The Outliers (The Outliers, #1)(28)

Hitch another ride? Like that’s a totally reasonable possibility. Lexi is still looking at Doug with her head tilted to the side now, smiling like a little girl trying to talk her parents into a treat. And it’s a look she must give Doug a lot, because he’s doing his best to avoid it. Finally, he exhales loudly and shakes his head.

“This is a job, Lexi, not a hobby. You know that, right? I have a paper to write. An actual deadline.”

“Honey, we have two whole days until the meteor shower. And look at them, don’t they remind you of us when we were their age? It’s good karma to help them. I know you like to plan your driving routes in advance, but it doesn’t even sound like it’ll take us much longer.” She grins as she bounds over to kiss him. Already, she knows she’s won. “Besides, I’ll spend the rest of the week making it up to you.”

Doug exhales, exasperated, as he heads back toward their car. “Fine.”

“We can throw your stuff up top. We’ve got plenty of space! I’ll help you grab it,” Lexi calls happily as she goes around to open our trunk. “Wow, you have a lot of stuff in here. Were you really planning to camp in this weather?”

“No,” I say, like the suggestion is totally absurd. Still, I step toward Jasper’s car, already planning to still dig out as much as I can on the sly: compass, matches, tablets to purify water. Bandages, naturally.

“Are you sure about this?” Jasper asks, as I dig around the trunk.

“Which part?”

He motions to them, their car. Going with these people we don’t know, not calling the police, he means.

“Any of it?”

“No, I’m not,” I say, as I pull my backpack out. “But then, I’m never sure about anything.”





Doug and Lexi’s car is nothing like Jasper’s Jeep. It smells clean and looks brand-new, with a dashboard that’s a computerized touch screen and an engine so quiet it’s hard to tell it’s even on. It’s so much warmer, too, the front windshield fogging only for a second as the heater burns off the damp cold.

“Are you guys okay back there?” Lexi asks over her shoulder. With the baby’s car seat taking up all of the driver’s side of the back, Jasper and I are squished awfully close together. “There’s not much space. Sorry about that.”

“We’re fine.” Jasper sounds like he actually thinks we are. Like he doesn’t find the whole length of our thighs touching the least bit awkward. And why would he? The dozen seniors he’s slept with might just be a rumor, but he’s surely had sex with lots of people (Cassie included). Sitting close to a girl is nothing for him. But up until now, my thighs have only pressed against one other boy’s.

Trevor and I met in yearbook club sophomore year, and for a couple of months we hung out after school. I liked Trevor even if he was way too skinny and his chin was kind of nonexistent. He was sweet and funny and strange, but in a good way. He was obsessed with Houdini, and he knew all these random stats from World War I, which meant he was happy to do most of the talking.

Mostly we’d study and talk on those Wednesdays, but occasionally we made out. Sometimes even a lot. It was nice. And so normal that even Cassie was impressed. I felt like it was a sign, too, that I was finally out of the deep, dark woods.

But then, all of a sudden, Trevor called it quits.

“It’s not because you don’t want to have sex,” he’d said, though I had been stalling for about a month. “I wanted to wait, too, which I realized was weird because, you know, I’m a guy.” And the way he said it: like he was some ideal specimen. “And then I was thinking about why I wanted to wait, and I realized: I can’t take the pressure. I like you, Wylie, but being with you, it’s too much”—he searched for a new word and came up empty—“pressure. Like if I do something wrong, you might freak out and have a breakdown or something.”

I nodded at him and prayed I wouldn’t cry. Later, I would for sure. And I could live with that. Just not in front of him. “Yeah, that’s okay. I understand.”

And actually that was the worst part: I understood completely.

I try to shift a little closer now toward the car seat, hoping that eases the pressure of my leg against Jasper’s. It doesn’t, not really. The seat is facing backward with the hood down, so that all I can see are the blankets gathered around the baby’s feet. I pray he’ll sleep the whole way, because I’m not sure I’ll be able to take Lexi cooing at him up close. I watch him for a couple more minutes, but still he doesn’t make a peep.

“He’s so quiet,” I say, sounding like some kind of creepy baby-stalker that you shouldn’t ever let near your child.

“She,” Lexi corrects without turning around. Of course it has to be a girl—mother and daughter. Two peas in a pod. They probably look alike, just like my mom and I did. “I’m hoping she’ll sleep the whole way. Are you really sure you’re okay back there, sitting on top of each other? Not that we have a lot of better options, I guess.”

“We’re fine,” I say. I’m certainly not going to complain. If we annoy Doug, he could change his mind, overrule Lexi and toss us out. “Thanks again for the ride. We really, really appreciate it. Our friend will too.”

“Not a problem,” Lexi says, putting her hand over Doug’s, which is resting on the gearshift.