The Outliers. Kimberly McCreight

fall from grace as Gideon, but the whole thing had seemed so weird and out of the blue and dramatic when it had happened a couple of months earlier, especially for my dad, Captain No Emotion. And my dad had still refused to talk about it.

      “Dr. Caton was so used to getting his own way, he wouldn’t listen to your dad, who is not only a very gifted scientist and a very smart person, but also his boss,” my mom said. “I’m sure it’s hard to be well adjusted when you graduate high school at fifteen. From what your dad’s told me, Dr. Caton also came from an extremely wealthy family, who didn’t exactly take the time to socialize him down to size. Always getting what you want can make people extremely shortsighted. Which just makes me more glad that we’ve kept Gideon with his peer group.”

      “I wouldn’t exactly call Gideon socialized.”

      “Well, we are trying.” My mom laughed. “The point is sometimes it’s not what you believe that’s the problem, it’s how you believe it.”

      “Break it down for me, then,” Jasper says, startling me back to the Jeep and the dark with his pseudo-surfer-boy twang. It reminds me of all the reasons I don’t like him.

      “Break what down for you?”

      “Your dad’s stuff.”

      “His ‘stuff’?”

      “Yeah, his research. We’ve got time. And I actually like science—you know, the dumb-jock version.” Now Jasper is mocking me. He thinks that’s why I don’t like him, because he’s a “jock”? I stare hard at the side of his face until he holds up a hand. “Too soon for jokes, I see that now.”

      I don’t feel like talking about my dad’s work, but if I don’t distract myself, who knows where my mind will wander. Conversation about anything is a good thing. And my dad’s study is for sure a lot safer topic than Cassie and Jasper’s relationship.

      “He’s done lots of studies about EI, but in this one he wanted to prove that with the part of emotional intelligence that is reading other people’s feelings, ‘perception,’ some people do it not just by looking at people’s faces or listening to their voices—which is how most people do it.”

      He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say I’m exactly badass in that department. But I get that it’s a thing some people can do.”

      “It’s like this tiny sub-thing in EI, not exactly something the world is holding their breath waiting to find out. Anyway, my dad ran his test trying to see if people could read feelings differently or better, I guess, if they were watching a live conversation between two other people instead of by looking at pictures of people’s faces, which is how they usually test it.”

      “And?” Jasper asks, like he’s waiting for the big reveal that the study showed something amazing. He’s going to be disappointed, just like my dad.

      “It’s not that exciting,” I say. “He learned some small things. But it’s not like he cured cancer or something.”

      “Ouch,” Jasper says. “Way to take a man down at the knees.”

      And he’s right. That was harsh. But that is the way I feel: annoyed. More than I realized. Even if he didn’t know it at the time—couldn’t have—my dad wasted the little time he had left with my mom. Instead of being with her and being happy, he was obsessed with yet another stupid study that no one is ever going to care about. And now she’s gone. And now, no matter what he does, he can never make up that lost time to her. Or us.

      I shrug. “It’s important to him, I guess.” I can feel Jasper still staring at me, and I want him to stop. I want to change the subject before I start bawling my face off. “I just wish other things had been as important.”

      My phone vibrates again in my hand then. I brace myself for another message from my dad. But it’s Cassie, finally. Take Exit 39C off 93. Onto Route 203. More soon.

      My heart picks up speed as I type a response. Are you okay?? What’s going on?

      Can’t talk now. Not safe. It’s an answer, at least. Just not the one I was hoping for.

      “What is it?” Jasper asks.

      “She wants us to get off at Exit 39C.” I check the GPS on my phone. “It’s about forty minutes away.”

      “And that’s it? She didn’t tell you anything else?” That anger is back in his voice. He’s not shouting or anything, but it’s there. Beneath the surface. Makes me wonder how deep it goes.