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Back The Scattering Save as PDF
Chapters (36)
  1. DEDICATION
  2. EPIGRAPH
  3. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  32. BACK AD
  33. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  34. BOOKS BY KIMBERLY McCREIGHT
  35. CREDITS
  36. ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

I move the plastic bags around until my hand lands on what’s under the shoe. Smooth and hard and kind of flat inside its bag. When I pull it from the very bottom of the box, it’s a bottle. An empty vodka bottle. A small one, the kind you’d hide in your purse, or even in a big-pocketed jacket.

“Your dad says that it would have been out of character for her to have been drinking in the car,” Detective Oshiro says from the doorway.

My cheeks burn. “How about fucking impossible?”

I look down. I shouldn’t be swearing at a police officer, not like that. But Detective Oshiro is unfazed.

“It’s possible that it was on the road where she had the accident and got mixed with—well, the scene was chaotic. There were no fingerprints on it.”

But I can tell he is only saying that to make me feel better. Or not to make me feel worse. I squeeze the cool glass tighter as I peer at the label. Vodka? There is no way. My mom only drank wine and only occasionally. Cassie’s dad, Vince, and vodka? Definitely. Even Karen, Cassie’s mom, liked her martinis. My mom? Never.

“It wasn’t hers,” I say, but it only makes me feel worse.

“Yes, that’s possible,” Detective Oshiro says.

I turn and look straight at him. The wave of sympathy that greets me when our eyes meet unleashes tears. I blink and look down before they can make their way out. Was my mother somebody entirely different from who I believed her to be? Maybe she was lying to me about much more than me being an Outlier.

“It’s not hers,” I say again.

This time when I look up, the tears are streaming down my cheeks. But I no longer care. And Detective Oshiro looks right at me and lies, just the way I need him to.

“I’m sure you’re right, Wylie. I’m sure you’re right.”

6

OUTSIDE THE POLICE STATION, I PULL OUT MY PHONE AND TRY JASPER. I’M losing count of how many times I’ve called. It just rings and rings. At least his house isn’t far, a three-minute walk, but a million miles away from the fancy shops and restaurants of downtown Newton.

“Jasper,” I say when his voice mail finally picks up. “This isn’t funny anymore. Where the hell are you? I need to talk to you.”