The Outliers

by Kimberly McCreight

  I tap the button on my phone, ending the call before he can respond, then stare down at it, trembling in my hand. I switch off the ringer and a second later it’s vibrating, Dad flashing on the screen. I wait until it says missed call, then buzzes with a voice mail. My dad calls back two more times, right in a row. I ignore both.

  “That went well,” Jasper says after another minute of silence. He’s smiling a little, trying to make me feel better. I don’t.

  “Yeah.” My voice sounds numb. And I feel hollow. Like someone cracked open my chest and scooped out my insides. “Awesome.”

  “Do you want me to try to say something that might make you feel better?” Jasper offers halfheartedly. “Because I can if you want me to.”

  I shake my head, then turn to look at him. “If you haven’t lied to me yet, don’t start now.”

  Jasper nods as he puts the car in reverse, then pulls slowly toward the gas pumps. He parks across from the only other occupied car, a new-looking Subaru station wagon with New York plates. Black and shiny, it has carefully arranged lefty stickers on the back—Hillary for America, One Million Moms for Gun Control, Green and Mainstream—the kind my parents might have had, if my dad hadn’t always been too anal for stickers on even his old, crappy car.

  “I think I’m going to go inside.” I motion toward the Freshmart. It’s a place to go, a destination. And I need air, movement. I need to get out of Jasper’s Jeep. “You want anything?”

  Jasper shakes his head. “I’m good.”

  My phone vibrates with another text as I’m getting out of the car. Not my dad, luckily. It’s Cassie.

  Still trying to figure out where exactly I am. Where are you?

  We got off at 39C like you said. We’re at a gas station on Route 203.

  OK. Can you wait there for a minute? I’ll tell you where to go as soon as I can.

  We’ll wait, I write back, trying to hint that we’re not going anywhere again without at least that. Who are the people you’re with?

  Not who I thought they were.

  A cold gust cuts into me as I type a response to Cassie. I need to get something more from her. Something useful. Are the people you’re with dangerous? Where did you meet them? How many are there?

  I stand in the freezing cold, waiting for an answer. Any answer. But nothing comes. Finally, I put my phone away and wrap my arms around myself, pulling my shoulders up as I step toward the door.

  “Brutal, isn’t it?” When I turn toward the voice, there’s a woman standing in front of the Subaru. She’s smiling at me, a baby buried under the blankets cradled against her chest. “It was so much warmer when we left Brooklyn.”

  She is pale with long, reddish hair gathered loosely at her neck and startling blue eyes. She’s beautiful, but fragile-looking, like a long-limbed bird. She looks up at my hacked hair, but her eyes linger as she sways gently from side to side. Unafraid, unashamed on my behalf. When she finally does meet my eyes again there’s this look, like she gets it. Like she’s done that exact same thing to her own hair a bunch of times. Though looking at her, so normal and pretty, that’s seriously hard to believe.

  I smile at her and nod, but my mouth feels glued shut. It’s the kindness in her eyes and all that mom-love pulsing off her. If I did speak, my words would surely be a soupy mess. This beautiful, blue-eyed baby-lady reminds me of my mom, of course. If my mom had been there, she never would have let my dad threaten me. He wouldn’t have had to. Because I would have trusted her with the whole truth. I would have told her where I was going. I smile harder at the baby-lady, my eyes filling with tears as I turn away from her and toward the Freshmart.

  “I still have to feed the baby, Doug,” she calls out to her husband as I drift away. “Maybe I should go inside. It’s too cold out here and too cramped in the car. Right, baby?” she says, her voice rising. “Way too cold.”

  As I continue alone across the frozen parking lot, holding myself tight against another brutal gust, I hear that graceful bird-woman begin to sing to her little baby. And what’s left of my heart finally turns to dust and disappears with the wind.

  Inside, the Freshmart is weirdly warm and cheerful, more like a country store than a rest stop on the side of a highway. Nothing like those grimy gas stations near Boston where the bulletproof glass in front of the register is so smeared with handprints it looks like a herd of zombies went for the cashier. There’s even a bulletin board near the register with photos of happy customers and cheerful thank-you notes pinned one over another. The tall man with thick gray hair and a perfect smile behind the counter looks like the hearty type who might have built the place with his bare hands.

  “Cold enough for you?” he calls as I step inside.

  Careful. That’s my first thought. I need not to seem suspicious. I’m still trying to believe that my dad was just threatening to have Dr. Shepard call out the dogs, but I can’t know that for sure. I don’t feel like I know anything for sure anymore where my dad is concerned.

  “Yep,” I say, smiling harder and more guiltily before ducking fast down the nearest aisle, which of course is not suspicious at all.

  Halfway down the aisle I stop and turn to face all the perfectly laid-out snacks—Pringles, Honey Braided Pretzels, beef jerky. Twizzlers. They make me think of Gideon, which, surprisingly, makes my gut twist. But I do feel bad imagining him home with my dad obsessing about me, again. And what if my dad is even right? What if I am too crazy to be out here trying to help Cassie? I squeeze my fists closed, then open, like maybe I can pump my doubt out through my fingertips. Because what I need is not to let what he said get to me. What I need to do instead is to get busy proving him wrong.

  I hear the door to the Freshmart open again, brace for the woman and her baby to head down my way.

  “Cold enough for you?” the man behind the counter calls again in the exact same cheerful way. It’s creepy, the second time. Like he is something less than human.

  “Yeah, definitely,” Jasper answers. I step back so I can see him near the door, blowing on his hands. He has on my dad’s black coat. The dark color makes his green eyes glow. “This can’t be normal for May?”

  “Too hot, too cold, too wet, too windy. Always seems too much of something around here.”

  “You have a bathroom?”

  “Sure thing. All the way down in the back.”

  Jasper pushes his hands in his pockets as he heads for me. And I wonder if I’ve let my guard down too quickly, been too easily won over. He is more likable, more genuine, and even smarter than I expected. But none of that means he is more trustworthy. None of the bad things I know about him have gone away—his temper, Tasha, that punch, and most of all the part he played in the mess that is Cassie now.

  “Maybe we should buy a map in case we lose our phone signal,” he says when he reaches me. He grabs three off a nearby rack—Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont—then motions to the snacks I’m still staring at. “You getting something?”

  “Um, yeah.” I grab a bag of pretzels, though the thought of food makes me want to gag. “Just this.”

  “I’ll meet you up there,” Jasper says. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

  “Big trip?” the man asks when I put the maps and the pretzels I don’t actually want down on the counter.

  My body tenses even though I know he’s just making friendly conversation. I just wish he’d make less of it.

  I shrug. “Visiting my aunt. She lives up here.” His face brightens instantly. What a stupid lie.

  “Oh yeah? What’s her name?” Of course he was going to ask. “Aren’t enough of us around here for anyone to be a stranger.”

  “Oh, well, she lives farther north, way farther,” I say, praying he doesn’t ask where exactly. I’m not even sure exactly which state is north.

  Luckily, before I have to tell him anything else, Jasper appears right next to me.

  “We’ve got to go.” His mouth is up close to my ear. His voice is a wound, wild whisper. “Now.”


  He has his phone in one hand, an unused coffee cup crushed in the other. His eyes are wide and unblinking. He grabs the maps and my pretzels, even takes my change out of the old man’s hand.

  “Come on, Wylie, now!” Jasper shouts as he steps toward the door and I remain motionless at the counter.

  He comes back, grabs my arm, and yanks me toward the door. I wait until we’re outside, away from the old man’s prying eyes, to jerk away.

  “Jasper, let go!” My heart is racing, my arm throbbing. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he tosses his phone back at me and keeps on toward his car, past the pretty baby-lady, who’s watching him. Watching us. She’s without her baby now, fussing with something tied to the roof of their car. I look away from her worried face and down at the message on Jasper’s phone as he climbs back into the Jeep. The headlights flick on as I read.

  I’m at Camp Colestah near a town called Seneca. It’s in Maine. Hurry. I think they’re going to hurt me.

  Whatever is going on, it’s not Cassie playing some game. Even she wouldn’t go this far.

  “Wylie, come on!” Jasper shouts out his window. He’s worried and he’s losing it. “Let’s go!”

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?” the baby-lady asks me. Her voice is so soft and sweet, like a lullaby.

  “Yeah, yes,” I say, looking away from her as the tears rush again into my eyes. I can’t help it. It’s that mom thing about her that just makes me want to cry my face off. “I’m fine.”

  “Honestly, you don’t seem fine,” she says, and when I turn, her bright-blue eyes are serious. “Do you need help?”

  She’s choosing her words carefully. Like maybe it’s been her job before to help women not get back in the car with the men they shouldn’t. And she might not even be wrong.

  “Sweetheart?” the woman goes on, sounding more concerned. “Does your mother know where you are? I think maybe you should call her.”

  Right. Call her. What a simple thing. Tears, fast and hot, are actually running down my cheeks now. I wipe them away as I walk on. “I’m okay,” I say. “But thanks.”

  Of course, I do not sound okay. Because I am not okay.

  I’ve only taken a couple more steps when Jasper goes to turn on the Jeep. It makes that same awful whirring sound it did in my driveway. But this time there’s a sharp screech to cap it off that makes even the nice woman jump. Then silence again when Jasper kills the engine. A second later he tries the key again, and the coughing and whirring pick right back up. Then that terrible metallic shriek a second time. I watch Jasper through the windshield rest his forehead against the steering wheel as he begins to turn the key again and again. I watch his body wind tighter, like any second he’s going to blow.

  The woman steps closer. “You know, you don’t have to get back in the car with him. We could take you somewhere.” She looks around. “Or wait with you while you call someone.”

  I look again at Jasper, still collapsed over his steering wheel. He’s got a temper, that’s for sure. But he’s desperate to find Cassie, that much is real. No one is that good of an actor. And in that moment I have two totally incompatible thoughts. Something terrible will happen if you go with him. Something worse will happen if you do not.

  “He’s just worried about our friend,” I say to the baby-lady, and that does feel absolutely true. Still, I don’t meet her eyes. “We’re looking for her.” Was it a mistake to say even that much? Does your mother know where you are? This nice woman might call the police herself. People like her do that—they get involved. “I mean, our friend isn’t missing missing. She’s at some camp in Maine. She just needs us to come pick her up, and now the car …”

  “Okay.” The woman eyes me with a mix of concern and sympathy. Then she steps forward and rests her fingertips against my shoulder. I’ve been there, the look says. No judgments. But I do know you’re lying. “As long as you’re sure.”

  “I am.” I nod too much. “Definitely.”

  Suddenly, Jasper pounds hard on the steering wheel. Once, twice, three times, like he’s trying to rip it off. Then he rests his head back down against his hands. If you are trying to change my low opinion of you, I think, you are not doing yourself any favors.

  “Hey, maybe Doug can help with your car. Keep the stress level down for everyone’s sake,” she says. “In the meantime, why don’t you go inside and see if they have a mechanic here?”

  When I look over at Jasper again, he’s staring at me, jaw flexed, nostrils flared. A temper, there’s no doubt about that.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll go inside and ask about a mechanic.”

  I turn toward the Freshmart, and the baby-lady opens her car door and ducks her head inside. I can only hear bits and pieces—“Help them … won’t start … Come on, honey.” As I walk away, her husband says something back. I can’t make it out, but he sounds annoyed. Like he doesn’t want to help us. And one look again at Jasper, angry and panting, who in their right mind would?

  “Everything okay out there?” the man at the counter almost shouts as I step inside. He tugs on a small white baseball cap like he’s about to spring into action and zoom to the rescue. But that’s all he does: put on the cap. He doesn’t even come out from behind the counter.

  “Our car won’t start. Can you take a look at it?”

  He sucks in some air through clenched teeth. “I could try my mechanic, Jimmy,” he says, but doubtfully. Checks his watch. “But it’s past nine thirty. He’s already playing cards for sure. House could be on fire and Jimmy would burn along with it if he’s in the middle of a game. He’ll never even notice the phone.”

  “And you can’t, maybe, fix it yourself?”

  “Afraid it’s gas only at night.” He sounds a little defensive. “I’m a decent owner, but a lousy mechanic.” He holds up a trembling hand to demonstrate—arthritis, Parkinson’s maybe—but I get the sense he’d be a bad mechanic regardless. “Jimmy comes in at the crack of dawn, though. And there’s a motel a stretch down the road. Maybe those nice folks out there could give you kids a lift?”

  A motel? Cassie said hurry, come now. She’s scared they, whoever they are, are going to hurt her. We can’t wait until tomorrow. We can’t wait at all.

  “No, no, you don’t understand,” I say. Like anything will suddenly make this man able to do something he can’t. “We have to get where we’re going right now.”

  “Well, there’s a car rental place next town over.” He frowns as he looks down at his watch again. “But I doubt they’d be open at this hour either.”

  And we’re not old enough to rent a car anyway. I look out toward Jasper’s Jeep. The hood is up now and a man, the baby-lady’s husband he must be, is bent over it. He’s even bigger than Jasper, and with his full beard and cool plaid shirt hanging over his worn jeans, he’s an actual hipster, not an accidental one.

  “Looks like maybe you won’t need that mechanic after all.”

  When I get back outside, the baby-lady’s husband is still bent over our car. Jasper’s arms are crossed tight as he stands next to him, watching so intently that it looks like something in his head might pop. When Jasper sees me coming, he takes a couple of steps away from the car and waves me over.

  “Listen, I’m sorry,” he says, when we’re somewhat alone. My own arms are crossed now. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you and I definitely shouldn’t have grabbed your arm. I just—I’m sorry.” He rubs a hand over his head, looks away. Confused, worried, sad. Jasper is still all those things, but the anger is gone. “This whole thing has got me—” When he turns back to me, his eyes are glassy. “You know, I think I’m actually in love with her. I didn’t realize that until right now. I’ve never been in love with anyone before. If something happens to her—”

  “It won’t,” I say, more for my benefit than his. “It’s not going to.” Jasper and I stare at each other because we both know I have no idea whether that’s true. We don’t know anything
. “Maybe we should call the police now. I know Cassie doesn’t want us to. But there are worse things than some boarding school boot camp.”

  “Like jail, for instance?” Jasper asks. “Because that’s what she’s worried about. That’s why she doesn’t want us calling the police. Cassie was arrested right after Thanksgiving.”

  “Arrested?” Cassie and I were still talking after Thanksgiving, at least for a week. She got arrested and never mentioned it? “For what?”

  “Buying pot downtown with Stephanie,” he says. “Out of the back of some waffle truck. I guess you order some special kind of waffle, you get an eighth as a booster.” He shrugs like he would have no idea about such things. “So stupid. Anyway, Stephanie and Cassie both got a CWOF.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Continuance Without a Finding,” he says like he is well versed in such things. “Basically, if Cassie stays out of trouble for a year, her arrest gets erased. But if something else happens, it’ll definitely go down on her permanent record. Maybe even get her sent to a halfway house or something.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling embarrassed that Jasper knows yet more details that I don’t. I feel more worried for Cassie, too. Arrested, permanent record, halfway house? Things are even worse than I feared.

  “Sorry,” Jasper says. Sorry she didn’t tell you herself, that’s what he means. He’s trying to be nice, but him apologizing on Cassie’s behalf only makes me feel worse. “Anyway, maybe we should ask her again about telling the police or her mom. Push her a little, you know? Make sure she’s thinking clearly. There are more important things even than her permanent record.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I say, but I’m really not convinced that Cassie is thinking clearly.

  I know u said not to call the police or your mom, I type. But Jasper and I really think we should. Your being safe is more important than anything else.

  But Cassie’s response comes instantly. And settles it once and for all. Don’t call my mom or the police. These people will kill me if you do.

  The baby-lady smiles over at me when Jasper and I return. Her husband is still leaning inside the open hood.