Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            Anyway: the more things change, the more they stay the same. Sausage Referencing™ is still a thing, and sometimes I get angry at myself for the way I accept it.

            Sometimes I get angry at myself for other things. Like the fact that I should be working, instead of checking my phone to see if Levi texted. Or the fact that I’m upset he hasn’t. Or the fact that suddenly I care to be updated about what he’s doing every second of every minute of every day.

            It’s not my business, anyway. He has stuff to do. With his ex. Maybe if Tim hadn’t cheated on me for a number of years that cannot be counted on the fingers of one hand I wouldn’t think twice about this. But Levi’s lack of an explanation has me wondering whether he’s hiding something. Don’t get me wrong—I’m aware that our kiss meant nothing to him. So he had a crush on me in grad school? Big deal. It’s been six years. Lots of things changed dramatically in the past six years. The writing on Game of Thrones. The importance of hand sanitizer. My opinions on duck penises. But it was still a kiss. If Levi’s in a relationship with someone else . . . yikes. Is he Tim 2.0? No, he’s not that verminous. He wouldn’t. But aren’t all men the same?

            Is my head exploding?

            “Are you picturing me and Kay doing it?”

            I startle. Rocío is sitting at her desk, black Dr. Martens propped next to her keyboard and a pink lollipop in her mouth. “How long have you been here?”

            “Like, five minutes. You were staring into the distance with a weird deer-in-the-headlights expression, so . . .” She stops sucking with a loud pop. “So, was it me and Kay? On your desk?”

            “I’m pretty sure this is sexual harassment.”

            “I don’t mind.”

            “No, you are harassing me—” I sigh and shake my head. She’s impossible. I want to adopt her and keep her in my life forever. “Is everything okay?”

            She nods, sticking the lollipop back into her mouth.

            “Is that . . . strawberry?”

            “Bubblegum. Kay gave it to me.”

            “Kay, huh?”

            “Yup.”

            I clear my throat. “I was thinking about a recent conversation we had, in which you told me you weren’t exactly a fan of . . . Kay, and—”

            Rocío’s boots hit the floor. Hard. “I love her,” she declares. “She’s perfect. I want her to be my beautiful California Bride with pink ribbons in her hair. I want to give her bubble baths that smell like cotton candy. I want to buy her fruity cocktails with little umbrellas in them.” She leans forward, pinning me with her gaze. “I will wear glitter for her, Bee. Black glitter.”

            I’m a little out of breath at the intensity. “Does Alex know?”

            “I broke up with him. Told him he wasn’t pink enough.” She shrugs. “He barely cares.”

            I grin. “I’m so happy for you.”

            She sobers up. “Don’t be. Life is pain and then you die.”

            “Ah, yes. I forgot.”

            “Anyway. It’s more important than ever that I get into Johns Hopkins’s neuro program, since that’s where Kay’s going. So we decided to redirect the time and efforts we spent on GRE prep to GRE destruction.”

            “Destruction?”

            “We’re joining #FairGraduateAdmissions. It’s a whole movement now. People are fundraising, building awareness, pressuring grad programs to drop the test. We’re going to help organize.” There’s a savage gleam in her eyes. “I’ve spent hundreds of dollars and hours on that test, Bee. Hundreds. I will get my revenge—especially after that stupid Chronicle of Higher Ed article.”

            I have no idea what article she’s talking about, but I find it easily. It’s an op-ed by a Benjamin Green—who, a quick Google search informs me, is a VP at STC. The company that sells the GRE.

                             CHALLENGING THE CHALLENGERS: What #FairGraduateAdmissions gets wrong