The Outliers (The Outliers, #1)(40)
“A conversation about what?” Gideon asked, probably nervous that his feelings for Cassie would somehow come out.
And I was a little nervous, too, for what would happen when my dad’s test revealed somehow that I was extra insane?
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you the topics. They are meant to generate some emotion—so there’s something for the reader to intuit. But nothing too personal.” My dad pulled three chairs into a triangle formation. “Cassie and Wylie can have a conversation first, and Gideon will be the reader.” He set about hooking Gideon up to all the wires—electrodes, a pulse monitor. And now he seemed like he was enjoying himself. “The equipment I have here isn’t nearly as sophisticated as what I have at my lab on campus. The chairs there read the slightest shift in body temperature and muscle response. Because a piece of this is, of course, about someone reading not just how you think you’re feeling, but how you really feel.”
He moved over to hook me up to the same set of wires. But I was so tense already (because I am tense always), I wondered if it was possible I would short out the machines. I wanted to kill Cassie for getting me into this.
But when I looked over at her, she smiled and mouthed, “Thank you.” And she had this look in her eyes that felt like love.
And I thought, for the first time in a long time, that maybe she and I would be okay. After all, didn’t we have to be?
My phone vibrates in my hand, startling me. Cell coverage again, finally. Probably not for long. All the alerts I’ve missed come through in a blast. Four calls and one text from my dad. Three new texts from Cassie. My mouth feels dry looking down at all of them.
I read the texts from Cassie first. Where are you guys? And then, when I didn’t respond, Is everything okay? How much longer? I’m scared. And then the last, just minutes ago: Never mind what I said. Go to the police in Seneca. It’s not safe anymore for anyone. I’m sorry I got u mixed up in this. But don’t text my mom. Please. She will make it worse.
I would have sworn all I wanted was for Cassie to give us permission to make this emergency someone else’s problem. But I hadn’t counted on how much more worried it would make me once she finally did.
“Cassie says we can go to the police in Seneca.” I type the town name quickly into Google Maps, hoping to get some directions or at least how far it is before we lose the signal again. I feel a surge of relief when the pin drops in the center of Seneca. “It’s not far, ten more minutes on this road, then Route 4 for thirty miles, then Route 151 for another ten.”
“Is she okay?” Jasper asks.
“She didn’t say. But she was still texting as of a half hour ago. That’s a good sign.”
“But her sending us to the police isn’t,” Jasper says. “Is it?”
I don’t answer. Because he’s right, of course. Something has gotten worse, bad enough that Cassie doesn’t even care about a criminal record. If that’s even why she said no to the police in the first place.
We’re coming, Cassie, I write back. Just hold on.
I hit send quickly before the signal is lost again to the wilderness, then look down at the little number 4 next to my voice mails, all my dad. But I can’t bear to hear the sound of his voice. Especially because I’m betting he didn’t call to apologize. At least all the calls are from our home number, which means he hasn’t come looking for me yet. And his last text came after the calls anyway. That’s the very last thing he had to say to me, the only thing I need to read, just in case.
Ironically, it’s from his cell number and not Dad in my contacts, probably the spotty cell signal. Or like after threatening to have me committed, even my cell phone has turned its back on him. I take a deep breath as I tap open the message.
The police are out looking for you. Dr. Shepard called them. You left us no choice. They will commit you when they find you. After what happened in the diner, I won’t be able to stop them. Unless I can get to you first. Tell me where you are, Wylie. And I’ll come. We can figure a way out of this together.
Jasper asks me twice on the way to Seneca whether everything is okay. But I’m too ashamed to get into details. To tell him that my dad thinks I should be committed. Though he does have a right to know that somehow my dad already knows about what happened in the diner, which means they’ve identified me. Maybe identified Jasper, too. We could already be fugitives.
“It’s just my dad being my dad,” I say, and I silently promise to tell Jasper the rest before we get to the police station. “He’s still being a jerk about me leaving.”
“You can vent about it if you want. I know about shitty parents, believe me.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But I’d rather just pretend it didn’t happen.”
Jasper nods, looks kind of sad. “I get that, too.”
When Jasper and I finally pull into Seneca, it’s picture-perfect quaint. All the buildings in the little downtown are white with matching green shutters, set out just so around a small town square. There’s even a neatly trimmed lawn with a white pagoda in the middle, for concerts, maybe. There’s a darkened church with a spiky steeple, too, and a row of shops with their names etched in matching arcs on their front windows. It’s past eleven p.m. now, so everything’s closed, except for a bar attached to the Fiddler’s Inn. A small wooden sign hanging out front says The Pub. The only other place lit up is part of what looks like it could be the city hall or something. It’s the largest building around, marked off by three flags out front: US, State of Maine, and a third, which might just be about bears.