I would expect to feel shamed or guilty, but suddenly, all I am is mad.
“She did owe me.” I am trying to keep my anger in check. But it’s expanding out like foam. “She almost got me killed at the camp? Remember? Because I do.”
Leo hesitates with his hand on a glass, a vicious reply lashing through his mind. But instead of saying it out loud, he looks over at Gideon, suspicious suddenly. It’s not worth trying to get Leo to trust Gideon, too. He doesn’t even trust me.
“Can you give us a minute?” I ask Gideon.
Gideon eyes Leo in return. “Sure thing,” he says finally, heading to the front of the bar to sit next to the old man.
“Quentin’s alive,” I say, once Gideon is gone. “I thought Riel should know. He could be anywhere.”
“Can’t you just leave her alone?” Leo asks.
“Did you hear me? Quentin’s alive, and I don’t know where he is. Riel could be in danger.”
Of course, that’s not the only reason I’m there. It’s not even the main one. The ugly truth is that I want Riel’s help, Level99’s help tracking Quentin down. And yes, maybe then my dad’s phone or that girl who had it if Oshiro has no luck. But then how guilty am I really supposed to feel? Riel is an Outlier. This is her situation, too.
“I’m not telling you shit,” Leo says, glaring at me so hard now I feel pressure on my face. “Anyway, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Riel ghosted,” he says, and I can feel his chest catch. He misses her that much. “There was a fire in my room. And she freaked. Probably trying to protect me, is my guess.”
“A fire?”
“Yep. Ruined most of my shit. We weren’t there when it happened.”
There is a loud burst of laughter then from the front of the bar. It sets my teeth on edge. Both Leo and I look over. It’s Gideon and the old man, deep in best-buds conversation, apparently.
“You should go,” Leo says. “You’ve already caused enough trouble.”
He goes back to work behind the bar, resting something down at his feet so that he is out of view for a minute. It’s while he’s out of sight that I feel his nervous twitch, a guilty pang. There is something else he thinks he should be telling me. But he’s torn about it.
“If you hear from her, could you—”
“No,” Leo says when he stands, and I don’t know whether I’m getting used to his anger or if he feels less angry. But the blowback’s not as intense anymore. “I won’t tell her anything for you.”
“Not even about Quentin?”
I wait for him to say okay, to at least acknowledge Quentin on the loose is troubling. But he just keeps on with his work behind the bar, ignoring me. I stand there for one long, awkward moment more.
“Okay, then,” I say, before turning for the door.
“Hey!” Leo calls after me once I’m a few steps away. “Take this around back if you’re headed out.”
Leo has set a milk crate full of empties on the bar. And for a second, I think he must be joking. But the look on his face is deadly serious.
“What?” I ask.
“Take it out,” he repeats like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be asking me to do. Like I work there.
But it’s so weird, the whole thing, that I do the only thing I can think of. I say, “Okay.”
The crate is lighter than I expect when I lift it off the bar, but it smells so strongly of rancid beer that I have to hold my breath to carry it, hoping that it doesn’t drain onto my shoes.
“Put them in the recycling,” Leo says. “All of them. You can leave the crate out back. Just make sure it’s empty.”
I raise my eyebrows but bite my tongue. Mostly because next to Leo’s contempt I sense something else: intent. This request isn’t an accident. My gut says just to do what he wants, even if I don’t understand. “Yeah, um, sure.”
“Tell that guy you’re with that he shouldn’t be so chatty,” Leo says, locking eyes with me. Get out. Get out. That’s what he’s feeling. “It’s not good for anybody.”
GIDEON LOOKS AT me and my milk crate full of beer bottles when I’ve finally made my way over to him. He makes a face. “What the hell?”
I shrug helplessly as I hold the crate awkwardly away from my body. The old man glances in my direction but doesn’t meet my eyes. Still, I feel the most awful chill. From him, because of what Leo told me about the fire, because I hate finding yet another dead end. At this point, who knows.
“We should go,” I say quietly.
“Sure thing.” Gideon turns back to the man—casual, friendly. Totally clueless, of course. “It was nice to meet you.” He raises a fist. “Stay strong.”
“WHAT WAS THAT?” I ask when we’re outside.
Gideon shrugs. “We were just talking about some story that came on the news about how credit card companies know everything about us. Like the FBI. They were saying they could predict who’s likely to commit a crime, get divorced, all sorts of crazy stuff, based on your shopping habits.”
“And ‘stay strong’?”
“Oh, he was all fire and brimstone about how this was the kind of thing that was going to ruin civilization as we know it.” Gideon laughs. “Crazy conspiracy dude. But fun to talk to.”
“Sounds hilarious.”
Gideon takes the crate of bottles from me.
“So, what’s with the garbage duty?”
“Leo asked me to throw them out,” I say, and now that we’re out the door it feels even weirder.
“That’s kind of random, isn’t it?” Gideon asks.
“It’s something, for sure.”
GIDEON AND I walk on in silence the rest of the way back down the alley alongside Delaney’s. We pass through where Jasper and I sat waiting weeks ago. Jasper. The note. Every time I think of what I wrote to Jasper, my chest aches. I can’t say for sure it was the wrong thing to do under the circumstances. But nothing about it was right.
Once we get to the recycling bins, Gideon crouches down and starts pulling the bottles out and tossing them. He feels sorry for me now. Like actual pity—so sudden and out of nowhere—that it’s all I can do not to cry.
“Maybe that old guy was onto something,” Gideon says, trying to sound cheerful.
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes the more you try to figure things out, the harder they are to understand.”
“He said that?”
“Not exactly. Some quote: ‘Ignorance is strength.’”
“Ignorance is strength,” I repeat. And there it is, lodged in my heart like a dart. “What does that even mean?”
Gideon shrugs. “Less is more, maybe. I think. I don’t really—” He’s frozen, hand in the box as he stares down.
I lean closer, afraid to see what’s there. “What is it?”
Gideon reaches in and lifts out a plastic folder, closed with a flap and an elastic tie. “I don’t know.” He holds it out to me. “But it’s got your name on it.”
To: Wylie
From: SwimTeacher
Re: July 2
Dear Wylie,
I know Rachel will explain everything she can, but I wanted to tell you a little more about why I’m not there. I’ve been trying to find people who would agree to stand behind your dad’s research, who will help get the word out. Because you know they are going to try to make it go away. And I don’t think they care who gets hurt.
I already saw Dr. Oduwole once, she’s the neuroscientist from UCLA your dad has been working with. I need to see her again. Now. Together she and I are going to figure out how to get your dad’s research out, right now. That’s why I need to be out here right now.
Rachel knows what she’s doing, though. She saved my life. And then she kept me alive. She will do the same for you.
I love you so much. More soon.
XX,
Mom
JASPER
JASPER SITS IN THE LITTLE WAITING ROOM—FOUR CHAIRS, ONE PLAN
T, AND A huge bottle of hand sanitizer next to a basket of pens and some clipboards.
He didn’t remember his appointment with Jason until after he dropped off Lethe. And he would have taken a pass and gone straight to Wylie’s if he hadn’t also gotten a text from his coach at almost the exact same time: Mandatory team meeting 7:30 p.m. No way can Jasper miss that meeting. That’s the kind of strike that would finish him. And he can’t exactly claim that he’s juggling Wylie and life if he lets that happen.
There’s not enough time to go over to Wylie’s and back before the team meeting. But there is still enough time to make his appointment. And so, maybe it’s fate. Jasper’ll keep his session with Jason, go to his meeting, and then go get the girl. Because despite what his mom thinks, Jasper can do this—he can be with Wylie and still keep his life on track.
Besides, Wylie is actually good for him. Jasper went to therapy at the free campus counseling center in the first place because she suggested it. And not just to work out his guilt about Cassie and what happened on the bridge—though that was a decent reason in and of itself. Wylie thought he should deal with all the baggage he was still dragging around about his dad. And he knew she was right.
After one session with his therapist—a chill dude with a beard and a plaid shirt who looked like he should be brewing beer in his basement—Jasper wondered what took him so long. In two weeks, he has seen Jason four times. And he feels four times better. It’s not like Jason necessarily has answers. But he is seriously good at helping Jasper figure out the questions.
“Biology isn’t destiny, Jasper,” Jason said at their first appointment. “There’s life experience and, you know, free will. Even if you have a tendency to get too angry too fast, you are not doomed to end up like your dad.”
Jasper had tried telling himself that before, lots of times, but Jason was an actual trained professional. Hearing it from him made a difference.
“Hey, Jasper.” Jason appears now in the door to his little office. “Come on in.”
Jasper makes himself comfortable on Jason’s couch, or as comfortable as he can be. Because therapy is helping him, but that doesn’t mean it’s super enjoyable.
“Wylie is out,” Jasper begins before Jason even has his notepad in hand. Jason knows the whole story—what happened at the camp with Cassie, and then on the bridge, and then later at the hospital. And he has done a good job of not seeming shocked or skeptical or whatever, no matter how he might really feel.
“That’s what you’ve been hoping for, right?” Jason’s face stays still, like he’s got no personal opinion on the matter whatsoever. “Have you seen her?”
“Not yet. I was on my way to her house earlier, but I ended up hitting this girl with my car,” Jasper says. Out loud it sounds way worse. But it’s still a relief to admit what happened. “She’s okay and everything, luckily. She even said it was her fault. That she pulled out in front of me. But I also wasn’t paying attention.”
“So, you still feel responsible?”
“I hit her with my car,” Jasper says. “So, yeah. I mean, I am responsible.”
“Even if the one person in a position to truly let you off the hook—the person you hit—says you aren’t?” This isn’t a judgment, even though Jasper feels like it is. It’s an actual question.
Jasper shrugs. “She was just trying to be nice.”
“Or you’re keeping yourself on the hook,” he says.
“Why would I do that?” Jasper asks. Not no way! Or that can’t be! Because it feels like Jason might be right.
“I don’t know. Why do you think?”
This is a therapist thing. You don’t have to be a genius or go to therapy for very long to pick up on it. They ask you questions that they definitely already know the answer to. It’s stupid. But, man, does it totally work.
“I don’t know why,” Jasper says.
“Well.” Jason considers. “Any guesses?”
Jasper shrugs. Then he says the only thing he can think of. “I guess it feels like I’m beating other people to the punch.”
Holy crap. That is exactly why Jasper does it. How has he never realized it before?
“That makes sense,” Jason says.
“Shouldn’t it make me feel better?” Jasper asks. “I mean, to realize it now. Like relieved or something?”
“I don’t know,” Jason says. “How does it make you feel?”
Jasper’s throat starts to burn. “Sad.”
“Sad can be an okay starting place, you know. It can get you someplace good eventually.”
Maybe, but right now Jasper needs to change the subject from him being sad. Because he is actually a little worried he might cry. And therapy is one thing. Bawling in therapy is another. Also, he needs to get to talking about Wylie. Jasper’s relationship with her is the bigger issue right now.
“Do you think it’s wrong to need people?” Jasper asks. “My mom says that I need girls too much.”
Jason tilts his head to the side, considering again. “I guess it depends on what it is you need them for.”
“To make me feel better.” Jasper knows this, though he would deny it to his mom until his last breath.
“Most people enjoy other people’s company. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“What if I need them to make me feel like I’m a good person?”
“Then I’d say we should work on you feeling like a good person regardless,” Jason says. “Because you deserve to feel that way. But you needing Wylie doesn’t mean you two can’t also have a good relationship. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
And as soon as Jason says it, Jasper realizes it’s true: Wylie is the perfect girl for him. And, yeah, maybe they are still working stuff out. But Wylie is different. What they have is.
JASPER IS ON a high as he leaves Jason’s office. He’s really ready to go see Wylie now. He checks his watch. Just enough time to stop back at his room before meeting with his coach at seven thirty p.m., then he’ll head right to her. One of his teammates must have screwed up—got drunk, got into a fight. If it was hockey-related, the meeting would be at the rink after practice. But the coach said a quick meeting. Jasper will be where he’s supposed to be and then he’ll be on his way to Wylie’s.
And, yeah, he is a little nervous. Getting to know each other with no table in between, no guards hovering nearby will be different for Jasper and Wylie. But they’re ready for what they can be.
As soon as Jasper is upstairs in his dorm hall, he spots something taped to his door. He picks up the pace, but it isn’t until he’s standing right in front of his room that he can see it’s an envelope held up by a torn strip of masking tape. Jasper’s name is written in big awkward letters on it.
He peels the envelope off the door and rolls the tape between his fingers, takes a deep breath as he tears it open. Weird notes never mean good things. These days, they are definitely bad.
Dear Jasper . . . His eyes jump to the signature at the bottom of the note: Wylie.
For a second, Jasper’s dumb-ass heart leaps, but then he starts to read. The note is definitely in Wylie’s handwriting. Jasper reads it once, then blinks and stares hard at the terrible words. Reads it a second time. It doesn’t sound like Wylie. Except it is her. There’s no denying it’s her handwriting.
Jasper is still staring down at the letter—the shitty, shitty letter—trying to understand it. We aren’t right for each other. No, he’s not trying to understand it. He’s just trying to make it go away.
There’s a loud sound then at the far end of the hall. Jasper’s eyes shoot up and catch a glimpse of someone—Wylie, maybe—moving fast out the door to the stairs.
“Wait!” he shouts after her. His voice sounds so desperate echoing down the empty hall.
Jasper feels desperate, too, as he runs toward the door. But he and Wylie can still work things out. She’s just having doubts. That’s totally cool. He has them too. But Jasper can see so clearly what he and Wylie could be.
&
nbsp; The door to the stairs at the far end of the hall is easing shut when Jasper finally reaches it. But he can hear footsteps on the stairs.
“Wylie!” he calls down.
Silence.
“Wylie!” he calls again. But the only answer is the sound of the door at the bottom, slamming shut.
TOP SECRET AND CONFIDENTIAL
To: Senator David Russo
From: The Architect
Re: Opposition Research
April 14
Awareness and identification continue to be the areas that need improvement in campaign projections. In layman’s terms, the average voter doesn’t know enough about you. 64 percent polled have no immediate association between you and any one issue. For comparative purposes, 75 percent recognize Senator Lana Harrison (CA)’s name and 58 percent identify civil liberties as her principal issue.
To be successful in a nationwide contest, you must move aggressively toward a single target issue. Polling indicates that your comments about privacy and security resonate with more than 75 percent of the American public. We recommend that “privacy and security” become the cornerstones of your campaign.
Please review the attached and we can discuss the details and further polling in our next meeting.
RIEL
THERE’S A GIRL WORKING THE DESK AT THE HARVARD UNIVERSITY POOL—PRETTY, with straight brown hair and very pink lips. Perfect makeup aside, though, the girl is a mess. Riel can feel it the second their eyes meet. Somebody has broken her heart. It’s only one thing about her, but it’s the only thing Riel needs.
“I think my boyfriend is here to see a girl he’s been cheating on me with.” Riel leans over the desk like the two are on the same team. “She’s a swimmer. I don’t have my ID, but I really need to bust them together.”
The girl’s eyes are already wide as two boys come in through the door behind Riel, gym bags over their shoulders. Both Riel and the girl turn to glare at them as they flash their IDs. Men are all such assholes. Or something like that. That’s how the girl feels. And these days, Riel doesn’t necessarily disagree. Not all men maybe, but too many.
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