Jasper puts his brand-new iPhone down gently on the desk that’s jammed up against the head of his bed in the small double room he and Chance share. The new phone was a gift from his mom before he headed off for BC. A gift she definitely couldn’t afford, one that was supposed to be a reward for him “doing the right thing.” It made him feel extra guilty every time he talked to Wylie.
Jasper’s bed squeaks loudly as he sits up, and Chance makes the same sick, wet noise he does whenever he wakes up: surprised Scooby-Doo. Most of what Chance says and does is some shade of Scooby-Doo.
“Shut that thing off,” Chance mumbles into his pillow, same as he does each day. Like the alarm’s not already off. Like Jasper’s a pain in his ass. But Chance counts on Jasper to get them both up in the morning and again in the afternoon. Otherwise, Chance would sleep all day. No surprise, Jasper likes being the guy who can be counted on. And that’s the great thing about college: you can decide to be only the best parts of who you are.
Apart from the noises, Chance is a decent guy, too. Straight-up. He’s from Terre Haute, Indiana, not exactly known for ice hockey, but it’s there according to Chance. He says it’s mostly corn and nice people, and once upon a time that might have sounded boring to Jasper. But these days, boring doesn’t sound half bad.
“Your problem, Jasper, is that you think too much,” Chance likes to say. “More time living and less time thinking, my man.”
And it seems to work for Chance. He’s at Boston College to play hockey, get drunk, and find girls. In that order. Anything outside those three buckets he tosses like a wrong-shaped peg. Chance believes life is simple. And so it is. Meanwhile, Jasper isn’t sure about anything. Except Wylie. Each day he is more sure about her.
Wylie is the reason he finally decided to go to BC preseason, and not just to keep his mind off her being gone. Wylie told Jasper he needed to go to BC back when she barely knew him. And she never wavered.
By the time everything with the hospital had happened, Jasper joined preseason late. It wasn’t easy convincing the BC hockey coach to give him a chance. Jasper decided to go with the truth—Cassie and Wylie and the camp and the bridge and then the hospital. All of it out in a rush. Coach had sat there listening with his scraggly, scrunched-up eyebrows. When Jasper was finally done with his wild story, the coach stayed quiet for a crazy long time. Like he was about to drop some serious knowledge.
“Okay” was all he finally said, looking Jasper square in the eye. “But you miss a game or a practice from here on out, you screw up at all, you’re gone. You’re lucky as hell Samuels is out with a concussion. I got no choice but to take you on, despite the fact that you sound like you could be delusional. Consider yourself already out of strikes.”
Strikes. There it was finally. Like father, like son. The judge had said basically the same thing when he’d sentenced Jasper’s dad to fifteen years for aggravated assault. “I’m sorry, Mr. Salt, but you are out of strikes.”
And fair enough. Jasper’s dad had already been arrested more times than Jasper could count. And what he’d done that night was so much worse than anything that had come before. It wasn’t just evil. It was animal.
The guy in front of them was driving like a dumb-ass, weaving all over the place, slowing way down, then jerking to a stop. They could see that he was on his cell phone. Stupid, no doubt. But it wasn’t until Jasper’s dad had to jerk so hard to stop that he dropped his cigarette in his lap that he became a train cut loose on the tracks.
“No, Dad!” Jasper had called after him.
But he was already out of the car.
“Don’t,” Jasper had whispered inside the empty car as he watched his dad through the windshield, up ahead on the slick road, shouting through the window at the driver of the other car. But watch was all Jasper did. Because he was only twelve at the time. And there was only so much that twelve could do.
Jasper had actually been relieved when the other man got out and was much bigger than his dad. Big enough, he figured, to easily knock Jasper’s dad back in his place. But rage, Jasper learned that night, can make a man many times his natural size.
By the time Jasper was outside the car screaming, “Stop! Stop! Dad, stop it!” his dad’s fists were covered in blood, and the man was on the ground, motionless.
All these years later, Jasper tries not to picture the way the guy’s face had looked after—lumpy and wet and bright red. It’s his dad’s face that haunts him more late at night. The way it looks far too much like his own.
“IN A WAY, I am like him,” Jasper said during one of his many visits to Wylie at the detention facility.
It wouldn’t have been Jasper’s first pick for a date locale, but he was getting used to it. On the upside, they had no choice but to really get to know each other. And Jasper was cool sitting anywhere with Wylie. Had he felt that way about other girls? Maybe. Jasper fell hard and he fell often—his mom was right about that. But that didn’t mean this time with Wylie couldn’t be different. That it wasn’t special.
“You’re nothing like your dad,” Wylie said.
“Come on, that kid that I choked in that Level99 place, the kid I punched in school. I snap, like, a lot of the time,” Jasper said, staring at Wylie so hard his eyes had begun to burn. “I may not be the same as my dad, but I’m not sure I’m all that different.”
And it mattered to Jasper that she didn’t pretend otherwise. He wanted her to know the worst of him (the parts even he hated) and to care about him anyway.
“So, whatever. Even if that is true. You still get to decide what to make of who you are,” Wylie said finally. “Dr. Shepard said that to me, about being an Outlier and being anxious and everything. There’s a lot of gray in the world, Jasper. Wanting to hit someone isn’t the same thing as hitting them. And hitting someone once, or even twice, doesn’t mean you have to be someone who hits forever. Not everything is black and white.”
Jasper looked up at Wylie then. He wasn’t sure if she believed what she was saying. But he was sure that he was falling for her different than ever before. For real. In love. That maybe he was already all the way there.
INSTEAD OF WORKING out with Chance today, Jasper heads home. His mom has been asking him to come every day since he started at camp, and he’s been avoiding her. Partly to get back at her. Even though, to Wylie’s point, his mom is doing her best. And he should know better than anyone that your best isn’t always as good as you’d hoped it would be.
“Oh, you’re here!” his mom calls out as she swings open the door, like she was just sitting there, waiting for him. She’s so happy that she’s pumping up and down on her toes. Jasper feels like an ass. He should have come sooner.
“Yep,” he says, stepping inside. “Here I am.”
“Well, let me see what I have to feed you.” His mom hustles toward the kitchen like she didn’t just get home from a double shift at the hospital. Like she isn’t probably so beat she can barely stand. “I think there’s a lasagna. But that could take a while to heat up. Oh, I wish you’d told me you’d be coming today. I’d have made something special. How about grilled cheese?”
Jasper nods. “Sounds good.” He hates grilled cheese. It’s something his mom has always refused to know. It’s right that he should be forced to eat it now as punishment.
A FEW MINUTES later, Jasper sits staring down at the sandwich that he doesn’t want. But his mom is watching him, and the whole point of coming here is to make her feel better. The least Jasper can do is eat the damn sandwich. He takes a huge bite and chugs a bunch of water to wash it down.
“How was practice this morning?” his mom asks. She sounds nervous. Probably afraid of giving Jasper a reason not to come back. “The other boys on the team still okay?”
Jasper nods. And they are okay. Everything is okay. Sometimes he still has to remind himself. “Preseason is good, really good. You were right about it,” he says. “Chance, my roommate, is a nice guy. Coach is great. A hard-ass. But great.”
&nb
sp; His mom nods and forces something of a smile. “That’s wonderful,” she says, but her voice catches.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
Suddenly, she grasps Jasper’s hand, making him startle back. Her fingers are icy, bony. So old, all of a sudden. “I just don’t want you getting distracted, that’s all. Especially not after all the work you’ve put in getting your life back on track.”
“Distracted by what?” he asks. “I was just telling you it was all good.”
“By whatever.” His mom’s eyes dart away. Jasper can’t read shit, but she is a terrible liar. “I’m just saying. You’re doing well. It’s a good thing. We should keep it that way.”
Jasper raises an eyebrow. “Mom, what is up?”
“Nothing’s ‘up’!” she shouts, twisting a napkin so tight it begins to tear. Then she jerks to her feet and starts clearing the dishes. “I just worry about you. That’s what a mother is supposed to do.”
This is her loving me. This is her loving me, he tells himself. But it’s just so hard to believe.
“Mom, I know you only want what’s best for me,” he says. “And you were definitely right about me needing to go to hockey camp and BC. I totally admit that. It’s been really good for me to be there. So thank you for encouraging me to go.”
She takes a loud breath, then smiles up at him. Her eyes are glassy. “I’m so glad.”
“And I’m being straight with you now. So you be straight with me. Why are you all wound up?” he asks. “What’s going on?”
His mom takes another deep breath, looks down at the table, and crosses her arms. “She’s out,” she says finally.
“Who’s out?” Jasper’s heart has begun to pound.
His mom looks up at him and shakes her head, eyes brimming with tears now. “That girl,” she says, the tears finally making their way onto her cheeks. “The girl.”
“Wylie?” Jasper almost shouts. “She’s out of jail?”
His mom nods. “She called here,” she says reluctantly.
“What? When?” Jasper snatches his phone and taps hard through the call log. “She didn’t call me.”
“Not long ago. Couple hours. She doesn’t have your new number.”
“You gave it to her, right?”
“I did not,” his mom says firmly.
“Why not?” Jasper shouts.
“To protect you,” she exclaims, like this should be the most obvious thing. “And I know it’s not going to be easy to stay away. But it’s already been weeks since you’ve seen her. You’re already out of the habit. A clean break. That’s all you need. Don’t get yourself tied into knots again. You got out, Jasper. Keep it that way.”
But Jasper is already on his feet. She’s out. She’s out. That’s all he can think. “I have to go.” He’s moving quickly toward the door.
“Jasper!” his mom shouts after him. “You have a real chance now. Don’t throw your life away for another girl.”
Jasper forces himself to stay calm as he turns back at the door. He can do this. He can say no but stay kind. Respectful.
“I’ll be careful, Mom,” he says, opening the door behind him and backing toward it. “But I need to go see Wylie, right now.”
His mom’s face is slick with tears.
“Jasper!” she shouts one last time as he steps through the door. “Why do you need them all so much?”
JASPER TRIES TO steady himself as he drives toward Wylie’s house in his old red Jeep—officially his since he paid his brother five hundred dollars for it. Why do you need them all so much? It’s ringing in his head. Because his mom isn’t wrong, in general. She’s just wrong in particular about Wylie.
Jasper pauses at a stop sign as he approaches downtown Newton, meets eyes with a cop parked there, waiting for people to blow through. A reminder: be careful. But Jasper can do this. He can have Wylie in his life and keep himself on the straight and narrow. It doesn’t have to be either-or.
Though it is eating at him that Wylie didn’t even mention she might be getting out. He just saw her and not a word? Jasper wants not to be hurt. Wants not to feel suspicious. But he is. And he does.
Another five minutes of driving, and Jasper stops again—this time at a red light, ready to turn right toward Wylie’s part of town. The so-much-nicer-than-where-Jasper-lives part. Those differences between him and Wylie don’t matter. At least so far they haven’t. But then Jasper and Wylie have been together together in a bubble. What if things are different between them in the real world? What if that’s why Wylie didn’t tell Jasper she was getting out? Does she have doubts?
A horn blasts behind Jasper. The light has turned green, and he’s been sitting there, lost in the tangle of Wylie loves me. She loves me not. He startles, punches down hard on the gas, and lifts the clutch. The old Jeep hesitates before finally lurching forward.
Almost instantly, there’s a vicious crunch. And then a yelp. Jasper’s eyes shoot up as the horn behind him sounds again.
“Shit,” he gasps, jamming the Jeep into park. He claws at his door. “Oh, shit.”
He jumps out, hands shaking, heart pumping as he races around to the front of the Jeep.
“Oh God, did he hit somebody?” a man shouts from somewhere behind. “Holy crap.”
Jasper sees the bike first. The wheel bent, but otherwise in one piece. And then the girl, sitting on the ground, gripping her knee. Her eyes are open. She’s breathing.
He finally exhales.
“Are you okay, honey?” An old woman rushes past Jasper and kneels down next to the girl. “Don’t get up. You need to take your time. Did you hit your head? You could have a concussion.” The woman has short, gray hair and a frumpy tent dress. She turns and gives Jasper the most hateful stink-eye. “Were you on your phone? You were, weren’t you? You could have killed somebody! You could have killed her!”
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Jasper asks the girl.
She looks down at herself. “Yeah, I think—”
“So stupid!” the old man piles on as he rushes up from behind.
“You honked at me,” Jasper says quietly, though he knows that getting into it with them is stupid, pointless.
“I’m calling an ambulance. And the cops!” the woman barks, pulling out her phone. She looks him up and down, disgusted. “What kind of person are you?”
“It was an accident!” Jasper shouts back, his face hot. “A mistake. People make them!”
“Stupid, that’s what you are.” The man steps closer, spitting and red-faced. “Are you stupid?”
“Stop saying that, man,” Jasper growls, his fists clenched. He swallows down the urge to use them. Don’t hit him, he’s old. Don’t hit him, he’s old, Jasper chants to himself. But he’s not sure it is working. He can feel the punch already, the impact.
“Stop yelling! Please!” the girl shouts, startling the old couple. She waves her hands. “It was my fault. I ran the light.” She pushes herself unsteadily to her feet. She is pretty and fit in her high-tech, expensive-looking bicycle clothes, even those old-school sweatbands on her wrists and, luckily, a helmet. When she takes it off, her long, dark hair falls over her shoulders. “Please don’t call the police. My parents will be mad at me for not paying attention. They’re always on me for that. And I’m fine anyway.”
Jasper feels a guilty wave of relief. He’d be much happier, all things considered, if they didn’t call the police. His mom would say this proved her point about Wylie being a bad distraction. Coach might consider it his last strike.
“I really am sorry,” Jasper manages, meeting eyes with the girl for the first time. They shimmer between hazel and gold, like two small kaleidoscopes. Jasper’s never seen eyes like that. For a second, he forgets what he was saying. “Um, I didn’t see you.”
“Well, of course you didn’t see her,” the woman snorts.
“You kids and your damn cell phones,” her husband adds.
“I wasn’t on my phone,” Jasper says, and pretty mildly, considering h
ow far up in his face they are. “I was distracted for a second and then you blew your horn—I don’t know what happened. She said she went through the light.”
“It was totally my fault,” the girl confirms as she moves her bike off to the shoulder. The wheel is so bent. There is no way she is riding it anywhere. “I’m not used to so many traffic lights.”
“I’ll drive you home,” Jasper offers. “We can throw your bike in the back.”
He hates the idea of not going straight to Wylie’s right this second. But what choice does he have? He hit this girl with his car.
“If anyone is going to drive her, it should be us,” the woman says. “You should go get yourself some driving lessons.”
The girl looks the woman right in the eye. “Thank you for stopping,” she says, calm but fierce. “But if you could stop yelling, that would be great. I know it’s making you feel good, but it’s not helping me. I already have a headache. And maybe you should worry less about me and more about why your husband is so jacked up that he was laying on the horn like that in the first place.”
“Ugh.” The woman recoils, disgusted. She waves at her husband to come along. “Let’s go. They deserve each other.”
And with that, the two march back toward their Buick sedan.
“THANK YOU,” JASPER says when the couple is finally pulling away.
The girl shrugs. “The biggest jerks always spend the most time pointing fingers.”
Jasper smiles. She’s right about that. “Anyway, sorry again. I’m really glad you’re okay. I should have been paying more attention.”
She tilts her head. “You seem really invested in jamming yourself under the nearest bus. I said I ran the light.”
Jasper feels himself blush. He wants to put his hands up to his face to cover it. “Let me give you a ride home,” he says. “It’ll help me get out from under the bus.”