“And tell the person next to you which is the lie,” Kelsey says, shrugging when Ramona looks at her. “Keep people honest.”

“Yeah, okay, fine.” Ramona looks back at Teresa, then rolls her eyes. “And not about sex or anything actually fun apparently. The girl directly opposite you then guesses which two things are true and which is a lie. We’ll keep score; whoever wins the most can have—I don’t know—there’s a hundred bucks in my wallet if and when they ever give us our shit back.”

Elise looks around the circle nervously, then seems to decide that she will not cave to the pressure of so many eyes. Instead, she pulls her spine tall. She leans over as told and whispers to Teresa, who is next to her, before turning back to the group.

“I once rode a bull. I am allergic to peppermint and I love Brussels sprouts.” She rattles all three off in a single rush.

“Okay, you.” Ramona points at another girl on the opposite side of the circle, one with disturbingly doll-like eyes who I haven’t heard speak. “Which one is the lie?”

“The peppermint,” the other girl answers, sounding much more confident than her stunned eyes would suggest. “She’s not allergic to peppermint.”

Elise lets out a surprisingly exasperated huff. Annoyed that she was found out so easily. “Whatever.”

And so we go like that around the circle for maybe fifteen minutes. The game moves fast. We have people whose favorite color is not green, who hate pizza, and who were once an expert at the balance beam. Somebody else has a phobia of peanut butter, a love of spiders, and hates her dad. Somebody has a girlfriend named Sid. Each time the lie is detected quickly and easily. Eventually, without any discussion, the lies and the truths start to get more elaborate and specific: it was snowing when I was born; my house number is 714. I once had a teacher named Rose. But the results don’t change—because each and every one of us can pick out the lie all the same.

Because we are all Outliers. Every last one of us. And I might have suspected as much before, but now I am sure.

But from where? After what happened with Quentin, my dad has guarded the names of any additional Outliers he found in his exploratory tests. Tests he financed himself with a small loan from his parents. Tests for which there was no public record. No data trail. The only place he recorded them was on an actual piece of paper in his office. Maybe these are the Outliers the military found through their own “secret” research that my dad brought up and then tried to blow off.