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broadcasting
.
“You can stay.” But when Avery started to get into bed: “Nuh-uh, you need to go to the
bathroom first. You’re not peeing in my bed.”
Avery didn’t argue, and Luke soon heard urine splattering in the bowl. Quite a lot of it.
When Avery came back, Luke turned off the light. Avery snuggled up. It was nice not to be
alone. Wonderful, in fact.
In his ear, Avery whispered, “I’m sorry about your mumma and your daddy, Luke.”
For a few moments Luke couldn’t speak. When he could, he whispered back, “Were you and
Kalisha talking about me yesterday on the playground?”
“Yes. She told me to come. She said she would send you letters, and I would be the mailman.
You can tell George and Helen, if you think it’s safe.”
But he wouldn’t, because nothing here was safe. Not even thinking was safe. He replayed
what he’d said when Kalisha was telling him about Nicky fighting the red caretakers from Back
Half:
Knocked it out of his hand.
Meaning one of the zap-sticks. She hadn’t asked Luke how he
knew that, because she almost certainly knew already. Had he thought he could keep his new
TP ability a secret from her? Maybe from the others, but not from Kalisha. And not from
Avery.
“Look!” Avery whispered.
Luke could look at nothing, with the lamp off and no window to admit ambient light from
outside, the room was completely dark, but he looked anyway, and thought he saw Kalisha.
“Is she all right?” Luke whispered.
“Yes. For now.”
“Is Nicky there? Is he all right?”
“Yes,” Avery whispered. “Iris, too. Only she gets headaches. Other kids do, too. Sha thinks
they get them from the movies. And the dots.”
“What movies?”
“I don’t know, Sha hasn’t seen any yet, but Nicky has. Iris, too. Kalisha says she thinks there
are other kids—like maybe in the back half of Back Half—but only a few in the place where
they are right now. Jimmy and Len. Also Donna.”
I got Donna’s computer, Luke thought. Inherited it.
“Bobby Washington was there at first, but now he’s gone. Iris told Kalisha she saw him.”
“I don’t know those kids.”
“Kalisha says Donna went to Back Half just a couple of days before you came. That’s why
you got her computer.”
“You’re eerie,” Luke said.
Avery, who probably knew he was eerie, ignored this. “They get hurty shots. Shots and dots,
dots and shots. Sha says she thinks bad things happen in Back Half. She says maybe you can do
something. She says . . .”
He didn’t finish, and didn’t have to. Luke had a brief but blindingly clear image, surely sent
from Kalisha Benson by way of Avery Dixon: a canary in a cage. The door swung open and the
canary flew out.
“She says you’re the only one who’s smart enough.”
“I will if I can,” Luke said. “What else did she tell you?”
To this there was no answer. Avery had gone to sleep.
ESCAPE
1
Three weeks passed.
Luke ate. He slept, woke, ate again. He soon memorized the menu, and joined the other kids
in sarcastic applause when something on it changed. Some days there were tests. Some days
there were shots. Some days there were both. Some days there were neither. A few shots made
him sick. Most didn’t. His throat never closed up again, for which he was grateful. He hung out
in the playground. He watched TV, making friends with Oprah, Ellen, Dr. Phil, Judge Judy. He
watched YouTube videos of cats looking at themselves in mirrors and dogs that caught Frisbees.
Sometimes he watched alone, sometimes with some of the other kids. When Harry came into
his room, the twins came with him and demanded cartoons. When Luke went to Harry’s room,
the twins were almost always there. Harry didn’t care for cartoons. Harry was partial to
wrestling, cage fighting videos, and NASCAR pile-ups. His usual greeting to Luke was “Watch
this one.” The twins were coloring fools, the caretakers supplying endless stacks of coloring
books. Usually they stayed inside the lines, but there was one day when they didn’t, and laughed
a lot, and Luke deduced they were either drunk or high. When he asked Harry, Harry said they
wanted to try it. He had the good grace to look ashamed, and when they vomited (in tandem, as
they did everything), he had the good grace to look more ashamed. And he cleaned up the mess.
One day Helen did a triple roll on the trampoline, laughed, bowed, then burst into tears and
would not be consoled. When Luke tried, she hit him with her small fists, whap-whap-whap-
whap. For awhile Luke beat all comers at chess, and when that got boring he found ways to lose,
which was surprisingly hard for him.
He felt like he was sleeping even when he was awake. He felt his IQ declining, absolutely felt
it, like water going down in a water cooler because someone had left the tap open. He marked
off the time of this strange summer with the date strip on his computer. Other than YouTube
vids, he only used his laptop—with one significant exception—to IM with George or Helen in
their rooms. He never initiated those conversations, and kept them as brief as he could.
What the shit is wrong with you?
Helen texted once.
Nothing,
he texted back.
Why are we still in Front Half, do you think?
George texted.
Not that I am complaining.
Don’t know,
Luke texted, and signed off.
He discovered it wasn’t hard to hide his grief from the caretakers, techs, and doctors; they
were used to dealing with depressed children. Yet even in his deep unhappiness, he sometimes
thought of the bright image Avery had projected: a canary flying from its cage.
His waking sleep of grief was sometimes pierced with brilliant slices of memory that always
came unexpectedly: his father spraying him with the garden hose; his father making a foul shot
with his back turned to the hoop and Luke tackling him when it went in and both of them
falling on the grass, laughing; his mother bringing a gigantic cupcake covered with flaming
candles to the table on his twelfth birthday; his mother hugging him and saying
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