The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood
Don’t missLove on the Braincoming soon from Berkley Jove!“By the way, you can get leprosy from armadillos.”I peel my nose away from the airplane window and glanceat Rocío, my research assistant. “Really?”“Yep. They got it from humans millennia ago, and nowthey’re giving it back to us.” She shrugs. “Revenge and colddishes and all that.”I scrutinize her beautiful face for hints that she’s lying. Herlarge dark eyes, heavily rimmed with eyeliner, are inscrutable.Her hair is so Vantablack, it absorbs 99 percent of visible light.Her mouth is full, curved downward in its typical pout.Nope. I got nothing. “Is this for real?”“Would I ever lie to you?”“Last week you swore to me that Stephen King was writinga Winnie-the-Pooh spin-off.” And I believed her. Like Ibelieved that Lady Gaga is a known satanist, or that badmintonracquets are made from human bones and intestines. Chaoticgoth misanthropy and creepy deadpan sarcasm are her brand,and I should know better than to take her seriously. Problem is,every once in a while she’ll throw in a crazy-sounding storythat upon further inspection (i.e., a Google search) is revealedto be true. For instance, did you know that the Texas ChainsawMassacre was inspired by a true story? Before Rocío, I didn’t.And I slept significantly better.“Don’t believe me, then.” She shrugs, going back to hergrad school admission prep book. “Go pet the leper armadillosand die.”
She’s such a weirdo. I adore her.“Hey, you sure you’re going to be fine, away from Alex forthe next few months?” I feel a little guilty for taking her awayfrom her boyfriend. When I was twenty-two, if someone hadasked me to be apart from Tim for months, I’d have walkedinto the sea. Then again, hindsight has proven beyond doubtthat I was a complete idiot, and Rocío seems pretty enthusedfor the opportunity. She plans to apply to Johns Hopkins’sneuro program in the fall, and the NASA line on her CV won’thurt. She even hugged me when I invited her to come along—a moment of weakness I’m sure she deeply regrets.“Fine? Are you kidding?” She looks at me like I’m insane.“Three months in Texas, do you know how many times I’ll getto see La Llorona?”“La . . . what?”She rolls her eyes and pops in her AirPods. “You reallyknow nothing about famed feminist ghosts.”I bite back a smile and turn back to the window. In 1905,Dr. Curie decided to invest her Nobel Prize money into hiringher first research assistant. I wonder if she, too, ended upworking with a mildly terrifying, Cthulhu-worshipping emogirl. I stare at the clouds until I’m bored, and then I take myphone out of my pocket and connect to the complimentary inflightWi-Fi. I glance at Rocío, making sure that she’s notpaying attention to me, and angle my screen away.I’m not a very secretive person, mostly out of laziness: Irefuse to take on the cognitive labor of tracking lies andomissions. I do, however, have one secret. One single piece ofinformation that I’ve never shared with anyone—not even mysister. Don’t get me wrong, I trust Reike with my life, but Ialso know her well enough to picture the scene: she is wearinga flowy sundress and flirting with a Scottish shepherd she metin a trattoria on the Amalfi Coast. They decide to do the
- Page 333 and 334: “Fine,” Anh huffed. “Malcolm,
- Page 335 and 336: recording of Tom Benton saying shit
- Page 337 and 338: only one bed in this hotel room was
- Page 339 and 340: “I haven’t.”“Yes, Ol, you h
- Page 341 and 342: Right. What about Tom, precisely? O
- Page 343 and 344: Holden sighed. “This is why Adam
- Page 345 and 346: Chapter TwentyHYPOTHESIS: People wh
- Page 347 and 348: In a lie.A lie, after a lot of lies
- Page 349 and 350: Olive closed her eyes and nodded, t
- Page 351 and 352: Cherie’s truck, and she almost la
- Page 353: Wearing expired contact lenses will
- Page 356 and 357: “Good,” he replied with a half
- Page 359 and 360: “Uh . . .” Adam’s frown deepe
- Page 361 and 362: “It will be horrific—”A throa
- Page 363 and 364: seventeen databases and built machi
- Page 365 and 366: When given a choice between A (tell
- Page 367 and 368: else to do it?’ I think my cookie
- Page 369 and 370: You can fall in love: someone will
- Page 371 and 372: faint yellow lights. “And I’d b
- Page 373 and 374: “No,” she repeated, pensive.
- Page 375 and 376: “I think that somewhere along the
- Page 378 and 379: He rolled his eyes. “What’s you
- Page 380 and 381: Author’s NoteI write stories set
- Page 382 and 383: AcknowledgmentsFirst, just allow me
- Page 386: shrooms they just purchased from a
- Page 394 and 395: “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, bu
- Page 396 and 397: more . . . connected than I origina
- Page 398 and 399: unresponsive to my brain’s comman
- Page 400: Photo courtesy of the authorAli Haz
Don’t miss
Love on the Brain
coming soon from Berkley Jove!
“By the way, you can get leprosy from armadillos.”
I peel my nose away from the airplane window and glance
at Rocío, my research assistant. “Really?”
“Yep. They got it from humans millennia ago, and now
they’re giving it back to us.” She shrugs. “Revenge and cold
dishes and all that.”
I scrutinize her beautiful face for hints that she’s lying. Her
large dark eyes, heavily rimmed with eyeliner, are inscrutable.
Her hair is so Vantablack, it absorbs 99 percent of visible light.
Her mouth is full, curved downward in its typical pout.
Nope. I got nothing. “Is this for real?”
“Would I ever lie to you?”
“Last week you swore to me that Stephen King was writing
a Winnie-the-Pooh spin-off.” And I believed her. Like I
believed that Lady Gaga is a known satanist, or that badminton
racquets are made from human bones and intestines. Chaotic
goth misanthropy and creepy deadpan sarcasm are her brand,
and I should know better than to take her seriously. Problem is,
every once in a while she’ll throw in a crazy-sounding story
that upon further inspection (i.e., a Google search) is revealed
to be true. For instance, did you know that the Texas Chainsaw
Massacre was inspired by a true story? Before Rocío, I didn’t.
And I slept significantly better.
“Don’t believe me, then.” She shrugs, going back to her
grad school admission prep book. “Go pet the leper armadillos
and die.”
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