“We’ll let tomorrow take care of itself,” Dave said. “It’s the only way to be.”
Maybe that was true for some, but it was no longer true for Luke. He wished for extra time to go over Maureen’s plan—or to procrastinate, more like it—but he was afraid that his time was almost up.
Dodgeball had become a daily affair on the Institute’s playground, almost a ritual, and nearly everyone joined in at least for awhile. Luke got in the circle and jostled around with the other dodgers for ten minutes or so before allowing himself to be hit. Instead of joining the throwers, he walked across the asphalt half-court, past Frieda Brown, who was standing by herself and taking foul shots. Luke thought she still had no real idea where she was. He sat down on the gravel with his back against the chainlink fence. At least the bug situation was a little better now. He dropped his hands and swept them idly back and forth at his sides, eyes on the dodgeball game.
“Want to shoot some?” Frieda asked.
“Maybe later,” Luke said. He casually reached one hand behind him, felt for the bottom of the fence, and found that yes, Maureen was right; there was a gap where the ground slumped a bit. That slump might have been created by snowmelt in the early spring. Only an inch or two, but it was there. Nobody had bothered to fill it in. Luke’s upturned hand rested on the exposed bottom of the fence, the wire tines pressing into his palm. He waggled his fingertips in the free air outside the Institute for a moment or two, then got up, dusted off his bottom, and asked Frieda if she wanted to play HORSE. She gave him an eager smile that said Yes! Of course! Be my friend!
It sort of broke his heart.
19
Luke had no tests the following day, either, and nobody even bothered taking his vitals. He helped Connie, one of the janitors, carry two mattresses from the elevator to a couple of rooms in the East Wing, got a single lousy token for his trouble (all the janitors were miserly when it came to handing out tokes), and on his way back to his room, he encountered Maureen standing by the ice machine, drinking from the bottle of water she always kept chilling in there. He asked if she needed any help.
“No, I’m fine.” Then, lowering her voice: “Hendricks and Zeke were talking out front by the flagpole. I saw them. Have they been testing you?”
“No. Not for two days.”
“That’s what I thought. This is Friday. You might have until Saturday or Sunday, but I wouldn’t take that chance.” The mixture of worry and compassion he saw on her haggard face terrified him.
Tonight.
He didn’t speak the word aloud, only mouthed it with a hand at the side of his face, scratching below his eye. She nodded.
“Maureen . . . do they know you have . . .” He couldn’t finish, and didn’t have to.
“They think it’s sciatica.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Hendricks might have an idea, but he doesn’t care. None of them do, as long as I can keep working. Go on now, Luke. I’ll turn your room while you’re at lunch. Look under your mattress when you go to bed. Good luck.” She hesitated. “I wish I could hug you, son.”
Luke felt his eyes fill up. He hurried away before she could see.
He ate a big lunch, although he wasn’t particularly hungry. He would do the same at supper. He had a feeling that if this worked, he was going to need all the fuel he could take on.
That evening at dinner, he and Avery were joined by Frieda, who seemed to have imprinted on Luke. After, they went out to the playground. Luke declined to shoot more hoops with the girl, saying he would spot Avery for awhile on the trampoline.
One of those red neon words bloomed in Luke’s mind as he watched the Avester jump up and down, doing lackadaisical seat-drops and tummy-bounces.
Tonight?
Luke shook his head. “But I need you to sleep in your own room. I’d like to get a full eight hours for once.”
Avery slid off the trampoline and looked at Luke solemnly. “Don’t tell me what isn’t true because you think someone will see me looking sad and wonder why. I don’t have to look sad.” And he stretched his lips in a hopelessly counterfeit grin.