lip, Sha used the spoon to push it back in. This time Helen swallowed, and Sha smiled. “That’s right, good.”
Sha, Avery thought. Hey, Kalisha.
She looked around, startled, saw him, and broke into a broad smile.
Avester!
A drool of brown gravy ran down Helen’s chin. Nicky, sitting on her other side, used a paper napkin to wipe it off. Then he also saw Avery, grinned, and gave him a thumbs-up. George, sitting directly across from Nicky, turned around.
“Hey, check it out, it’s the Avester,” George said. “Sha thought you might be coming. Welcome to our happy home, little hero.”
“If you’re gonna eat, get a bowl,” said a hard-faced older woman. Her name was Corinne, Avery knew, and she liked slapping. Slapping made her feel good. “I gotta shut down early, on account of it’s movie night.”
Avery got a bowl and ladled up some of the stew. Yes, it was Dinty Moore. He put a piece of spongy white bread on top of it, then took his meal over to his friends and sat down. Sha smiled at him. Her headache was bad today, but she smiled anyway, and that made him feel like laughing and crying at the same time.
“Eat up, buddy,” Nicky said, but he wasn’t taking his own advice; his bowl was still mostly full. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was rubbing at his left temple. “I know it looks like diarrhea, but you don’t want to go to the movies on an empty stomach.”
Have they caught Luke? Sha sent.
No. They’re all scared shitless.
Good. Good!
Will we get hurty shots before the movie?
I don’t think so tonight, this is still a new one, we’ve only seen it once.
George was looking at them with wise eyes. He had heard. Once upon a Front Half time George Iles had only been a TK, but now he was something more. They all were. Back Half increased whatever you had, but thanks to the immersion tank, none of them were like Avery. He knew stuff. The tests in Front Half, for example. A lot of them were side projects of Dr. Hendricks, but the injections were matters of practicality. Some of them were limiters, and Avery hadn’t had those. He had gone straight to the immersion tank, where he had been taken to death’s door or maybe right through it, and as a result he could make the Stasi Lights almost any time he wanted to. He didn’t need the movies, and he didn’t need to be part of the group-think. Creating that group-think was Back Half’s main job.
But he was still only ten. Which was a problem.
As he began to eat, he probed for Helen, and was delighted to discover she was still in there. He liked Helen. She wasn’t like that bitch Frieda. He didn’t need to read Frieda’s mind to know she had tricked him into telling her stuff, then snitched on him; who else could it have been?
Helen?
No. Don’t talk to me, Avery. I have to . . .
The rest was gone, but Avery thought he understood. She had to hide. There was a sponge filled with pain inside her head, and she was hiding from it as best she could. Hiding from pain was a sensible response, as far as it went. The problem was how the sponge kept swelling. It would keep on until there was nowhere to hide, and then it would squash her against the back of her own skull like a fly on a wall. Then she’d be done. As Helen, at least.
Avery reached into her mind. It was easier than trying to turn the lock on the door of his room, because he’d been a powerful TP to begin with, and TK was new to him. He was clumsy and had to be careful. He couldn’t fix her, but he thought he could ease her. Shield her a bit. That would be good for her, and it would be good for them . . . because they were going to need all the help they could get.
He found the headache-sponge deep inside Helen’s head. He told it to stop spreading. He told it to go away. It didn’t want to. He pushed it. The colored lights started to appear in front of him, swirling slowly, like cream into coffee. He pushed harder. The sponge was pliable but firm.
Kalisha. Help me.
With what? What are you doing?
He told her. She came in, tentatively at first. They pushed together. The headache-sponge gave a little.