“Cassie?” Jasper asks hopefully.
I shake my head. “My dad again.”
“Is he pissed?”
“Worried, I think mostly.”
“That’s nice,” he says, like my dad being worried is proof that I’ve got it so much better.
“Yeah, I guess,” I say, staring down at my phone. And maybe it should feel nice, but it doesn’t. Probably because the more texts he sends, the more it feels like it’s about him getting me to do what he wants instead of how much he loves me.
Jasper holds up a hand. “Sorry, I hate when people say that kind of crap to me. ‘Your mom loves you, I’m sure. She’s your mother.’” And now he sounds pissed—a little bit like a guy who could punch somebody in the face. “My mom is living proof that life is full of messed-up options.” He shakes his head. Shrugs. “Maybe your dad’s an asshole. How would I know?”
I don’t feel like I know either. But I do think the time has come that I answer, tell my dad something that will calm him down.
We heard from Cassie. She’s totally okay. She just got mixed up in something and needs us to come get her. We’ll be back soon! Xoxo
I hit send, staring at my totally unconvincing x’s and o’s. Even the exclamation point was overkill. But it’s not a lie. Not completely.
NO, comes my dad’s response almost instantly. You should NOT be doing that. Tell Karen where she is NOW and she will go get her.
“He wants me to tell Karen where Cassie is,” I say, staring at his all caps, which are digging under my skin.
“You think we should tell him?” Jasper asks. I can’t tell if he sounds judgmental or I’m just hearing it that way.
“And you don’t?” I ask. Because the truth is I’m not sure what I think. It does feel vaguely insane that this—of all situations—is when I suddenly decide to do what Cassie wants, the way I used to. But then again, me feeling worried about something isn’t actually a very good indication of whether it’s the right course of action.
“Technically, we don’t know where she is yet,” Jasper says. “Can’t we wait? See what she says next? You could pretend you didn’t see his message yet or something.”
“Lie.”
“Buying us some time to think, I’d call it. But sure, lie is another word for it,” he says, like I’m the jerk. “I’m okay with a little misdirection, as long as he’s not a cop or something.”
My stomach pulls tight. Why is Jasper worried about cops? “No, he’s a scientist. Why?”
“I dated this girl once and her dad was a probation officer,” he says. “I didn’t find out until after he caught us together. He had one of his friends lock me up in a holding cell overnight.” He shakes his head and almost laughs. “She and I were both kids. It’s not like it was a crime or something. But man did her dad scare the crap out of me. I didn’t go near another girl for weeks.”
I stare at the side of Jasper’s face. Does he actually think his girlfriend’s best friend is going to enjoy hearing about his sexcapades?
“Anyway.” He clears his throat and looks confused when I keep scowling at him. “What kind of scientist is your dad?”
I put my phone facedown on my lap, trying to pretend I’m actually interested in this conversation instead of just buying myself time before I answer my dad’s text like Jasper suggested. But it does feel like the best I can do for Cassie is wait to find out what’s going on before I decide to rat her out.
“Live Conversation and Emotional Perception: Implications for the Integrative Approach to Emotional Intelligence,” I say, repeating the title of my dad’s study, trying to make it sound like something Jasper would never understand.
“Right,” Jasper says with a thoughtful frown. “I mean—I don’t have any idea what integrative whatever emotional perception is. Am I supposed to?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t if my dad didn’t talk about it nonstop. He set up this test to look at this one small part of ‘perception,’ which is this one small part of this one approach to emotional intelligence—that’s the ‘integrative’ part. Anyway, my dad started studying emotional intelligence, which is basically like IQ but for feelings, after he met my mom and got totally convinced she was psychic because she always knew what he was thinking. I think she was the only person who ever really understood him.”
I was passing through the foyer on my way upstairs to bed when I spotted the green flyer on the floor. It was in front of the mail slot, tucked under yet another Wok & Roll menu.
The Collective, it read in big black letters across the top, and beneath it the details of some kind of lecture: The Spirituality of Science, Seven p.m., December 18! Explore the intersection between freedom, faith, and science.