Love on the Brain(44)

“You’re assuming that X is an integer. What if it’s a rational number? A real number? Or, even worse, an irrational number?”

“I guarantee you that X is not an irrational number,” I hiss.

“How do you know?” she growls.

“Common sense!”

“Common sense is for people who are not smart enough to solve for pi.”

“Are you implying that—”

“Hey, girls!”

“What?” we bark in unison. Kaylee blinks at us from above a very pink drink.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“No, no.” I smile reassuringly. “Sorry, we got carried away. We’re having some . . . issues.” She’s wearing a purple jumpsuit and heart-shaped sunglasses, and her hair is pulled over her shoulder into a fishtail braid that reaches her rib cage. Her purse is shaped like a watermelon, and her necklace is a pink flower with the letter K in its middle.

I want to be her.

“Aw.” She tilts her head. “Can I help?” There is something earnest about the way she asks, like she actually cares.

I ignore Rocío’s kicks under the table and ask Kaylee, “Would you like to join us in fighting the hegemony of the Graduate Record Examination?”

I’m not sure what reaction I expected, but Kaylee huffing, eye-rolling, and pulling a chair up to our table was not it. “It’s an indignity. GRE, SATs, all these tests are institutionalized gatekeepers, and the extent to which graduate programs over-rely on them for student admission is obscene. We are two decades into the twenty-first century, but we’re still using a test based on a conceptualization of intelligence that’s about as outdated as the Triassic. Graduate school success depends on qualities that are not measured by the GRE—we all know it. Why aren’t we moving toward a holistic approach to graduate admission? Also, the GRE costs hundreds of dollars! Who has the financial solubility for that? Or for the prep courses, the materials, the tutors? Let me tell you who doesn’t: not-rich people.” She wags her finger at me, precise and wildly graceful. I am mesmerized. “You know who traditionally does poorly on standardized tests? Women and marginalized individuals. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy: groups that are constantly told by society that they’re less smart walk into a testing situation anxious as hell and end up underperforming. It’s called Stereotype Threat, and there’s tons of literature on that. Just like there’s tons of literature showing that the GRE does a terrible job at predicting who’ll finish grad school. But the heads of graduate admission all over the country don’t care and persist in using an instrument made to elevate rich white men.” She shakes out her hair. “Burn it down, I say.”

“Burn . . . what down?”

“All of it,” Kaylee says fiercely with her high-pitched voice. Then she sucks a delicate sip from her straw. I really want to be her.

I glance at Rocío and do a double take. She’s staring at Kaylee, breathing quickly, lips parted and cheeks flushed. Her right hand clutches the prep book like it’s the edge of a ravine. “You okay, Ro?” I ask her. She nods without breaking her stare.

“Anyway,” Kaylee continues with a shrug, “why are we talking about the GRE?”

“Rocío is taking it, and I was helping her out. With”—I clear my throat—“mixed results. I believe we were about to shank each other over irrational numbers?”

“Sounds about right,” Rocío mumbles.

“Oh”—Kaylee waves her hand airily—“you shouldn’t be talking about irrational numbers. The thing about the GRE is, the less you know the better off you are.” I give Rocío my best told you so look. She kicks me again. “If you take a prep class, they teach you little tricks useful to pass the test—more so than actually knowing math.”

“You’ve taken the GRE?” Rocío asks.

“Yep. This manager thing is a temporary gig—I’m starting my Ph.D. in education in the fall. At Johns Hopkins.”

Rocío frowns. “You’re . . . going to Johns Hopkins?”

“Yes!” Kaylee nods happily. “My parents paid for a prep course, and I have tons of notes. Plus I remember most of it. Why don’t I help you?”

Rocío turns to me with an aghast look that almost makes me laugh. Almost. Instead, I grab my smoothie and stand. “It’s so lovely of you to offer.” Rocío tries to kick me again, but I slither away. “I’m going to check out the gym at the Space Center. Rocío said that it might be free.”

“It is. Levi had me change your status the other day.”

“Whose status?”

“Yours. And Rocío’s.” She winks. “I switched you to team members in the system, so you can get some of the perks.”

“Oh, thank you. That was very—” Unexpected? Out of character? Something you must have made up on the spot because why would he do that? “—generous.”

“Levi’s awesome. Best boss I ever had. He harassed NASA into giving me health insurance!” She smiles and turns to Rocío, who looks ready to drown herself in a Danish brook. Again. “Where did you want to start?”

Rocío incinerates me with her eyes as I wave goodbye. Honestly, she’s in excellent hands. Doesn’t even deserve it. On the sidewalk, I take out my phone and quickly type up a tweet.