The Outliers (The Outliers, #1)(61)

This is all Dr. Caton’s fault because of some mistake he made? It would explain why my dad was so angry at him.

“Dr. Caton, you mean?” I ask.

“Precisely,” Dr. Simons takes a breath, puts his hands flat on the table like he’s trying to make the next point really clear. “And because North Point has been unable to replicate the research, it seems they believe their only option is to find your father. Not only does he know that subject age is the key factor that unites the Outliers—several people know that, including myself—but your father is the only person who knows the actual names of the Outliers.”

And I can see from the look on Dr. Simons’s face that this is the point he’s been bracing himself to deliver. That this is the essential detail.

“Wait, so they literally want my dad?”

He nods. “Yes, we believe so. But as I said, we are taking every possible precaution.”

“Awesome,” I say quietly. Because I do not feel at all comforted. “And what about Gideon? If they want my dad, and they came after me—he’s just sitting home by himself.”

“Thanks to Level99’s work in interrupting North Point’s communications, we have no reason to believe there’s anyone coming to your home, or that anyone would come after Gideon or you, had you remained there, which is what your dad wanted, of course,” Dr. Simons says. “But as an extra precaution, Officer Kendall also has a friend on the Boston police force who is keeping an eye on your house while your dad is gone, just in case.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling even worse now about having taken off. My dad was right to try to get me home.

“You know, we have met, you and I,” Dr. Simons says, changing the subject, probably because I look freaked out. “You and Gideon couldn’t have been more than five. Your parents came out to California to visit, and I think you went on to Disneyland afterward?” When I look up, he smiles gently. “Though, I suppose, if you have any memories from the trip, they would probably be of Mickey Mouse and not me.”

I do not remember meeting Dr. Simons. But my favorite picture of my mom is from that trip, so young and happy, her hair in two braids, hands tucked into her overalls. I do have one actual memory, too—my mom and me near the cliffs of Carmel, lost in a sea of prairie dogs. Usually so calm and cool, my mom squealed and ran when the little animals started poking all their heads out of their dozens of holes. And there I stood, unable to tear myself away.

“See, Wylie,” my mom said afterward, winded and gasping with laughter. “There are all different kinds of brave.”

Do I actually remember even that? Or is that just a story I made her repeat so many times that the words became like my own? These days everything important about my mom feels like a memory inside a memory about to collapse in on itself and disappear.

“I don’t even remember Disneyland,” I say when I notice that Dr. Simons seems to be waiting for a reply.

“Well, it was such a long time ago and you were so young.” But he seems a little disappointed. He takes a deep breath and shakes it off, then rests his hands down on the table. His fingers are puffy, like a row of swollen sausages. “I do want to be sure you know that you are safe here, Wylie, completely. I don’t want you to feel at all concerned about that.” Anxious, he means—don’t hyperventilate, don’t throw up, don’t pass out. “As I’ve said, our precautions have been extensive. Cassie will be safe here, too.”

Cassie. Right, I forgot all about that. They brought her here on purpose. “What do you mean, Cassie will be safe?” He said there were three Outliers, didn’t he? He specifically explained where two of them came from: Dr. Caton’s bad instructions. That leaves the third one unexplained.

“Who is the third?” I ask as my heart beats harder.

That stupid test in my dad’s basement lab. The way my dad was so quick to tell us afterward that we’d all scored below average. How he got annoyed when Cassie pressed him for details, still hoping against hope that some glass slipper somewhere belongs to her.

“Yes, Cassie is the other Outlier. But under the circumstances, we’ll need to be careful how we explain it to her, Wylie,” Dr. Simons says, and it’s clear this is a confession he’d been dreading. “I don’t want to frighten her. It was bad enough that we had to bring her here this way. It would have been much better for your dad to simply drive her himself, but there was evidence that his movements were being monitored, and then that Cassie’s cell phone has been compromised. But I am concerned about how Cassie will feel. It would be unexpected for anyone to learn this about themselves, but then to find out it puts you in jeopardy … It could be extremely upsetting.”

“In jeopardy?” I ask, not much louder than a whisper. “I thought they wanted my dad.”

“Yes, but if they can isolate an Outlier directly, that would be preferable.” Isolate. Like a disease. Or the weak animal in a herd. “Wylie, I can see that you are upset, and you have every right to be. This would be a great deal of information for anyone to take in,” Dr. Simons goes on, looking me straight in the eye. “But you are safe. Cassie is safe. And so is your dad. After what happened to your mom—I can assure you, no one is taking any risks.”

After what happened to your mom. There’s a rush of heat to my cheeks. A jolt of cold down my spine. Bang, bang, bang goes my heart.