The Outliers (The Outliers, #1)(31)
No, don’t say that, I think. Don’t say a word.
Instead, I look over at Jasper. His eyes are closed, head resting against the window. I wonder for a second whether he’s asleep. But when I push one of my knuckles hard into the side of his leg, he lifts his head and turns.
I shake my head a tiny bit, widen my eyes before he can ask what’s wrong. I point a low finger at the car seat, then mouth the words: “No baby.” I hope that will be enough for him to get what I mean, but not ask questions.
Because as soon as Doug and Lexi know—that we know—we will have lost the only thing we have going for us: the element of surprise. And what is it that I think I know? There’s no baby in the seat, but I don’t know why or what that means. We asked them for a ride, I remind myself. Doug didn’t even want to take us.
Maybe these are just the people you run into in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. People running from something. People with something to hide. For all we know, they stole this car with all its warm and fuzzy bumper stickers and its empty car seat. I don’t want to know. Lexi and Doug can keep their secrets, thank you very much. We just need to get the hell out of their car.
I quietly pull in a mouthful of air, but I am already so light-headed. My eyes are off, too, like the filter has been switched to antique, everything a little too soft and the tiniest bit yellow. At least there is no dark tunnel yet and I haven’t started to go numb. But if I can’t keep it together, it will only be a matter of time before the lights go out.
Lexi glances at me over her shoulder, then smiles like she has so many times since I first saw her swaying back and forth next to her car. A minute ago that smile seemed so sweet and warm. Now it lifts the hairs on the back of my neck. I press my fingers against my thighs. Dig in my nails as I smile back at her.
But whatever Doug and Lexi are up to, it has nothing to do with us. It started before we ever pulled into that gas station. Maybe they’re friendly neighborhood outlaws, environmental terrorists, or conscientious political protesters on the run for some crime of principle, and the pretend baby is cover. Not wanting to be found doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a bad person. I know that firsthand. And yet I still have such a bad, bad feeling.
“So your friend—” Lexi asks, finally settling on a song. “Wait, what did you say her name was again?”
I turn to Jasper, shake my head again. Don’t tell her anything else. Not another thing, I try to say with my eyes. Jasper squints at me for a second.
“Victoria,” Jasper answers finally. His lie is all the proof that I need. He gets it. “Her name is Victoria.”
I tap open my phone map, to see if we’ve veered off course. But the little blue dot that is us is still headed on Route 203 toward Seneca. Lexi and Doug could have something to hide but still be doing us a favor. This could be more of an unfortunate coincidence, a less dangerous disaster. My chest loosens a tiny bit. Yes, maybe. But we still need to get out of the car.
When I look down, I have only one bar of signal left on my phone. Soon even that might be gone. I am angry at my dad, of course. It feels like he actually may have permanently broken us. But I am still way more afraid of Lexi and Doug than I am angry at him.
I open my texts and type out a quick message to my dad.
Jasper’s car died off 93, Exit 39C in New Hampshire. Headed toward Maine on Route 203. In a black Subaru station wagon with New York plates and a Hillary 2016 sticker on it. We need help. Not safe maybe. I am trusting you. Don’t mess it up.
“Victoria, that’s a pretty name,” Lexi goes on, and with this tone—like she knows quite a few Victorias herself. Like the name says everything you need to know about this friend of ours. “Does she get herself into a lot of situations like this?”
“Sometimes,” I say, but way too high and way too loud. Be normal. Just talk about Cassie. She is not a lie. “She gets caught up and one thing leads to another and then she’s in over her head.” Like you guys. See, we get it. No hard feelings. “It’s not the first time she’s asked me to come get her. We’re just trying to bring her home to her mom.”
She has a home. She has a mom. They are good people. We are good people. And you should let us go.
“That’s good of you to do, especially more than once,” Lexi says, sounding wistful, as she turns to look out the window. “The two of you must be really close.”
“We are,” I say. “We are really, really good friends.”
The acid is kicking high in my stomach, trying to make its way up my throat, when I spot a little blue sign up ahead: a gas pump next to a crisscrossed fork and knife. Food and gas, an excuse to stop, to get out. To run. I rub my palms against my jeans, then squeeze my fingers tight.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go to the bathroom.” I point to the sign. “Could we stop? I’ll be really quick, I promise.”
I turn and look at Jasper. He nods. He may not know exactly what is going on, but he’ll follow my lead.
“Sure, no problem,” Doug says, and so easily, like I’ve imagined the danger. Or maybe like things are even worse than I thought.
The turn signal ticks like a metronome, the light flashing slow and steady in the darkness. The world has slowed. Every sound is amplified, every motion exaggerated. Doug’s eyes are on the road. Lexi’s are on her phone. It all looks so normal, which only makes me more convinced that none of it is.