This Is My Brain on Boys

by Sarah Strohmeyer

  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.

  FOUR

  Addie couldn’t fathom why Tess wasn’t happier about Kris, especially since Tess was forever advising her to “meet new people,” which, in Addie’s opinion, was entirely unnecessary, as she already had three close friends: Tess, Ed, and Dex.

  “Dex is your lab partner,” Tess would correct.

  “With benefits,” Addie would add.

  “Not the kind of benefits people think about when you say lab partner with benefits.”

  What other benefits could there be? Dex was super-smart and organized. He calibrated every measurement to the last millimeter and took meticulous notes on their observations. As a result, their reports were always 100 percent complete and they earned stellar grades for tidiness as well as procedure.

  Added bonus: he had his own 3D printer and permission to work at the lab unsupervised.

  Okay, so now she’d made a new friend per Tess’s advice. Kris was personable, outgoing, and, even according to Tess’s ridiculously high standards, cute. That is if by cute, you meant tall, dark, and handsome, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes and unruly black hair that added a touch of wildness to his otherwise standard seventeen-year-old-boy demeanor. He attended the Academy, which was convenient. He had traveled to Asia and had retrieved her bag from the overhead compartment, thereby proving he could be worldly and polite. What could be more perfect?

  And yet Tess had seemed reluctant to give Kris a ride. Or maybe Addie had misread the situation. After all, they had stopped to chat at the top of the escalator, so clearly they got along. Maybe Tess knew him from drama.

  Why couldn’t she be better at reading body language? Tess could tell right off when someone was simmering with resentment or harboring a grudge. She could even pick out who had a crush on whom—from half a classroom away! Addie never could, which was odd since, having extensively studied the biology of infatuation, she should have been able to pinpoint who was in the midst of it.

  It was too complicated. She wished people would be more direct.

  For example, Ed’s reaction when Kris slid into the backseat. What was up with that? He seemed completely put off that Tess had offered him a ride even though there was plenty of room for everyone.

  “Um, Kris Condos?” he’d said, as if he was a wanted criminal.

  “We met on the plane,” Addie informed him. “He’s spending the summer at the Academy to atone for past sins.”

  Kris winced, and Ed looked to Tess, who said, “We’ve had a talk. Just go with it.”

  Which was unusual, because Tess knew Ed was not a “go with it” kind of person. He came from a long line of army generals who were big on discipline, rules, order, and military time. He was short, squat, muscular, and might otherwise have been impossible to tolerate had it not been for a wayward love of practical jokes.

  Before he and Tess had reached the endorphin level of their relationship, he’d snagged her phone and temporarily switched all her contacts to Lord of the Rings characters. Gollum was on speed dial.

  In contrast, Tess was one of seven children adopted by the Famous Actor Mothers who, when not starring in period dramas about English high society or medieval fantasies, were protesting US invasions abroad and chaining themselves to nuclear facilities.

  Ed and Tess were Addie’s first successful experiment, living proof that it was possible to induce attraction and even “love” between the unlikeliest of partners.

  Not that Tess was aware they were the first B.A.D.A.S.S. pair, of course. To this day, she remained convinced her “chance” meeting with Ed and subsequent romance had been nothing but pure kismet.

  As if.

  Weeks of planning had gone into ensuring that when she and Tess climbed Mount Washington in New Hampshire last fall—a feat in itself, since Tess loathed hiking—that Ed would be on the mountain to rush to her rescue with his Eagle Scout training.

  “It wasn’t fate,” Addie once tried explaining to her best friend. “You sprained your ankle during a random nor’easter and Ed happened to be hiking in the area with a first-aid kit.”

  “Yes, but he saved me.”

  “Because he knew how to wrap an ankle.”

  “He made a bier!” Whenever Tess arrived at this point in the story, she would sigh and get all dreamy. “He carried me down the mountain.”

  It was true that the bier was an impressive feat. Even Addie, who was with Tess when she hurt her ankle, had to admit that Ed’s ability to fashion a stretcher out of interwoven twigs was inspired.

  They were scaling the infamously slick rock face of Huntington Ravine when Tess lost her footing and slid a good twenty feet, landing on a ledge not much wider than a park bench. By the time Addie crawled to her, Tess’s ankle was swollen like a butternut squash and growing purple.

  So were the clouds overhead. Mount Washington had its own weather system that could switch on a whim from hot to cold, calm to stormy like it was doing that Saturday afternoon. There was no way they’d be able to reach the safety of the Lake of the Clouds shelter at the summit with Tess barely able to move.

  “We’ll find an outcropping of rock,” Addie had said, lifting an arm under her friend’s shoulders so she could at least hobble. “And then I’ll call for help.”

  Tess let out a little cry with each step. Meanwhile, the wind grew intense and big drops of rain started to fall as lightning flashed nearby. “We’re doomed,” she declared, sparing none of the drama that had made her the Academy’s reigning diva. “Oh my god. I’ve never been so scared.”

  Even Addie, who was well aware of the nor’easter predictions when she took to the hill, was rattled by the storm’s ferocity, the bending trees, the drastic plunge in temperatures, and the heart-stopping thunderclaps. It was much more than she’d bargained for. Plus, getting Tess injured hadn’t been part of the plan. The plan had been for them to get caught in the storm and call for Ed’s help. Now they were in deep, deep trouble.

  Fortunately, Ed seemed almost charged that not only was his crush in need of protection, but also medical treatment. “Be right there. I’m a half mile away,” he told Addie on his cell. “Stay put.”

  “Ed Wiziak?” Tess grimaced in disappointment when Addie explained that he just happened to be leading a Scout troop in the area and was coming to their rescue. “He’s such a dork.”

  It was true that Ed preferred white cotton knee highs and liked to tuck his shirts into the waistband of his pants. The buzz cut was not the most flattering hairstyle and his attitude of lead, follow, or get out of the way didn’t exactly jibe with Tess’s West Coast philosophy of live and let live. He was also a year older than they were, which presented its own set of challenges.

  But Addie had observed Ed sneaking furtive looks at Tess while they were outside sketching charcoal i
mages during their drawing elective class. She took no notice of him, even when he went out of his way to compliment her use of shading, which, to be honest, wasn’t anything special. The boy was smitten, that much was obvious, even to Addie.

  To Tess, not so much.

  “Whatever,” she said. “If he can get us out of here, then he’s my hero.” Though her tone was totally blasé.

  It was dark when Ed finally found them cold, wet, and hungry. He arrived with a backpack of fresh water, hot chocolate, granola bars, blankets, a first-aid kit, and a hearty upbeat attitude.

  “Two points,” he joked, examining Tess’s ankle with an expert eye. “Four if it’s broken.”

  He assured her that he knew all about breaks and sprains, seeing as how he’d been volunteering as a local EMT since he was fifteen. During his winters back in Colorado, he was on the ski patrol, where he handled injuries way worse than this, and in the snow, too. He’d have her fixed up in a jiffy. No worries.

  Addie watched in fascination as Tess melted in his capable hands. After he securely wrapped her ankle and assured her repeatedly that lightning could not enter their little cave, she let him fold a blanket in his lap so she could rest her head and sleep off the pain. Ed sat up all night, happily holding her in his arms.

  By morning, she was madly, passionately, and seemingly permanently in love, as was Ed, their two hearts fused by trauma, adrenaline, and the primeval urge to survive.

  That was the day she knew her thesis was solid. Love could be induced, as long as you had the right conditions.

  Addie’s phone dinged and she jumped in her seat. Dexter!

  I see by my GPS that you have deplaned and are en route. Will you be coming to the lab? P.S. You are late.

  She imagined him peering into a microscope, blond head angled intently. Most likely, he was attired in summer casual—salmon-colored shorts, teal polo shirt (collar popped), Lacoste flip-flops. He bought all his clothes online from a store in Martha’s Vineyard where his mother had a standing line of credit. Many of his accessories were decorated with whales, which she found incongruous since whales did not wear belts.

  Bad weather, she texted back. Nearly died.

  For shame, A. It’s not like you to succumb to hyperbole. Is your presentation ready?

  She inhaled and quickly texted a reply. Dex’s forthright manner never failed to leave her slightly dizzy. Of course she hadn’t “nearly died.” Why had she written that?

  The PowerPoint is cued up. I will meet you at the lab once I unpack and wash my face.

  He would appreciate this. They’d had many conversations about their fear of the nearly invisible Demodex mites burrowing and procreating in skin pores.

  “Security check,” Ed announced, slowing down at the guard house at the base of the bridge to the Academy.

  Tess, Ed, and Addie pulled out their IDs. Kris sat, hands between his knees. “My, um, ID was taken from me last spring.”

  Ed cleared his throat and murmured something that sounded like “too bad they didn’t take it sooner.”

  “If you don’t have an Academy ID, they won’t let you pass,” Addie said, removing hers from her wallet. If the school had yanked his ID, then Kris really must have been expelled. And the only people who were expelled that she knew about were the group that vandalized the lab.

  Of course, Kris wouldn’t have had a part in that.

  “Maybe my driver’s license will work,” he said, getting his out.

  Ed handed over the four cards.

  The guard passed them over a scanner and then stuck his head in the window, zeroing in on Kris. “This isn’t an official 355 ID.”

  “I know,” Kris said. “I’m on a list.”

  The guard checked his computer. Then he swiped a temporary ID and handed it to him. “This expires in five days. After that, you won’t be allowed in without special permission. There’s a note here that you should check with Administration ASAP.”

  Kris slid his license back into his wallet. “Don’t worry. It’s my first stop.”

  Addie was about to propose that Kris could have manufactured a fake driver’s license and hacked into the school’s computer system to add his name to a list, but Tess shot her one of those looks that she thought might possibly mean “not now.”

  “You’re lucky they’re letting you back on campus at all,” Ed said cryptically.

  After that, an awkward silence settled over the car and the three passengers suddenly developed an intense interest in the scenery as Ed drove up the causeway.

  The bay was still churning from the morning’s storm, white-capped waves lashing the rocks along the shoreline ahead. Ed stopped at the iron gates, punched in his code, and they swung open.

  Home, Addie thought happily, admiring the grand willow trees, their graceful branches swaying in the wind, the banks of colorful red, pink, purple, and yellow petunias so carefully maintained by the landscapers, the bright green lawn of the quad, the stone administration hall with its antique clock, the white-clapboard residential buildings, and, her favorite, the nearly hidden laboratory perched at the edge of the cliff.

  As its unusual name indicated, the Academy was not the average New England prep school, though with its historic brick buildings, ivy-covered walls, and massive oak trees, it could have passed for one in a lineup.

  It was named in honor of Agent 355, a still-unidentified female spy from the American Revolution who was thought to have exposed the American traitor Benedict Arnold. Unfortunately for Agent 355, she was captured by the British, gave birth to a son she conceived with another American spy, and died on board an enemy ship.

  Almost two hundred years later, a group of spies who were also mothers worried that their children would not be safe from the Soviet Union’s KGB if they attended normal schools. So they founded Academy 355. Its reputation for educational excellence—along with state-of-the-art security—quickly became a draw for others who felt a need to protect their kids.

  The Academy didn’t admit just anyone. Tess was invited to apply, because her Famous Actor parents were hounded constantly by paparazzi and desperately wanted to protect their daughter from the limelight.

  Dex was admitted because his mother directed a private assassination-for-hire agency contracted by the US government to discreetly eliminate terrorists. Her son, therefore, required added surveillance.

  Addie, among all of her friends, was the lone scholarship student. She was accepted after her seventh-grade math teacher sent her stellar scores to the Academy’s administration, along with a plea to take her as a student because their little Pennsylvania public school didn’t have the resources to provide her with an education befitting her intelligence.

  To offset the cost of providing free tuition to her and a few others, the Academy opened its doors each summer to rising high school juniors from around the world for intensive SAT preparation and New England college tours. So, for four weeks, the campus was overrun with offspring of sheikhs, minor European royalty, and California real estate moguls, who arrived with designer bags, glittering diamond tennis bracelets, Cartier sunglasses, and a whole heap of attitude.

  Addie hadn’t witnessed this phenomenon herself; she was relying on descriptions provided by Tess, who, like Ed, was working as a PC—Peer Counselor. This was a bit of a sore spot in their friendship, as Addie had also applied to be a PC and was rejected, despite her significantly higher grades and numerous teacher recommendations.

  It was confusing. Never before had she been rejected for anything, except varsity field hockey. (Though that was to be expected, she supposed, after she accidentally dislodged three of the coach’s front teeth with an illegal scoop.)

  “What did I do wrong?” she’d asked Dex while they were cramming for their chemistry final after she got her letter of rejection last spring. “I’ve got the scores and the recommendations. Why did they take Tess and not me?”

  “You’re socially awkward,” he said without hesitation as he scribbled a formula fo
r oxidation reduction.

  “I am?”

  He laid down his pencil. “This revelation shouldn’t come as a surprise. People like us—well, people like you—have poor communication skills. We—I mean, you—often unknowingly say things that are interpreted as rude.”

  She sat back, gob-smacked. “No, I don’t.”

  He peered over his frameless glasses. “Isn’t Tess often correcting you on proper behavior?”

  “Yeeesss,” she said slowly. “And I help her with Calculus.”

  “Exactly. That’s the upside.” He went back to finishing the formula. “People like us have Mensa-level IQs. At least, according to my test results, I certainly do. I can’t speak to your intelligence level. This is why we find it impossible to associate with the normal. Compared with us, they are intellectually inadequate.”

  This only made her feel worse. Okay. So she was slightly smarter, maybe, and particularly fixated on the brain, sure. But that didn’t make her a freak. . . .

  Did it?

  “No, no. You’re fine, Adelaide,” the headmaster, Mr. Foy, had informed her when she showed up in his office the next day, having lain awake the night before mulling over Dexter’s analysis. “Think nothing of the committee’s decision.”

  “They didn’t reject me because I’m socially awkward, did they?” She studied his glass paperweight to avoid his penetrating gaze. “I’ve read plenty of books on the social behavioral patterns of adolescents. I know to keep at least forty-six centimeters between myself and others to ensure enough personal space.” She pushed back her chair. “And Tess taught me that observations such as ‘You’re short,’ or in your case, Mr. Foy, ‘You’re bald,’ are not appreciated even though they are stated facts.”

  He cleared his throat. “That’s excellent, Adelaide, but being a Peer Counselor requires a unique skill set. For example, a good PC is able to detect when her students are homesick or being bullied, suffering from anorexia, or even understanding their sexuality. How would you deal with those issues?”