Love on the Brain(53)
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? ? ?
I HAVE BEEN at HBI for three and a half minutes when I meet the first person I know, a former RA in Sam’s lab who’s now a Ph.D. student at—I glance at his badge—Stony Brook. We hug, catch up a bit, promise to get together for drinks over the weekend (we won’t). By the time I turn around, Levi has met someone he knows (an elderly guy with a fanny pack and an eyeglass chain that scream “engineer” from the top of the Grand Canyon). The cycle lasts about twenty minutes.
“Jesus,” I mutter once we’re alone. It’s not as though we’re famous, or anything like that, but the world of neuroimaging is very insular. Incestuous. Inescapable. And lots of other I adjectives.
“I had more social interactions in the past twenty minutes than in the last ten months,” he mumbles.
“I saw you smile at least four times.” I pat his arm comfortingly. “That can’t have been easy.”
“I might have to lie down.”
“I’ll get an ice pack for your cheeks.” I look around the crowded hall, suddenly reminded of why I hate academic conferences. “Why did we come today, anyway? MagTech’s presentation’s not until tomorrow.”
“Boris’s order. A feeble attempt to look like we’re not just here to snoop, I believe.”
I grin. “Do you ever feel like we’re super-spies and he’s our handler?”
He gives me a half-amused, half-withering look. “No.”
“Come on. Boris’s totally the M to my James Bond.”
“If you’re James Bond, who am I?”
“You’re the Bond girl. I’m going to seduce you in exchange for blueprints and stab you while I sip on my martini.” I wink at Levi, then realize that he’s flushing. Did I go too far? “I didn’t mean to—”
“There are a couple of engineering talks I want to go to,” he says abruptly, pointing at the conference program and sounding remarkably normal. I must have imagined it. “You?”
“There’s a panel at four that sounds interesting. Also, it’s my sacred duty to go out for a drink. Big Easy and all that.”
“Oh. Did you want to . . .”
I cock my head. “Want to?”
He clears his throat. “Did you want company? Were you already planning to go with your friend, or—”
“My friend?”
“That friend of yours.”
“Who?”
“I forgot her name. That girl who was in Sam’s lab? Dark hair, did fNIRS research, and . . .” He squints. “Nah, that’s all I remember.”
“Are you talking about Annie Johansson?”
He glances back at the program. “Maybe? That sounds right.”
I can’t believe Levi forgot Annie’s name after she pursued him mercilessly for ages. She knew his damn blood type, for cake’s sake. Probably his social security number, too. “Why would I go for drinks with her?”
“I just assumed,” he says absentmindedly. “You two were inseparable.”
My heartbeat picks up. Probably for no reason. “But she’s not here.”
Levi’s still reading the program, not really paying attention to me. “I thought I saw her a minute ago.”
I whirl around. Yes, my palms are starting to sweat, but just because sometimes they do. All palms sweat sometimes, right? I look about frantically, but I’m sure that Annie’s not here. She can’t be. Levi didn’t even remember her name—he can’t be right about this. He probably thinks that all women with dark hair look the same and— Annie.
With a shorter haircut. And a pretty lilac dress. And a big smile on her pretty lips. Standing in line at the badge reclamation station, chatting with someone, someone who just walked up and is handing her a cup of coffee, someone who— Tim.
Tim. I see Tim, but only for a second. Then my vision blurs, large black dots swallowing the world. I’m hot. I’m cold. I’m sweaty. I’m shaking like a leaf and my heart is pounding and I’m flying away.
“Bee.” Levi’s voice grounds me for a second, warm and deep and worried and solid and thank God he’s here, or I’d be scattered all over, debris in the wind. “Bee, are you okay?”
I’m not. I’m dying. I’m fainting. I’m having a panic attack. My heart and my head are exploding.
“Bee?”
Levi is holding me now. Holding me again and I’m in his arms and it feels like I’m safe, how is it possible that when he’s around, only when he’s around, I really feel sa—
14
PERIAQUEDUCTAL GRAY & THE HIPPOCAMPUS: PAINFUL MEMORIES
THIS IS NOT my hotel room.
First of all, it has a way better view. A busy, picturesque New Orleans street, instead of that cluttered courtyard with stacked patio furniture. Second, it smells faintly like pine and soap. Third, and perhaps most important: it’s not messy, and if I have one talent in the world, it’s turning a hotel room into complete non-vandalic chaos within the first three minutes of my stay.
Your girl has some serious splinter skills.
I sit up in the bed, which I assume is also not mine. The first thing I see is green. A particular brand of green: Levi Green?.