This Is My Brain on Boys (7 page)

Kris punched the ball to the girls' side. Zuri was on it, easily hitting it to the far line, where Ed and one of his PCs nearly smashed into each other to get it.

It landed next to Addie with a thud. “My bad,” she said.

Tess picked it up and gave it to Kris. “Next time, look
up
, not
at
.”

Addie assumed that meant she wasn't supposed to talk to Kris. Tess became so competitive when it came to sports. It was annoying.

The next time the ball headed toward her, Addie yelled, “Tay. Get it!” Which Tay did. Problem solved.

Until it was her turn to serve.

“You can do this,” Tess said, positioning the ball in Addie's left hand. “Just make it mathematical. You know, calculate the arc of the curve or whatever it is you do.”

“Calculate the arc would suffice,” Addie said. “You don't have to add . . .”

“Freakin' serve already!” Dex shouted.

She pretended the ball was his head and lobbed it over. Kris spiked it back to Emma, who passed it to Shreya, who let it drop.

The boys were winning twenty-three to twenty, which, as far as Addie was concerned, meant it was merely a matter of minutes before she was back at the lab to set up for tomorrow's experiment.

Then she found herself opposite Kris again.

“Hi there,” he said. “Miss me?”

“You do know you made my life hell, you and your girlfriend, don't you?”

He threw up his hands. “I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I thought you understood. After our talk on the plane . . .”

“I did. Now I don't. I'm . . .” What was she? “Unresolved. I need closure. An apology or something.”

“I've apologized a million times. I don't know what
else I can say. I was messed up then. A different person. I got in with the wrong people. I was still getting over what I saw in Nepal. Hey, you were the one who told me about the neural pathways.”

The ball was back in the boys' court.

“You can't use my research against me,” Addie said, flinching as the ball, thankfully, sailed past her to Emma, who lobbed it back. “And you don't go trashing a lab, destroying expensive equipment, just because you don't feel like you fit in with society.”

“That wasn't it. And I never wanted to trash the lab. We went there because you guys were torturing mice . . .”

“Gerbils!”

“Okay,
gerbils
. . .”

“We weren't. Where did you get that idea? Who told you that?”

“I don't know.” Kris volleyed the ball across the net. “Kara, I guess. She said you guys killed frogs and had bags of dead cats and we needed to send a message.”

Well, they did kill frogs, that much was true. “She's right about the frogs.”

“See!”

“We stun them first, though.” Addie stepped aside as Tay dove in front of her, saving the ball and grumbling: was she going to talk or was she going to play? “They don't feel anything when we kill them.”

“So, you admit you're an animal killer.”

She gaped. Did he just say that? Did he actually . . .

“Go for it, Addie!” Tay yelled.

She glanced up. There was the ball plummeting at a fierce velocity, triggering a burst of adrenaline. And there was Kris, the words still on his lips.

Her fingers rolled into a fist. She threw her arm back and made contact, executing a follow-through to ensure that the sucker landed—
smack!
—square in the face.

“Whoa!” Ed yelled as Kris went backward, hands over his nose, from which streamed a line of bright-red blood.

“Awesome!” Tay slapped her on the back. “You knocked him out cold. We won!”

Addie lifted the net and went over to where Kris was sitting in the mud, blood on his shirt. “Is that enough closure for you?” he asked, wiping blood off his chin.

She breathed heavily, trying to think what she thought, and was delighted to realize that, actually, it
had
helped to knock the stuffing out of him.

“Yeah. That'll work. See you tomorrow, at noon.” She turned and marched off. “I'm going back to the lab.”

T
hat'll work.

She'd actually said that. She'd spiked the ball directly into his face with the force of an NFL linebacker and didn't even blink.

He touched his swollen, tender nose.
Who even was she?

On the plane, she'd seemed so sweet, with her nerdy ponytail and big gray eyes and her awkwardness in dealing with the crying kid across the aisle.

Okay, so it was mind-blowing to learn later that she was Addie Emerson. That only made the guilt worse, because now he'd met her in person, but, all right. He could deal.

Except yesterday in Dr. Brooks's office when Dex whispered that he was Kara's boyfriend—Kris had the impression that he'd been forgiven. He definitely sensed a warming of the relations. Then, four hours later, she hammered a volleyball into his skull. Man, did that hurt. She might even have broken some cartilage.

“Age?” Addie stood over him, pen poised, eyebrow arched.

“Seventeen. Eighteen in October,” he answered, resisting the urge to touch his nose again.

She made an efficient tick on her clipboard. “Location of origin?”

“What does that mean?”

“Be easy on him,” Lauren said, her lips twitching in amusement. “Looks like he messed with one angry guy last night.”

He and Addie exchanged guilty glances.

“I just want you to know,” he told Lauren, “that the guy was three hundred and fifty pounds, a black belt, ugliest person you ever saw, and I landed him in traction.”

“Yeah?” Lauren arched an eyebrow.

“No,” Addie added. “Not even close.”

Still, he noted, no apology.

It was their first day of the experiment and he was in the Whit along with Lauren Lowes (who apparently was going to be his partner) and Dexter (who definitely had a
pickle up his ass). The poster boy for Vineyard Vines was all pursed lips and rolling eyeballs as they filled out their introductory questionnaires.

“By location of origin, Addie means hometown.” Dexter did yet another eye roll.

“Farmington, Connecticut,” Kris answered.

“I bet you're a middle child,” Dexter said.

Kris said, “As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Interesting.” And Addie jotted a note. “How many siblings?”

“Two. Sisters.”

Grace and Elena. Grace had been the one to suggest that he drop out of Andover and try Academy 355, where the students were less stuck up, more worldly. She broke it to their parents that he wouldn't be going back and defended him when his mother had a freaking screaming fit at Christmas. For that, he would forever be in her debt—even if she did hog the car during school vacations.

For the longest time, it was just the two of them against the world, since Grace was two years older than he was and their parents were never around. Work. Travel. There was always an excuse. Sometimes he thought his mom and dad had made a mistake. Why did they even have kids if they made an appearance for only half the year?

On the flip side, he and Grace, who'd convinced him to be a vegetarian, had completely perfected the ultimate
grilled-cheese-and-dill-pickle sandwich—their go-to dinner in a pinch.

Then Elena came along and rocked their world. She was born with a funky heart valve that required multiple surgeries, and for a while there, doctors weren't sure she was going to make it. That's when his mother went part time and his father found a job that didn't involve business trips.

They sold the mansion in Greenwich and downsized to a bungalow in Farmington to make ends meet. His parents were still insistent that Grace start Smith and that Kris take expensive trips like helping earthquake victims in China, since broadening one's horizons was at the top of the Condos family agenda. But compared with the wealth before Elena's birth, they were broke.

Elena went to first grade at the public elementary school in town and drew him notes that she wrote in crayon on construction paper with I MISS U BIG BROTHER and stick-figure drawings of the two of them holding hands. She'd never be sent away like Grace and he had been. She was lucky.

“Oh my god. Can we get on with this?” Lauren jiggled her leg impatiently. “Twenty minutes until my afternoon class and we still haven't had lunch.”

“On its way,” Dex said, attempting a flirtatious smile.

Lauren ignored him.

She reminded Kris of a former classmate of his from Andover, Alyssa Reynolds, a pole-vaulter with liquid legs who sailed over the bar in a physically impossible arc. Every guy on the track team had a crush on her. Even him. Once.

Not that he had that much experience with girls. Too introverted, perhaps. Too bookish. That was Grace's analysis, though he preferred the theory that, so far, no girls had flipped his switch enough to make him want to commit.

Kara didn't count. Yes, he'd been into her—in the same way a kidnapping victim becomes attached to his abductor. Mack was the one who came up with that brilliant line.

“You've got Stockholm syndrome, dude,” he said one night when Kris returned to their dorm room so late from Kara's, he had to crawl through their window to avoid setting off the alarms. “She says jump, you say how high.”

Kara had that effect on people. If she didn't want you to leave, she'd pout and cry to the point where you'd do anything to make her stop. But if she wanted you to go, she'd claim a sudden illness and demand to be left alone. Kris found himself neglecting his own homework to help finish hers, so his grades suffered and Mack declared him an idiot.

Within two months, after Mack started hanging out
with them, Kara would have him eating out of her hand, too.

She was pretty, that helped. Gorgeous, actually. Long, shiny black hair down past her shoulders. High cheekbones. Flashing midnight-blue, almost purple, eyes. And a personality so powerful that even when Kris tried to break off their relationship—which he'd attempted numerous times—she'd sink her hooks into him and drag him back.

Like Mack said—Stockholm syndrome.

Addie handed Kris a piece of paper,
X
marked next to the signature line. “This is your waiver. Please read, sign, and return.”

“Am I signing over my soul?” Kris asked, marveling at all the fine print.

“Out of the question considering there is no such thing as a soul,” Addie replied. “Therefore, it would be impossible to release through a written contract.”

Oooookay.
“Guess Goethe didn't get the memo.”

“Just do it,” Lauren said, texting on her phone. “You know those things never hold up in court anyway.”

He scrawled on the line. Addie scanned the waiver with her phone and slipped it into a file. Then she placed a digital recorder on their table and handed each a small bottle of eye drops.

Dex gave them two sheets of lined paper and pencils.
“To start, we need you to write down your first impressions of each other in five words. They do not have to form a sentence. Neither of you will see the other's answers, so you can be completely honest.”

Lauren picked up the pencil and paused. “But I don't even know him.”

“Exactly.” Dex set the timer. “You have thirty seconds. Proceed.”

Kris rapidly scribbled five words that randomly popped into his mind.

Pretty.

Athletic.

Pole.

Flexible.

Nice.

Those were descriptions of Alyssa Reynolds, not of Lauren, he realized.

“Thank you!” Addie pinched the page from his grasp.

“I'm not sure those are right,” he said. “Can I try again?”

“You'll have many chances to try again. You'll do this at the beginning and end of each experiment.”

Lauren said, “I thought that
was
the experiment.”

“No, this is the experiment.” Addie set tiny bottles of eye drops in front of both of them. “You may find these helpful. Now, for the next five minutes, I want both of
you to look in each other's eyes.”

“But he's totally bruised up,” Lauren said.

“Irrelevant,” Addie said. “And while you're looking in your partner's eyes, try to remember what emotions you're feeling about her or him or about yourself. When the time is up, you'll return to your previous words and omit, edit, or keep them the same.”

“This is like one of my sister's party games,” Kris said. “I feel like we should be wearing electrodes or something.” He fingered his scalp, pulling his hair to make it stand on end.

Lauren laughed.

“If only,” Addie said with a sigh.

“The school drew the line at implanting electronic devices in our subjects' craniums,” Dexter said. “It's a sore spot with us.”

Lauren squirted in the drops and batted her eyelids rapidly, tilting her head back so as not to ruin her mascara. A drop rolled down her cheek and, without even thinking, Kris leaned over and thumbed it away.

“You're sweet,” she said, smiling. “But you should learn to duck.”

“Now!” Addie set the timer.

Kris focused his eyes on Lauren's, then blurred them, to see if that would make a difference in staying power. Lauren gazed at him with the stillness of steel, like they
were in a competition. And who knows? Maybe they were. Maybe Addie was testing whether girls could stare longer than boys. But how would that connect to the brain?

Gold and brown. That's what Lauren's eyes were. Also, a bit of green. Did you call that hazel? No, hazel was blue/green/brown, right?

Addie's eyes were gray. Or were they blue? He looked away from Lauren to check. They were gray-blue, like the bands of limestone he'd seen in the Himalayans. Mesmerizing.

“Gotcha!” Lauren pumped her fist. “You broke the stare. I win!”

“Time's up, anyway,” Addie said, flashing a smile.

There it was again. That sweetness. Next, she'd probably slap him down with a cutting remark. Or just a slap.

Dex plunked down two plates holding peanut butter and banana sandwiches, Granny Smith apple slices, and baby carrots. “Lunch.”

Lauren lifted the top slice of bread to inspect the contents. “What are we, in kindergarten?”

“Peanut butter is an excellent source of protein, B vitamins, and zinc, especially when combined with whole-wheat bread,” Addie said. “We've replaced the jelly with a banana to reduce the sugar intake. And the fat content in peanut butter is excellent fuel for the cerebellum.”

“Are you saying I'm dumb?” Lauren bristled. “Or that I have a fat head.”

Addie shook her head. “Neither.”

“Thank you,” Kris interjected before this turned ugly. “I was definitely getting hungry.” He took a big bite of the sandwich, trying not to mind that Dexter was scrutinizing each chew with creepy interest.

Lauren pushed her plate aside. “No, thanks. Lost my appetite. Are we done?”

“One last thing.” Dex returned the list of five qualities they'd written at the start of the day's experiment. “This is your chance to revise.”

Lauren barely glanced at hers. “I'm cool.”

“Me, too,” Kris said, though that wasn't true.

There was something about the way Lauren had complained about the sandwich that he found off-putting. Okay, so peanut butter wasn't his favorite, either, but that didn't give you a license to be rude.

Or maybe something else was going on with him and it had nothing to do with Lauren or this pointless experiment and everything to do with these strange new feelings he had for, of all people, Adelaide Emerson.

“You have to work for her?” Kara shrieked through the phone.

Kris took a swig of water and leaned against the rough
trunk of a large oak, grateful for the shaded respite from the ninety-two-degree heat and summer humidity. For two days he'd been ignoring Kara's texts, until she threatened to come up to the school and find him.

Thought it might be a good idea if that was avoided.

“It's not bad.” He inhaled the sweet scent of fresh-mown grass and gave himself an imaginary pat on the back for a job well done.

“It can't be good. They're rubbing your nose in it by forcing you to be in the lab, Condor.”

“N.B.D.” He dragged an arm across his forehead to dab off the sweat. “And I'm not working
for
her. More like, I'm helping her with an experiment.”

“Sure
,
” Kara said skeptically. “Except they've got you cleaning out the gerbil cages, so every day you have to see those poor, trapped, helpless little animals.” She groaned. “It's like they're making a mockery of an issue you believe in passionately. Don't tell me that's not twisted.”

So far, he hadn't felt sorry for the gerbils or the crabs. And he hadn't seen any frogs. “The gerbils are happy.”

“How did you know? Did you ask them?”

He laughed.

“It's not funny. You should quit out of protest. So you don't finish Foy's boot camp. What's the worst that can happen?”

“Um, military school?” he reminded her. “Three a.m.
reveille. Uniforms. All guys? You know how I am with authority. I suck.”

“And that's why I love you.”

The words hung in the ether, begging for a response. Kris took another swig of water and let them dangle. Sooner or later she was bound to get the hint when he didn't respond to her fishing.

“The thing is,” Kara continued, “there are tons of alternatives to the Academy and to military school. Look at me. I'm doing an independent study next semester to finish my credits and then going to Florence in the spring!”

“Nice to be rich.” He checked the phone. Two more minutes until the end of his break.

“You should come with me!” she said.

“Where?” As if he didn't know.

“Florence, you moron. Just think. The two of us at twilight by the Arno, our days in museums studying the world's greatest paintings, our nights spent making our own art.”