I stare over at Becca to see if she suggested this game on purpose, to root out everyone’s HEP, but from the flat look on her face, I don’t think so. And when I look around no one else seems to notice how weirdly good we are at sorting the truths from the lies, or what that might mean.

That is, until I meet eyes with Kelsey and I feel a sharp jolt of recognition. Like Kelsey knows exactly what is up. But almost as quickly she looks away and I feel nothing.

Did that even happen? Did I imagine it?

Everyone should know they are Outliers. Shouldn’t they? Unless knowing it somehow puts them at greater risk? After what happened to Cassie, it’s hard to know whether it’s safer to know nothing. Or everything. It depends on what this is. I need to talk to my dad. I need to call him again.

Trying not to draw too much attention to myself, I scoot back out of the circle, push myself quietly to my feet, and head over to the guards. Even with my eyes down, I can feel them watching me approach and wishing that I would not.

“I need to make a phone call,” I say. And still the guards do not look my way. “Dr. Haddox said I could try my dad again. Where is a phone?”

Finally, they look at each other, trying to decide how to respond. The one who was flirting with Becca glances in my direction. “There’s one on the wall over there,” he says, and not very pleasantly. Our eyes meet only for a minute, but I get an awful, icy feeling. Like he is dead inside. If necessary, he will later deny that he ever said it was okay for me to use the phone.

The whole time I’m walking over to where he pointed, I wait for something to stop me. For someone to keep me from making my call. Or for the line to be dead when I pick up the phone. But a second later, my dad’s phone is ringing again. My heart leaps when he actually answers.

“Hi, Wylie,” he says, matter-of-fact, but a little out of breath. “Just making my way through the terminal. Going to try to find this driver they sent for me. I don’t usually care about this kind of thing, but having my name on one of those little—”

“Dad! Did you get my message?”

“What message?” he asks, still with the breathing hard. “Wait, hold on.” A pause. “There’s no alert yet, sorry. The phone was in airplane mode. Is everything okay?”

I can feel the guards’ eyes on me. I need to choose my words carefully. They are looking for any excuse to step in.

“I’m in a hospital.”

“What happened?” he asks, panicked already. “Are you okay?”