Opening
As Jack Masselin and Libby Strout drive to Bloomington, the road becomes a threshold: clinical answers wait at one end, raw honesty at the other. Inside a black-walled lab, Jack’s lifelong secret is named; inside a quiet car, two people see each other more clearly than ever.
What Happens
Chapter 66: Libby
In the passenger seat, Libby keeps her voice light while her heart hammers—“clenching and unclenching and skipping beats.” She studies the space between them, feeling a connection sparking to life and hoping he feels it too. She calls her heart a “traitor,” as if her body is outing feelings she’s trying to protect.
She acts casual about the Bloomington trip, but the performance only underscores how vulnerable she feels. The ride doubles as a test she can’t study for: can trust grow here, and can she risk wanting it?
Chapter 67: Jack
Jack and Libby walk into a stark, all-black brain sciences lab. Dr. Amber Klein greets them with clinical efficiency that instantly makes the place feel colder. Seeing how hard the space might be for Jack, Libby opts to wait at a nearby Starbucks. Her leaving hits Jack with a “weird panic,” a jolt that exposes his dependence on her steadiness and the ache of Loneliness and Isolation.
In intake, Dr. Klein asks about head injuries. Jack remembers falling off a roof at six and hitting his head—a detail that might reclassify his prosopagnosia as acquired, not congenital. The thought strips him bare. He feels “naked,” as if every workaround and secret he’s built is suddenly visible under hospital lights.
Chapter 68: Jack
Testing begins. On famous faces, he guesses. Dr. Klein explains that the brain routes for reading emotions and recognizing identity are separate; Jack can read moods, but the “who” never clicks. He stumbles on upside-down faces—hard for anyone, she says, but Jack hears only failure and the comparison to monkeys, who recognize each other no matter the angle.
He passes object recognition but fails the “Bald Women” test completely. In eye-tracking, the machine records how he skims faces: avoiding eyes, nose, mouth and anchoring on hairlines, ears, jaw. The data clinically confirms the improvisations he’s relied on for years. He waits for results feeling hollow, like the tests have measured the distance between him and everyone else.
Chapter 69: Libby
Pacing the hallway, Libby realizes she is steps from specialists who might answer the question that haunts her: her mother died of a cerebral hemorrhage—does she carry the same risk? The urge to ask for tests surges; the fear of the answer does too.
She steadies herself. Knowing or not knowing won’t change who she is or how she lives. She has already survived the worst and learned to live with vigilance. A text from Jayvee—“the not knowing is something too”—lands like permission. Libby chooses to let uncertainty be part of her life, a deliberate act of agency and of Self-Acceptance and Body Image.
Chapter 70: Jack and Libby
Dr. Klein delivers the verdict: Jack is “profoundly face-blind,” among the most severe cases she’s seen. There is no cure. Because his condition is likely acquired from the childhood fall, his brain keeps trying—and failing—to use faces for recognition, a difference that feels like a “kick in the chest.” As he leaves, she adds that one in fifty people are face-blind: “You’re definitely not alone.”
The drive home is thick with silence until Libby breaks it open. She tells him how a ballet teacher once told her she didn’t have the body to dance. She refuses to accept that anymore: “No one’s going to tell me not to dance anymore.” Her vulnerability opens a door Jack finally walks through: he confesses that his father is having an affair with their chemistry teacher and that he’s no longer dating Caroline Lushamp.
Apologies tumble into confessions, defenses into truths. The boy who can’t recognize faces tells Libby he has no trouble with her eyes. “In fact, I like looking into them. A lot.” Their gaze holds, and the moment reframes everything—a quiet, undeniable act of Seeing Beyond Appearances.
Character Development
Jack and Libby share parallel crucibles: he submits to scientific scrutiny; she confronts her most intimate fear. Both choose openness—first with themselves, then with each other.
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Jack
- Moves from hiding his condition to accepting a formal diagnosis and its implications.
- Reframes his isolation by naming it and letting someone in.
- Risks honesty about his family, his breakup, and his feelings, trading control for connection.
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Libby
- Confronts the possibility of inherited danger and chooses to live with uncertainty.
- Reclaims her right to dance—and to define herself—after external judgment.
- Models vulnerability that invites Jack’s, becoming the emotional anchor of the pair.
Themes & Symbols
These chapters braid science and intimacy to argue that identity isn’t only what the brain can or can’t do; it’s also the courage to be known. A clinical label isolates Jack on paper, but intimacy dismantles that isolation in practice. Libby’s choice to live alongside uncertainty—in her body, her future, and her heart—turns fear into a boundary she can navigate rather than a wall.
The arc culminates in a gentle reversal: the boy who cannot “see” faces finds truer sight in connection, while the girl defined by others’ judgments claims her own narrative. The car becomes their sanctuary, and eyes—so central to Jack’s struggle—transform into a conduit for recognition deeper than features or labels.
- Symbol: The Car
- A moving confessional where public roles fall away and trust takes the wheel.
- Symbol: Eyes
- From obstacle to bridge; Jack’s attention to Libby’s eyes reframes sight as recognition, not mere perception.
Key Quotes
“My heart is clenching and unclenching and skipping beats.”
- Captures Libby’s embodied vulnerability as she tries to play it cool. The battle between calm exterior and turbulent interior sets the tone for the emotional risk of these chapters.
“I feel naked.”
- Jack’s word for the exposure of clinical assessment. The lab doesn’t just test his brain; it strips the defenses he’s built to function socially.
“You’re profoundly face-blind… You’re definitely not alone.”
- Dr. Klein’s diagnosis offers both clarity and community. The paradox—isolating condition, inclusive statistic—sharpens the theme of loneliness countered by connection.
“No one’s going to tell me not to dance anymore.”
- Libby reclaims her body and passion, rejecting authority that tried to define her limits. Her defiance becomes a model for Jack’s self-acceptance.
“I like looking into them. A lot.”
- Jack’s confession turns eyes into a site of intimacy rather than confusion. It’s the emotional climax: where medical limits end, recognition through love begins.
Why This Matters and Section Significance
This sequence marks a turning point from secrecy to clarity and from guardedness to trust. Jack’s diagnosis shifts his condition from private burden to named reality, forcing a new relationship with his past and his coping strategies. Libby, choosing to live with not-knowing, demonstrates a mature autonomy that redefines strength.
Their car-bound confessions dissolve the last barriers—Jack’s breakup with Caroline removes external obstacles; their shared truths remove internal ones. What begins as a trip for answers ends as a moment of chosen connection, establishing the emotional foundation that powers the rest of the story.