Back up goes Kelsey’s wall. Just like that. Like she wants to show me how good she is at turning it off and on. Like she wants to remind me that there is still an us—her and me—and a them—the rest of the girls. We might all be Outliers, sure. But that does not mean we are all created equal.

“Listen,” Kelsey goes on, more softly. “I just want to be careful. And I think you and I could—I think we could help each other and help everyone else.” She pushes herself up from the couch.

“Where are you going?” I ask, sounding—and feeling—panicky.

“Um, to the bathroom,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Listen, just relax. I’ll be right back. And we can figure out a plan.”

AFTER KELSEY IS gone, I look over at Becca and Ramona, but they immediately look away. It’s kind of hard to blame them. We have only known one another for twenty-four hours. Loyalty born out of fucked-up necessity only goes so far.

I should have told them sooner about my dad and his research, the camp and Cassie, about being Outliers, all of us. Piled on top of all the other weird crap that I have done, the Outlier thing is going to sound like something I made up.

Still, I have no choice but to try. And while Kelsey is away. She wants me to keep it quiet and I don’t want to piss her off, but there is no way I am leaving without telling the others. It’s all fine and well to say we’ll send people back for them. I won’t make that choice for the other girls. I won’t leave them here to wait. No matter what Kelsey thinks.

“HI,” I SAY once I am standing in front of Becca and Ramona. I hold up an awkward hand in a half wave.

“Hey,” Ramona says, glancing my way, then back down at the floor. Becca doesn’t say a word. She’s staring out over the room, like she’s surveying the edge of a battlefield.

I am in a hole that I am going to have to climb out of. The truth is always a good place to start.

“We used to get those babies at our house,” I begin. “The dolls like the one in the towel. Somebody left them on our doorstep. We thought it was somebody harassing my mom because she was this news photographer and people were always sending her hate mail.” Ramona has looked up at me. But Becca has not. “I think that they were actually for my dad; he’s a scientist and there were some people who didn’t like his research.”

“What kind of research?” Becca asks with a suspicious edge.

“Wait, I know.” Ramona snaps her fingers like it’s just come to her. “Stem cells!”

“No, he was looking into—”