This Is My Brain on Boys

by Sarah Strohmeyer

  Lauren said, “So if this guy is good to go, when should I be at the lab?”

  “Let’s see.” Addie took out her phone and called up her calendar. “Considering classes start at eight thirty and you most likely have some sort of athletic practice before that, I’m thinking maybe five.”

  “At night? But that’s dinner.”

  Addie shook her head. “No. Five a.m.”

  Lauren snorted. “Oh my god. You do not want to be within a ten-mile radius of me that early in the morning. I will bite your head off.”

  “Well, we don’t want that,” Addie said, scrolling to a different time. “How about noon?”

  “That’ll work. Is there going to be food? Because if I don’t get something to eat by twelve thirty, I’ll . . .”

  “Bite my head off. Yes, I know.” Just then, Addie had a brilliant idea. “Actually, we’ll give you lunch. No problem.”

  “Excellent. Because I only have an hour between AP Bio and field hockey practice. If I’m doing this experiment, no way can I get to the cafeteria.”

  “Your caloric intake is assured.”

  With this settled, they broke apart, Addie quick-stepping to the lab and Lauren finishing her run, exhaling purposefully with every left step.

  Addie waved her key card over the scanner and a buzz signaled she had one minute to enter. After the vandalism spree, the administration had installed a state-of-the-art security system, and she was still getting used to the intimidating alarm and watchful camera eyes. It was very disconcerting.

  Inside, however, the lab’s foyer—with its familiar blue concrete floor and artificial tide pools—filled her with a sense of peace. She’d whiled away many happy hours in this building, peering through microscopes at ever-evolving plankton, measuring the electrical charge of frog muscles, comparing pH test strips to their charts, or simply gazing into the tank of her beloved moray eel. The Whit was her sanctuary, which was what made the break-in last spring such a violation. It was as if the lab was a church and she was a priest heartbroken over a smashed stained-glass window.

  “There you are.” Dexter appeared in a pink polo shirt and madras shorts, the white-blond hairs on his legs prominent over his summer tan, which set off a sparkling new rope bracelet. “An hour behind schedule and you’re procrastinating.”

  “I was delayed by an interloper.” She did not dare mention the minutes she’d wasted gazing at the ocean, an activity that Dex would have dismissed as foolishly inefficient.

  “Hmph.” He headed down to Dr. Brooks’s office. “You need to learn to anticipate distractions and take them into account when setting your schedule. Otherwise, you’ll be late—as you are now—which sends the message to others that you think your time is more valuable than theirs, which it is most definitely not.”

  He was absolutely right. Even if he did sound exactly like her mother. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, hurrying to catch up.

  “You’ll find that I always add at least ten minutes to my itinerary to avoid this mistake.” He sniffed. “Is that . . . perfume?”

  “A little. From Paris.”

  “You know I’m allergic.” He reached into his pocket and removed a packet of prescription antihistamines, breaking open the blister pack and popping one in his mouth. He swallowed and scowled. “More inconsideration.”

  “Sorry,” she said again, though she wasn’t. She loved the perfume.

  He uncapped a Vicks decongestant stick and shoved it up his right nostril, then the left. “That’s better.” He sneezed and wiped his nose with a tissue from one of the tiny packets his mother sent him regularly. “We must hurry. Shouldn’t keep Dr. Brooks waiting any longer than you already have.”

  They passed his tanks of crabs toward Dr. Brooks’s door on the left. When they entered, their advisor had one pair of glasses on her head and another on her nose.

  “Oh, good. You’ve arrived, Adelaide,” she said warmly. “How was your flight?”

  “Bumpy.” Addie shot a sideways glance at Dex, who was fiddling with his smart watch impatiently. “Turbulence was terrible.”

  He sighed.

  Dr. Brooks was a slight woman in her sixties who dressed like a college student, preferring jeans to slacks and flowing purple-and-blue batik dresses to the tweed suits so beloved by her colleagues. She wore her graying hair in long braids like an aging hippie in denial and often nibbled from a bag of granola she’d made herself.

  She slipped a finger into the closed venetian blinds and peered out. “Understandable. An extremely unstable air mass passed just south of us this morning due to a cold front, causing extreme variations in temperature. Now there are updrafts.” She let the blinds fall. “Interesting to study, unless you’re in it. Can be disconcerting even for the most rational of us.”

  “Ahem.” Dex cleared his throat, impatiently. “Shall we begin? We’re already behind.”

  “If you’re prepared, then yes.” Dr. Brooks perched at the edge of her desk. “I’m very eager to see how you’ve progressed. This is your introduction to the committee, remember, and it bears repeating that first impressions count.”

  Addie hooked up her computer, opened the pertinent file, and clicked to the first slide. All business.

  Dex said, “I thought it might be valuable to begin with a quick overview of our thesis.”

  Dr. Brooks nodded. “Proceed.”

  “Addie and I have developed the Brain Adrenaline, Dopamine, and Amine Synthesis System—aka B.A.D.A.S.S.—based on observations that the human brain releases the same series of neurochemicals during high levels of stress as it does in the initial stages of love, i.e., infatuation. Therefore, we posit that it is possible to trick the brain, if you will, into believing it is in love by subjecting a person to trauma.”

  Addie wanted to point out that, actually, she’d been the one to develop B.A.D.A.S.S. after researching cases where mere acquaintances “fell in love” after surviving tragedies—shipwrecks, the sudden deaths of friends, floods, fire, and war.

  Perhaps the most striking example she found online of this phenomenon involved the supermodel Christie Brinkley, who survived a helicopter crash on a Colorado mountain in 1994 while she was married to singer Billy Joel. The helicopter dropped out of the sky and rolled down the mountain more than 200 feet. One of the passengers was Richard Taubman, who, though being just a friend of a friend before the crash, asked Christie to marry him within two months. She accepted. They even held their wedding near the crash site where they “fell in love.” When they divorced a year later, she explained that she had mistaken post-traumatic stress syndrome for love.

  That’s what started Addie thinking: Maybe it didn’t take a helicopter crash to trigger a flood of dopamine and epinephrine. Maybe all you needed was a roller coaster. Or a rock wall. Or being trapped on a barren island in a violent electrical storm.

  Dexter clicked to the first slide. A pair of gerbils appeared on the screen, each clutching small gerbil treats. “Here we have Will and Kate, two gerbils named not by me, of opposite gender of sufficient maturity. Previously Will showed no interest in Kate and vice versa.”

  Addie clicked to the next slide and took over the narration: “On the theory that the perception of extreme danger triggers the brain’s response by releasing stimulants such as phenylethylamine (PEA), adrenaline, and norepinephrine—the exact same hormones the brain produces in creating instant physical attraction”—she cleared her throat—“Dex and I placed Will and Kate in precarious, though ultimately safe, situations, with the goal of inducing said attraction.”

  Next slide. Will and Kate in a clear plastic exercise ball. Addie held her breath.

  This was the experiment that had caused all the trouble.

  Somehow, word had gotten out that she and Dex were traumatizing mice—though they weren’t. Without even bothering to get her facts right, a fellow class member and die-hard animal-rights activist, Kara Wilkes, had embarked on a ruthless smear campaign against the lab.

  The adm
inistration tried to make her stop, but Kara and her lawyer parents counterclaimed that she had a First Amendment right to free speech. It wasn’t until Kara and her friends went too far by breaking into the lab, trashing the equipment, and spray-painting all over the walls, that they were finally booted off campus.

  Addie still had nightmares about that period and she was still furious. Not Kara, not anyone in her self-righteous clique, had ever bothered to visit the lab to see for themselves if animals were actually being abused. If they had taken the trouble to do the original research, they would have found clean cages, plenty of food and water, and peacefully sleeping rodents.

  That’s what angered her the most—their assumptions, their quickness to judge, the joy they took in making her depressed. It was so unfair, especially since Addie couldn’t undo the damage. Everywhere she went, people stared and whispered. Forget eating hamburger in public. That only proved she was a bloodthirsty murderer.

  “Ignore them,” Dex urged after she refused to leave her room for three days. “They’re beneath you.”

  But Addie wasn’t like him. She didn’t divide people into superior or inferior subspecies. Besides, somehow he’d completely escaped Kara’s radar outside of the lab.

  Her only regret was that she hadn’t had a chance to tell off Kara and her boyfriend and that smirking lackey of theirs, Mack or Max or whatever, before they disappeared. Mr. Foy saw to it that they were on a bus to Boston immediately after they were caught out of concern that they’d be targets for bullying if they stuck around.

  Ironic much?

  Dr. Brooks called Addie back to earth. “Go on. How did the exercise ball fit into your experiment?”

  Addie refocused on the presentation. “We rolled the ball down an inclined plane.” Shot of Will and Kate rolling down a board.

  “As you can see,” Dex continued when Addie proceeded to the slide of the two gerbils happily munching on treats, “no attraction. However, when we chose a more treacherous route for a different pair of gerbils, Brad and Angelina”—slide of ball at the top of the back hallway stairs—“the results were more encouraging.”

  Dr. Brooks let out a small gasp. “You threw them down the stairs?”

  “Not threw,” Dex said. “More like gently bounced.”

  “They were perfectly fine,” Addie added quickly. “I swear. Look!”

  Indeed, the next photo was of Brad and Angelina out of their ball and putting their newfound attraction to full and productive use.

  “Oh,” Dr. Brooks said quietly. “Oh, my.”

  Addie felt her cheeks go warm. Dex seemed to have no problem discussing this outcome, which had led to several litters of baby gerbils. And, really, she shouldn’t have been embarrassed. This was science, after all. Biology!

  Still . . .

  Dr. Brooks switched on the lights, appearing rather flustered. “I will admit that your PowerPoint is more effective than the version you showed me in May, though it definitely needs polishing.”

  Dex groaned. “I think it’s fine.”

  “It’ll get there,” Dr. Brooks said. “Do you think you can replicate this final part of the experiment with humans safely?”

  “We won’t put anyone in danger,” Addie said, wishing Dex would chime in instead of standing there moping about having to do more polishing. “And since Lauren and Alex will act as controls, all they’ll have to do is stare at each other for ten minutes each session and journal their thoughts before and after. That’s pretty safe.”

  “Not for Lauren and the other volunteer,” Dex said. “Especially at the end, when we strand them on Owl Island overnight.”

  Not helping, Addie thought. “Before that, we plan to check their progress by surreptitiously observing their social interactions at the Midsummer Night’s Dream Dance on Saturday. We will monitor which boy Lauren chooses, Alex or the other participant. If our thesis is on track, then she will choose the other participant and we will proceed with Owl Island. If not, then . . .”

  “Back to the whiteboard,” Dex finished.

  “I wonder,” Dr. Brooks said, getting up and opening the blinds. “Why not use a different girl and boy like you did with the gerbils?”

  “We want to show that, all things being equal, given two similarly attractive guys, Lauren will ultimately prefer the one with whom she’s endured more . . . thrilling . . . experiences,” Addie answered. “And, similarly, the same will be true for the boys. That is, if the other guy you’ve found meets that criteria.”

  “He absolutely does. He’s extremely handsome and intelligent, and that’s not merely my opinion.” Dr. Brooks flicked on the lights. “Headmaster Foy interviewed him this morning and called me with the green light.”

  “Excellent!” Addie smiled at Dexter, expecting him to be relieved.

  He wasn’t. “He’s already been approved? But we haven’t even met him.”

  “That’s about to be rectified.” Dr. Brooks peeked out her door and crooked her finger. “Why don’t you stop sweeping for a second, Kris, and step into my office.”

  Addie felt her legs go numb as Kris entered carrying a broom and decked head to toe in the ugly green uniform of the Academy’s Buildings and Grounds employees.

  No. Way.

  Dr. Brooks said, “Dexter. Adelaide. I’d like you to meet participant number three.”

  “Kris Condos?” Dex slapped his forehead. “You have got to be kidding. Is this a joke?”

  Wait, Addie thought, confused. Dex knew him? That was odd. Dex didn’t know anyone besides her, the faculty, and the nurses down at the infirmary.

  Dr. Brooks knit her brows. “I’m surprised you two are acquainted. I thought for sure . . .”

  “Not personally,” Dex interjected, “but . . .” He took Dr. Brooks aside and whispered in her ear.

  “Yes, yes, that’s true,” she said, breaking apart. “As long as you don’t have a close relationship with him, it shouldn’t affect the outcome of the experiment.”

  Dex scowled. “Close relationship? With him? Definitely not.”

  Addie remained baffled. What was going on? What did Dex know that she didn’t? Why was he giving Kris such a dirty look?

  Unless . . . ? Oh god. No. The sins. The mistakes. The screwed-up neural pathways!

  She looked to Dex, who confirmed her fears by whispering under his breath three simple words: “Kara. Wilkes’s. Boyfriend.”

  The news hit her hard, like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. It knocked the wind out of her and left her dizzy. Kris was Kara’s boyfriend. He’d been part of the trio that had ransacked her sanctuary, smashing tanks and terrariums, sending the gerbils scurrying in fear and the frogs into dark corners, only to be found days later shriveled and dead.

  She’d been so stupid, so incredibly blind. How had it not dawned on her before that of course this was why Kris had been expelled? Ed knew. That’s why he was so standoffish in the car. That must have been why Tess stopped Kris at the top of the escalator, to tear him a new one. She was good at tearing new ones.

  “And you, Addie?” Dr. Brooks was saying, her voice sounding far off. “Do you have a personal relationship with Kris?”

  She pivoted, prepared to let him have it. Her fists clenched and the muscles in her jaw ached, she was so angry. “Do I have a personal relationship with Kris? Is that what you’re asking?”

  Are you kidding? she wanted to scream. Kris Condos and his jerk of a girlfriend ruined my junior year. They ruined the lab and they almost ruined me. They had no business doing what they did.

  Instead, when she locked on to his deep-chocolate-brown eyes, all she could think of was their conversation on the plane and how remorseful he’d been, how willing to make amends, how sad she was that he was burdened with guilt.

  “Yes?” The corners of those eyes crinkled, and despite her swirling fury, something inside her snapped.

  Then things got really weird.

  Her pulse fluttered and her senses sharpened. She should have understood what w
as going on in her brain, except she seemed to have inexplicably forgotten everything from her research. (Though that, of course, was another symptom of PEA overload, which she would have recognized if Kris hadn’t been a few feet away all tall and dark in his butt-ugly uniform.)

  Dex scoffed. “Of course Addie doesn’t know Condos.”

  Kris opened his mouth and then closed it, smiling at her slightly. Addie did the same.

  What was wrong with her?

  “Then we can get started right away.” Dr. Brooks clapped once. “Addie, what time are you meeting Lauren tomorrow?”

  She licked her oddly dry lips. “Noon.”

  Kris was still looking at her with that smile.

  “How does noon work for you, Kris?” Dr. Brooks asked. “It might eat into your lunch break, no pun intended, but I will add fifteen minutes to your work schedule.”

  Kris blinked. “What am I doing?”

  “A research project for our Athenian Award submission,” Dex drawled with disgust. “Addie and I are running an experiment measuring the difference between male and female responses to various stimuli. Do try to keep up.”

  Even though Kris deserved the cut, she felt bad. “Sorry,” she said. “Dex didn’t mean it.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “It’s okay,” Kris said. “It’s not like I don’t have it coming.”

  “True that.” Dex folded his arms, superior.

  Dr. Brooks escorted Kris to the door. “All righty, then. See you at noon, and thank you for volunteering.”

  When he left, she swung around and placed her hands on her hips. “As scientists, I hope you two would ignore whatever slights we perceive Kris has committed. He is trying to repay his debt to the Academy and for that he should be commended, not ridiculed. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

  Dex said, “With all due respect, the headmaster should have consulted us first. How can we be objective when . . . ?”

  Dr. Brooks wagged a finger. “I’ll have none of that. You know how I feel about grudges. Anger and resentment lead to destruction.”