Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            “Mr. Ward, do you—”

            “Colonel,” he says. “Please, call me Colonel.” Then immediately turns to say something to Isaac. How’s that for a fourth Uh-Oh™?

            The first interaction is after the food arrives. “How’s your salad, Levi?” his mother asks. He finishes chewing before saying, “Great.” He manages to sound sincere, as though he’s not a six four, two-hundred-pound brickhouse who needs four thousand calories a day. I study him in disbelief and realize something: He’s not calm, or indifferent, or relaxed. He’s closed off. Shuttered. Inscrutable.

            “All good at work?” Isaac asks.

            “Yup. Couple of new projects.”

            “We recently had a breakthrough on something that has the potential to be great,” I say excitedly. “Something Levi’s leading—”

            “Any way NASA will reconsider your application for the Astronaut Corps?” the Colonel asks, ignoring me. Uh-Oh™ five. Should this have been a drinking game?

            “I doubt it. Unless I cut off my feet.”

            “I don’t like your tone, son.”

            “They won’t reconsider.” Levi’s voice is mild. Unbothered.

            “The Air Force has no height restrictions,” Isaac says with his mouth full. “And they like people with fancy degrees.”

            “Yes, Levi.” His mother now. “And the Air Force will only take you until you’re thirty-nine. The Navy is . . .”

            “Forty-two,” Isaac supplies.

            “Yes, forty-two. You don’t have a lot of time to make the decision.”

            I thought Levi’s parents were probably not as terrible as he made them out to be, but they’re ten times worse.

            “And the Army’s thirty-five—how old are you, Levi?”

            “Thirty-two, mom.”

            “Well, the Army probably wouldn’t be your first choice—”

            “What about the French Foreign Legion?” I ask, twirling a lock of purple hair. Forks stop clinking. Three pairs of eyes study me with distrust. Levi’s just . . . alert, as though curious at what might happen. God, what have these people done to him? “What are the age requirements for the French Foreign Legion?”

            “Why would he want to join another country’s army?” the Colonel asks icily.

            “Why would he want to join the US Army?” I quip back. I cannot believe that rotten Tim Carson spawned from a loving, perfect family, and someone who’s as perfect and loving as Levi comes from such rotten relatives. “Or the Air Force, or the Navy, or the Boy Scouts? It’s obviously not his calling. It’s not as though he works as an accountant who money-launders for a drug cartel. He’s a NASA engineer cited by thousands of people. He has a high-paying position.” I actually have no idea how much Levi makes, but I lift one eyebrow and carry on. “He’s not wasting his life in a dead-end job.”

            Uh-Oh™ number six. The drinking game was totally a missed opportunity. It sure would make the silence more bearable as it stretches. And stretches. And stretches.

            Until the Colonel breaks it. “Miss Königswasser, you are very rude—”

            “She’s not,” Levi interrupts firmly. Calmly. But forcefully. “And she’s a doctor.” Levi holds his father’s gaze for a moment, and then moves on to his brother. “What about you, Isaac? How’s work been?”

            I lean back in my chair, noticing the suspicious, hateful way the Colonel is looking at me. I give him a fake, bright smile and tune in to what Levi is saying.



* * *



            • • •

            THE SECOND WE’RE in the truck I take off my Converse, push the soles of my feet against the dashboard, and—Quasimotoes in full sight—I explode. “I cannot believe it!”

            “Mm?”

            “It’s unfathomable. We should make a damn case study out of this. Science would publish it. Nature. The New England Journal of damn Medicine. It would get me a Nobel Prize. Marie Curie. Malala Yousafzai. Bee Königswasser.”