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brain.”
    I picture the lunch line in my high school cafeteria. I’m not sure I can agree with that statement. “What makes them—us—so interesting?”
    â€œThe adolescent brain is still growing and forging neural pathways, the roads on which thoughts travel. A teen brain also processes at lightning-quick speed. It tends to respond rapidly to chemical stimuli. That’s part of the reason teenagers frequently act on immediate desires and gut instincts. Previously I worked with research volunteers and our graduate-student population at Henley, but I’ve found them lacking. The group I’ve recruited here this summer is special in part because yours is the time in life when people’s minds are most open and receptive to triggers. That’s what I’m interested in exploring and tapping.”
    Tapping? I look at my uncle. “Can I ask—”
    â€œHowdo I plan to do this?” He laughs. “ You’re picturing me sawing open the top of your skull and poking around in your brain?”
    â€œWell I wasn’t until just now,” I mutter.
    â€œShe’s funny, your niece,” Alex says.
    Again, I feel a flush. I keep my eyes focused on my great-uncle.
    â€œI want to access your brain at the point where thought processes form,” Brian says, all business again, looking back and forth between Alex and me. “We’ll be testing the chemical reactions that are involved in activating key neurons. We’ll be trying to establish simultaneous reactions in all the group members. And we’ll be running tests to see if we can establish neuronal networking.”
    I have no idea what he’s talking about.
    â€œDoes that make sense?” he asks.
    I nod. At least I’m not lying out loud.
    â€œEveryone else in the group has already signed their releases.”
    Releases? To access our brains? I glance over at Alex.
    â€œWhen I heard about the chance to work with Professor Black . . .” He shrugs as if he needn’t bother completing the thought.
    The skin between my eyes pulls together, a habit my mother tells me will lead to a set of wrinkles known as the “angry eleven.”
    Uncle Brian catches my reaction. “Kass, you’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
    â€œNo,” I lie again. But duh, yeah, of course I am. Neuronal networking? All I can picture is a mad scientist running jumper cables between jars full of brains—mine included. Still, I can’t risk getting tossed out of here on day one. “No, no, of course I’m not having second thoughts. I’ll sign whatever you want.” I smile, trying to defuse any tension. “So, have you guys already started this testing?”
    â€œIndividually, yes, among the other four these past two weeks. But I planned to wait for your arrival to begin the rest.”
    I shoot my uncle a that’s impossible look.
    It was only decided that I’d be coming here two days ago. That he “planned” for my arrival can’t be right.

CHAPTER TWO
    I confess I wasn’t upset when I was escorted to the principal’s office back in May and informed, “Because of your reckless and delinquent behavior, Kassandra, we are expelling you.” Getting booted from high school during the last few weeks of senior year seemed more like a present than a punishment. Especially since I had justice on my side. I may have been breaking the law, but I was doing it for a righteous reason, and my principal knew it.
    Then the news from Columbia University arrived.
    The letter, henceforth known as TLTRML (The Letter That Ruined My Life), stated that my admission to the incoming freshman class had been revoked.
    That was it. I couldn’t petition or argue or plead. Since I’d applied and been accepted early decision, I hadn’t bothered applying anywhere else. In short, I was now hugely screwed. Everything I’d worked for in high school was