“No, Wylie,” Jasper says, louder this time. “I’m serious. Don’t come. I don’t want you to.” He takes a breath. “I—it’s my mom. She was on a double shift at the hospital, and she just got home. She’ll freak out if anything wakes her up, and she’s already pissed enough at me.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because I feel like—”

“Yeah, I’m sure. If you come here right now, it will make everything worse,” he says firmly. “Listen, come over in the morning. We can take a walk or something. Talk it out.” His voice is softer, warmer. More convincing. Sort of.

“A walk, yeah,” I say.

“Listen, I’m fine. When my mom works second shift, she usually gets up around ten. You want to come by then?”

“Only if you promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That you will be okay.”

My throat tightens around the words and I have to swallow hard. Jasper is so broken. And he isn’t supposed to be. Despite his messed-up dad and a mom who loves him only for what he can do, he is still the optimist. I’m supposed to be the broken one.

“Definitely,” Jasper says, the flicker of brightness in his voice an obvious cover for how he agreed too quickly. “Now, you have to promise me something.”

“Definitely.”

“Don’t come over without calling first.”

3

I WAKE TO THE SMELL OF SATURDAY PANCAKES AND BACON, AND A FEW SWEET seconds of amnesia. Then it all comes rushing back: Jasper, his house, ten a.m. The pit in my stomach from the night before. I turn to look at my clock; not even seven thirty a.m. Going back to sleep will be the best way to pass the time without letting my mind twist about Jasper.

But then I hear voices downstairs. Gideon and my dad. And they are not happy. I put a pillow over my head to muffle their voices, but it’s no use.

WHEN I GET downstairs, my dad is standing over the stove. His jaw is clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to eat his teeth.

“So that’s it?” Gideon snaps, rocking back in his stool at the kitchen island. My twin brother is once again ready for a fight. He’s hungry for it.

I can read that loud and clear. I might have avoided my dad’s follow-up testing and training, but since that first post-camp session with Dr. Shepard, I have made strides at perfecting my Outlier skills on my own. It was my box. My key.