She looks down at her bike, taking in how damaged it really is. Finally, she nods. “Okay.”
IT ISN’T UNTIL Jasper has her bike loaded into his Jeep and is finally pulling into traffic that he thinks about Wylie again. But maybe the delay is a good thing. To calm him down. He does wish he could call Wylie to let her know he is on his way. But, conveniently, he doesn’t have her number programmed into his brand-new iPhone. God, his mom is good.
“They couldn’t roll over your contacts, for some reason,” she had said when she gave it to him.
But he hadn’t cared at the time. Wylie didn’t like to talk on the phone from the detention facility. She said it was too awkward, people waiting in line, listening to your conversation. Not that he could have called her there anyway. Wylie’s cell number was the only one he really cared about, and with Wylie locked away that hadn’t mattered either until now.
But that’s okay. He’ll drop this girl wherever she wants to go, then he’ll calmly and slowly drive back to Wylie’s house. And he’ll focus. Because even if he doesn’t want it to be, hitting this girl was a reminder: bad things can happen when you’re distracted. Even by somebody you love.
“I’m Lethe, by the way,” the girl says, bringing Jasper back. He’s been inching down Newton’s main street, so totally distracted again.
“I’m Jasper,” he says. “Where to, Lethe?”
“I’m at BC. The campus is just—”
“I know where it is,” Jasper says, and too forcefully. “I mean, I just started there, too, preseason hockey camp.”
Lethe smiles tentatively, motions to herself. “Lacrosse.”
And Jasper feels that familiar tug—it’s fate. He knows that’s stupid, that he is stupid for feeling some kind of connection—even for a second—with some random girl he hit with his car on the way to see Wylie. But old habits die hard. And no one’s perfect. Not Jasper. Not Wylie. Right now all he can do is be polite and responsible and get this girl who he hit with his car home. As fast as he can.
“Lacrosse?” he asks as he focuses again on the road. “That’s cool. I would have taken you for a cyclist.”
“I’d rather be a cyclist for sure,” Lethe says. “But there aren’t any cycling scholarships for girls. And I happen to be really good at lacrosse. So my parents are just like, ‘do that,’ because who I am and what I want don’t even matter.”
Jasper turns to look at her after he stops squarely at a red light. She seems embarrassed.
“Sorry. I probably sound like a spoiled brat,” she says. “I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong. I’m just also really annoyed. Does that make sense?”
“Completely,” Jasper says. Lethe is describing exactly the way he feels now. “My mom works her ass off to give me, like, everything. But I still wish I had, I don’t know, more options or something.”
Lethe turns and looks at Jasper for a long time. “Exactly,” she says. “You know, not that many people are willing to admit it, though. Whenever I say something like that, I always end up feeling like a monster.”
Jasper smiles, shrugs. “I have low standards.”
She nods. “So if you’re at BC, what were you doing all the way over here?”
“I was going to see a friend,” he says.
“Oh, I don’t want to hold you up,” she says. “If she’s expecting you.”
Did Lethe nail the she in a way that was supposed to be a flag or something, or did Jasper just imagine that?
“She’s not,” he says. “I was going to surprise her.”
“Oh,” Lethe says—and like she wants to ask something more but doesn’t.
THE TWO OF them are quiet then as Jasper drives the rest of the way to campus. Finally, Lethe points toward a gate up ahead. “I’m in Mavis Hall. You can drop me on the corner. It’s faster to cut through from here.”
Jasper double-parks at the curb. “I’ll get your bike.”
It isn’t until Jasper pulls the bike out of the back that he sees just how messed up it is, totally unusable, actually. When Lethe gets out, they stare down at it together.
“Let me get it fixed,” he says, turning to look at her. In the sun, her eyes shimmer. “It would make me feel better.”
“No, I can just . . .” But then she frowns. “Can I just say okay?”
Jasper smiles. “I hit you with my car. You can say whatever you want.”
“Let’s start with fixing the bike.”
And when Lethe smiles this time, her whole face glows. She pushes her hair out of her eyes and looks down. She has a leather cuff on one wrist. It’s the kind of thing that Cassie would have worn. Cassie. Wylie. Lethe? Why do you need them all so much? But his mom is wrong. He’s just being polite with this girl. It’s not an actual situation they’re having. Jasper wants to be with Wylie. He cares about her, a lot.
After Jasper puts the bike back in his Jeep, he and Lethe exchange numbers. Then there is a long, strange silence in which Jasper almost tells Lethe that she should know that he is actually in love with Wylie and he is just being nice, fixing her bike. Luckily, he manages to keep his mouth shut.
“I’ll call you as soon as the bike is done,” he says instead. “Good luck with lacrosse.”
“Thanks.” Lethe smiles as she turns for the gate. “Good luck with hockey.”
WYLIE
“THE HOSPITAL SENT YOUR PHONE BACK,” GIDEON SAYS WHEN I FINALLY GET back downstairs from the longest shower I have ever taken. He puts the phone down in front of me on the coffee table. “I charged it for you, too. I mean, it probably has like nine kinds of tracing crap embedded on it. You should take a look at your missed messages or whatever. Then we should burn it.”
Gideon thinking to charge my phone feels like the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I stare down at it and try not to cry.
“Thanks,” I manage.
When I turn it on, one hundred and thirty-six texts flood in. Jasper accounts for 90 percent of the messages, all sent in the twenty-four hours between when he saw me grabbed on the bridge and when he finally snuck his way into the hospital and found me, all some version of “Where are you?” or “Are you okay?”
None of the messages are from today. It’s already two thirty p.m. now, and I still haven’t heard from him. Jasper’s mom might not have told him that I called, except I have a hard time believing that—I feel like he knows I’m out. And yet he hasn’t called, hasn’t come looking. I want it not to nag at me, but it does.
After tapping onto Jasper’s old messages, the number of total unread ones drops to twenty-three. A few of the others are from Gideon. They also came in while I was in the hospital, after he stormed out of the house that morning so angry at Dad and me. Before he knew anything bad had happened.
Gideon sees his messages, too. “Wait, um, I don’t think I would—”
“It’s okay,” I say, knowing as well as he does that whatever he had to say to me then probably wasn’t very nice. “I’ll delete them.”
“Read the one from Dad, though,” he says, pointing.
“Oh,” I say, surprised to see it there. “That’s weird.”
Because it was sent the day I was grabbed, but at three p.m., after I talked to my dad from the hospital. By then, he knew I didn’t have my phone. Why would he have been bothering to send me messages? I have such a bad feeling as I tap on the message.
It’s just a single word: Cassie. That’s the whole of it. It makes me shudder.
“What does that mean?” Gideon asks. “‘Cassie’?”
“I don’t know.”
Breathe, I remind myself. Breathe. But it’s not easy with all the facts crowding in. First I’m drawn to Cassie’s house, then Holy Cow, and now here’s a text from my dad with just Cassie’s name? These things have to be related. I’m just afraid to find out how.
Jasper. Now I really want him here. He is the only person who would truly understand why this has me so freaked out. He was the one who was with me when Cassie died. He was there with me i
n the hospital, as we swam away from Russo’s house in the dark. But my only option to find him now would be to go to the BC campus to search. And I will if I have to, but I would so much rather he just showed up at my door. But why? What am I afraid I might find? Another girl? I wish I was more sure that wasn’t exactly what I was worried about.
I turn back to my unread texts, hoping to keep myself from thinking any more about it. Wylie, Dr. Shepard checking in. I am always here if you need to talk. Call anytime. Five days later, while I was still in the detention facility, there is another: Wylie, Dr. Shepard again. Getting a little concerned now that you’ve missed two appointments. I haven’t been able to reach your dad, either. I’m sure you’re fine. Just check in. And then the last one from her, one week ago—a week into my being locked up: Spoke to Gideon. I heard what happened. Coming to see you.
“ARE YOU OKAY?” Dr. Shepard asked as I sat down across from her in the detention facility visiting room. “Sorry, that was a stupid question. I’m sure ‘okay’ isn’t the best word to describe how you are. How are you feeling?”
Dr. Shepard laid her hands on the tabletop. And I so desperately wanted to grab them. I just needed so badly to know that I was going to be okay. I wanted to feel some promise seeping through the surface of her skin. But touching wasn’t allowed, and I had never in my life touched Dr. Shepard. Besides, that wasn’t a promise she could make.
“I didn’t do this,” I said.
“Of course you didn’t,” she said.
And she was so genuinely sure of this fact—like without an ounce of doubt. It made me start to cry. Hard and out of nowhere. I’d been working so hard to keep it together, hadn’t cried once since they arrested me. But as soon as the tears started, I could not make them stop. Soon I was sobbing so loud that a guard came over to investigate. Luckily, he just kept walking.
“Sorry,” I said when my tears finally slowed and I was able to take a breath.
“You don’t need to apologize.” Dr. Shepard reached over to give my hand a quick, forbidden squeeze. “I’d cry if I was in here, too.”
“My anxiety is out of control,” I said. “I can’t remember what it’s like to take a deep breath.”
“That’s understandable,” Dr. Shepard said. “You’ve never had less control over your surroundings. How are you coping?”
“I’m not, I guess.” I shrugged. “I almost passed out once. A guard told me they’d put me in solitary if I did.”
Anger popped Dr. Shepard’s eyes wide open.
“No, no, no,” she said, with a shake of her head. And wow, was she pissed. She looked around the room, as if searching for someone to attack. “That definitely won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it. They’re legally obligated to make accommodations for your anxiety. Certainly they can’t punish you for it.” She took a breath, tried to calm herself. “But we should focus on what you can do in the meantime. I know that breathing exercises don’t always work for you. But your options in here are limited. How about visualization? We did that once, right? Where you picture a place that makes you happy?”
“My happy place?” I asked, trying to smile.
Dr. Shepard smiled, too. “Yes, your happy place. Believe it or not, it does work.”
“I’m just not sure where that is anymore,” I said, and Dr. Shepard just nodded. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she said, grateful for the chance to maybe have an answer for something.
“I know you can’t tell me details of why you saw her or whatever because of confidentiality, but how did you meet Teresa?”
Dr. Shepard’s eyebrows bunched up. “Teresa?”
“I don’t know her last name. I was in the hospital with her. She told me she was your patient. She was the girl who died in the fire.” Dr. Shepard looked skeptical. “She lived with her grandmother? Small with big glasses. She even talked about your red chair.”
“I’m sorry, Wylie. But I’ve never had a patient named Teresa. And I would remember. That’s my mother’s name.”
“So you never sent your patients to take my dad’s tests?” That’s what I’d been assuming.
“My patients?” She looked shocked by the suggestion. “That would be unethical, at least potentially. Not to mention that using a sample of only people already in therapy for a psychological experiment would certainly affect your dad’s results.”
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how much I had made up. So many false connections, so many blanks filled in based on one wrong assumption. No, not assumption. Teresa had brought up Dr. Shepard. I wasn’t inventing that.
“Oh,” I said, trying not to let my mind spin out into even more troubling explanations.
“I’m sorry, Wylie,” Dr. Shepard went on. “I feel as though I’ve let you down.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I was pretty let down already.”
WHEN THE DOORBELL rings a second time, Gideon and I both flinch. Rachel coming back so soon doesn’t feel like a good thing, not at all.
“It could be Jasper,” Gideon offers hopefully.
“I don’t think so,” I say as I head over to look out the window alongside the door.
I blink once, hard. But unfortunately, when I open my eyes, it is still definitely Jasper’s mom standing there on our front porch. Still looking pissed. I take a breath, my hand on the knob. When I finally yank open the door, it’s like I’m pulling off a Band-Aid.
I am hit square in the chest by a ball of rage. Her rage.
“I am only going to say this once,” Jasper’s mom launches in, voice quaking. “Leave him the hell alone.”
“What?” I look around for Jasper, irrationally hoping he might somehow be hidden behind her.
“Don’t you dare play dumb with me. He’s going to come here to see you. You know that as well as I do.”
Defend yourself, a voice inside me commands. But how? I don’t even understand why I am being attacked.
“I haven’t spoken to Jasper,” I say. “That’s why I called you, remember? His number isn’t working.”
“Stupid of me to think a damn new iPhone would keep you from finding him.” She shakes her head in disgust. Then points a finger at me. “Of course you had to go and call me. Because you know I can’t lie to my son. You knew I’d have to tell him.”
My heart catches. Jasper does know I’m out and he didn’t rush straight over? He hasn’t even texted. There could maybe be a million good explanations. Maybe. But all I feel is hurt.
“I haven’t seen him,” I say. “And I haven’t spoken to him yet, either.”
“Yet, exactly,” she hisses. “Because you’re planning on it. I know. Don’t you see that this isn’t even about you? Jasper wants to save you girls because that’s the only way he feels good about himself. Because one time he couldn’t save some stranger his daddy was beating on. He’s trying to make up for something he didn’t even do. That’s the problem with trying to atone for somebody else’s sins. You just end up tearing yourself apart.”
And all I can do is blink at her, because that does sound exactly like Jasper. That is why he was with Cassie: to save her. He admitted as much to me when we were racing off to Maine. And Jasper did feel guilty he did’t help that man. Have I become the new Cassie? Just another messed-up girl to rescue? How could I not have seen that before?
“I know I’m to blame for the way he is,” Jasper’s mom presses on. “I was the one who made the bad choice that was his father. But I can’t change any of that. I can only protect Jasper right now. And that is sure as hell what I’m gonna do.” She takes a step closer and puts an outstretched hand flat on the door, so I can’t shut it in her face. And there’s this thing about the way she’s looking at me. An intensity that feels like fingers gripping my ribs, from the inside. It makes me wonder just how far she’d go to protect her son. How far she’d go to get rid of me. “You almost ruined him once. I’ll be damned if you’ll do it again.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay? What’s that, ‘okay’? You’ve actually got to do something!” she shouts so loud I flinch. Her love for Jasper is so raw and boundless and so strangely much like rage. It takes my breath away. “Tell him something he’s got no choice but to believe. Something that’ll make him stay away for good. Like another boy you’ve fallen for. That’ll work.”
“You want me to hurt Jasper on purpose?”
“Oh, please! A few days’ sting to save him from a lifetime of ache? I’d make that trade any day. If you cared about him at all, you would, too. He almost died once trying to protect you. Isn’t that enough? And before you get all flattered and confused by ‘you,’ if it wasn’t you, it would be somebody else. It always is.”
That’s a lie. Her first one. Jasper’s mom is worried that I might be special. That this time might be different. That’s what’s got her so worked up. And that tiny tell the Outlier in me can read so clearly changes everything. It makes my guilt, which is so easy for her to use, vanish instantly. It reminds me to do what my instincts said in the first place: defend myself.
“No,” I say as clearly and calmly as I can.
“No?” she shouts. “What do you mean, no? You just said okay.”
“I changed my mind,” I say, willing myself steady in the face of her rising rage. “I won’t do that to Jasper. I care about him, too, and I won’t hurt him on purpose just because you want me to. And being with me doesn’t mean Jasper’s life has to fall apart. We could be a good thing.”
Partly I am trying to convince myself. It’s almost working.
“A good thing?” Her jaw is set as her eyes slice me up and down. “You know, I was once married to somebody who was out on bail. All the time, in fact. Anybody can report a bail violation—drinking, drugs, curfew, those are standard. All I’d have to do is say I saw you somewhere trying to buy beer and you’d get locked right back up. Problem solved.”
The Collide Page 6