactly fair. It wasn't
her
fault that he'd landed in hot water with the administration. You couldn't blame the victim.

Still . . .
Addie
.
Freaking. Emerson.

They were taxiing to the gate. People started gathering their things, desperate to get off the plane that had nearly spelled their doom.

“Thank you so much for sharing your experiences with me.” Addie turned to him with a smile that was far
too wide and artificial, as if she was imitating a model from the cover of a teen magazine.

Her eyes were gray, almost colorless, and completely devoid of makeup. Her hair was a mousy brown gathered in a careless ponytail. And in a plain white cropped T-shirt and blue-checked skirt, she looked more like a kid than a rising high school senior.

“Nice talking to you, too,” he said.

To his own surprise, he realized he meant it. It
had
been nice. During their brief conversation, he found her to be smart, insightful, even funny—right up until he found out who she was.

Now all he wanted to do was get the heck away from her as fast as humanly possible.

He switched on his phone and checked his messages. Three popped up, all from Kara.

Hey, KC, glad to have you back in civilization. Text me when you land so we can meet up.

She was home for the summer at (one of) her parents' homes in Boston's Back Bay, a short bus and T ride from the Academy. Kara had informed him in not so many words that she considered his return to the Boston area to be a chance for them to rekindle their fizzled romance.

Kris did not.

Landed,
he replied. He did not add a “can't wait to see you, too,” because it wasn't true.

Kara was a big part of the semester he wanted to forget. He often wondered how last spring might have ended if they hadn't met in the cafeteria line waiting for the cooks to heat up veggie burgers and if he hadn't mentioned how the Academy was surprisingly backward in its paltry vegan offerings. That was all it took to set her off on a tirade about the school's whole screwed-up attitude about animal rights.

Then again, if he was being totally honest, he'd have to confess that he'd let her rant just to watch her eyes flash with outrage. And, okay, so maybe he hadn't been as concerned about the “paltry vegan offerings” as he was eager to get to know the tall girl with the long straight black hair and cool, intricate silver earrings he would later learn she'd hammered herself.

Despite all her faults—and there were many—Kara was fueled by fierce passions. For jewelry and art. For animals. For him. Maybe that was why it was so hard to break it off with her once and for all. Or maybe they were doomed to be permanently bonded by being partners in crime.

God. He hoped not.

Come here first,
she texted
. My parents are in Europe.

Sorry. Got an appt w/Foy.

Screw it. You don't need the Academy. After the way they treated you???

Gotta go. Call you later,
he replied, and put his phone on silent, hoping that would hold her for a while.

There was a commotion overhead, and he looked up to see Addie standing on tiptoe struggling with opening the bin. “It's jammed.” She fiddled with the latch. “It must have locked during turbulence.”

Clearly written above the latch in black letters on the white plastic was the word PUSH, and there she was . . . pulling.

“Here.” He stood and pushed the metal latch. The bin flung open.

“Oh,” she said sheepishly, pink rising to her cheeks. “The instructions should have clearly specified a forward action.”

He opened his mouth to crack a joke and decided she wouldn't appreciate the humor. “This it?” He yanked out a black suitcase adorned with a fluorescent-green . . .
was that a chemical test strip?

“Thanks for your assistance,” she said, removing it from his arms. “I assume we will see each other on campus.”

Not if I can help it.
Because sooner or later she'd find out who he was, and then she'd hate him . . . and rightly so. “Sure.”

“Okay.” She stepped in line with everyone else clamoring to get off the plane, her posture ramrod straight, chin lifted.

Strange girl, Kris thought, falling back into his old
seat to wait for the crush of humanity to pass. The more distance he could put between him and Addie, the better.

The plane was almost empty by the time he swung out of his seat, got his duffel bag from the bin, threw his backpack over his shoulder, thanked the flight attendants, and strolled out the door to the blue-carpeted gangplank.

He got a rush passing through this part of the airport, still in international territory, not technically on American soil. Outside the banks of windows, planes from all over the world were waiting to take passengers to China, Australia, Ireland, and Israel. All he had to do was step through one of those doors and he'd be in Patagonia. Or Iceland.

Someday I will take every single one of these flights and travel all over the world.

Not today, however. Today, he was headed straight to the doghouse.

According to the letter folded in his pocket, once he arrived on campus, he was to proceed directly to Chisolm Hall, the administration building, for a meeting with Tim Foy, the headmaster, who would specify the details of the “Agreement of Reinstatement” hammered out by the Academy and Kris's parents.

Kris had no idea what the agreement involved, though he imagined a series of menial tasks ranging from writing a thoughtful essay to performing community service (the
Academy was big on stocking the local food pantry) and, perhaps, repainting the lab walls they'd defaced. Although Buildings and Grounds had taken care of that the morning after, sandblasting off all the graffiti before noon.

He was lucky. The other two had been sent packing in May, the week before finals, which meant they earned zip for the semester. A cool $15,000 of tuition down the drain. Then again . . .

His phone buzzed.
Dude. You back in prison?

Mack. Kris stifled a wave of resentment. Now here was someone to blame, the guy who ruined everything.

Yeah,
he replied tersely.

Sux 2 b u.

A nanosecond later, Mack texted a photo of a white beach, blue skies, and his tanned self on a towel soaking up the sun next to two girls in bikinis. Mack at his parents' beachfront condo in Florida.

That was an aggravating aspect about karma. It didn't always bite the butts of those who deserved it most.

He decided just to ignore that last shot. Shoving his phone back in his pocket, he shifted his backpack and skirted the line of family and friends leaning over the Plexiglas barricades searching for the familiar faces among the arriving passengers. He only wanted to pass through baggage claim on his way to the shuttle without being seen by . . .

“Kris!”

He kept moving forward, pretending not to notice Addie shouting at him from the other side of the barrier.

“You need a ride?”

Too late. He'd been spotted. To pretend otherwise would be beyond the bounds of rude.

“Oh, hey, Addie!” He acted startled, as if seeing her was some pleasant surprise.

She waved him toward her. “If you're going back to the Academy, come with us. Tess's boyfriend has a car.”

He scanned the crowd until his gaze fell on a tall, outrageously redheaded girl in a filmy pink dress. Tess McGrew. He knew her. Or, rather, knew
of
her and her super-famous mothers—major Hollywood actors with a couple of Academy Awards.

In a million years, the last person he'd have figured to be friends with Addie Emerson was Tess McGrew.

“Come on,” she was saying, “we have to hurry. Ed's parked illegally.”

Kris halted. Something about the vibe Tess was giving off made him uneasy. It might have been her green eyes, narrowed with suspicion. Or that her hands had balled into fists. Maybe Addie hadn't put two and two together, but judging from Tess's body language, it was likely her best friend had. The girl looked about ready to clock him.

“I better not. I can take the T,” he said, backing away. “It's just as fast.”

Addie frowned. “No, it's not. The shuttle to the T runs every fifteen minutes and it will take twelve minutes more to get to Wonderland at the end of the Blue Line. The 411 bus won't pick you up until”—she checked the watch that she wore on her right wrist upside down—“nine forty-five. Which means you will reach the Academy at ten thirty at the earliest. We'll be there by nine fifty!”

“Did you memorize the schedule?”

“I just know it. Don't you?”

He glanced over to Tess, who appeared to have relented somewhat. “Addie's right,” she said, coming over and introducing herself. “And you better do as she says. She rarely takes no for an answer.”

“That's not true. There are many instances where the negative is appropriate,” Addie replied, jumping onto the down escalator.

Kris relented. A quick ride to school wouldn't do any harm. A lot better than taking the bus and the T, he thought with a shrug.

“Hold on, genius.” Tess snagged his backpack at the top of the escalator. “I need to talk to you.”

Uh-oh. He looked down at Addie, who stared up at them, confused.

“You can wipe that grin off your face,” Tess whispered sweetly, holding up a finger to signal that Addie should
wait just out of earshot. “I don't know what you're up to, hanging out with her, but if this is just more of the crap you and your whack-case friends pulled last semester, I will personally burn your ass. Got that?”

His throat tightened. “Absolutely, but . . .”

“But nothing.” More sweetness. She could have been cooing to a kitten. “Addie is my best friend in the whole wide world. And she can be a little innocent, you know what I mean? She doesn't have much experience with people like you and Kara and that total douchebag, Mack Jeffries.”

Tess called that one. If there was any word for Mack, it was douchebag. “Actually . . .”

“Shut up. I'm talking.” Tess exhaled, composing herself, then pasted on another smile. “What I'm trying to say is that I will give you one chance. One. Blow it and you're toast.
Comprende?
”

“Comprende,”
he responded dumbly.

“You will never set foot in the Academy again. I will personally see to it that your college dreams are crushed and that you never find happiness as long as you live. Seriously. I have people.”

“People?”

“People.”

“Okay,” he said as Tess pushed past him to catch up with her friend.

He had no idea what she meant by one chance or how he might blow it. But he did know this: after getting reamed out by Tess McGrew, the prospect of another lecture from the headmaster would be a piece of cake.