The Outliers (The Outliers, #1)(57)

“No,” I say. “I can’t.”

“Yeah, neither can I.” Cassie’s quiet again, looking at her fingers. “And so what does a guy like that, a really good guy, possibly see in me? Except, you know.” She motions to her body. The way she looks, she means. “But I practically had to force him to have sex with me, he was all ‘no pressure, no pressure.’ It was just too—perfect. So what did I do?” She makes an exploding motion with her hands.

“Everybody makes mistakes,” I say, which reminds me of Jasper. And makes me feel even worse for him.

“I didn’t go looking to meet somebody, though,” she goes on, like that makes anything better. “I was just working my shift at Holy Cow one afternoon, minding my own business, when this guy came in.”

“It doesn’t make you a bad person if you met someone you like better than Jasper,” I say, which is true enough, though it would have been a lot better if Cassie had broken up with Jasper before dating this other guy.

She shakes her head and stares down at her balled-up hands. “It’s over now anyway. I was totally wrong about him.” The tears are flowing down her face now. “He’s actually a really, really terrible person. I see that now.” She smiles this sad smile, then shakes her head. Disgusted at herself.

“Oh,” I say. Because that sounds bad, even factoring in how Cassie exaggerates. She’s not faking that she’s upset. Really, really upset. “Are you okay? I mean, what happened?”

Her eyes search mine for something she seems not to find. She presses her lips together and stares down at the ground.

“I’ll tell you, but I just … I can’t right now,” she says, motioning to the cabin like: with everything else going on. But there’s also this weird tone to her voice. Like I’ve said the wrong thing or like I’m not really getting it. She scrubs at her damp cheeks. “Anyway, I would have told you about him when it started, but we weren’t talking then. And I guess part of me was glad that I didn’t have to see that look on your face again. That disappointment.”

“I wouldn’t have—”

“Come on, you’re looking at me that way right now.”

She’s right. I can feel the look on my face. I can’t help it.

“Who cares what I think?” I say. “I mean, look at me: I’m a mess. What do I know about anything?”

“More than you think, Wylie,” she says quietly. Then forces a smile. “But obviously, not about cutting hair.”

As she clucks and hums her way around my head, it reminds me so much of when she came and braided my hair right after my mom died. Something about her doing it again now makes me want to cry.

“Perfect,” she says finally, pulling back to assess her handiwork. “Come, come look.”

She waves me over to the window, then holds up the lantern so that I can see my reflection. There was barely enough hair for her to braid, so little to arm me with for battle this time. But she did. My hair is still very short and super choppy, but Cassie has put a small French braid on a diagonal across the top of my head, gathering up all the most uneven bits. It looks boho chic, and almost flattering. More flattering maybe than before I cut all my hair off.

“Not bad,” Cassie says, though her voice sounds sad.

“Thank you.” And it does make me feel better to look normal. Even if I already know it won’t make me feel that way. Nothing ever will.

“No, thank you,” Cassie says, hugging me tight from behind. “For always coming to my rescue.”





Cassie still has her face pressed against mine when the door opens again. Quentin looks embarrassed that he’s interrupted.

“Oh, sorry, I—” Just then the light goes back on in the bathroom. Quentin looks relieved. “Excellent, now I can take both of you up at the same time. You guys ready?”

I feel the acid rising in my throat as I try to suck in some air. No, not ready.

“Yes,” Cassie says.

And who knows? Maybe Cassie is right. Maybe I just need to wait until I know and see before I decide what my dad is guilty of. Finally, I step forward next to her. “We’re ready.”

In silence, we follow Quentin. It’s the middle of the night still—after midnight definitely, maybe even later—but brighter with the main cabin glowing warmly in the distance. Still, as we make our way across the open grass, I have the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Dangerous people from some military company looming in the trees seems both totally ridiculous and totally possible. That could even explain Lexi and Doug, maybe. Doug especially could easily be some kind of professional. If there are more like Doug on the way, we will be no match.

But when I glance over my shoulder to see if there is some army headed for us, there is only Stuart and his one gun, pacing back and forth in front of the cabin.

“I’m sorry about Stuart,” Quentin says, catching my eye. “Our security measures have been—well, there weren’t a lot of options up here. Your dad definitely won’t approve when he meets him.”

My dad doesn’t know about the toothless guy with the gun? Maybe he doesn’t know other things. Maybe he didn’t know that his friends already had Cassie when Karen came knocking at our door. Or maybe I’m just desperate to find something, anything that makes him less of a liar.