old, faded Hillary Clinton sticker on the back bumper of her mom’s Subaru. It said STRONGER TOGETHER, and of course that was how it worked here in Back Half. That was why they watched the movies together. That was why they could reach across thousands of miles, sometimes even halfway around the world, to the people who were in the movies. If the five of them (make it six, if they could work on Iris’s headache the way they had worked on Helen’s) were able to create that united mental force, a kind of Vulcan mind meld, shouldn’t that be enough to mutiny and take Back Half over?
“It’s a great idea, but I don’t think so,” George said. He took her hand and gave it a brief squeeze. “We might be able to screw with their heads a little, maybe scare the hell out of them, but they’ve got those zap-sticks, and as soon as they jolted one or two of us, it would be game over.”
Kalisha didn’t want to admit it, but told him he was probably right.
Avery: One step at a time.
Iris said, “I can’t hear what you guys are thinking. I know you’re thinking something, but my head still hurts bad.”
Avery: Let’s see what we can do for her. All of us together.
Kalisha looked at Nick, who nodded. At George, who shrugged and also nodded.
Avery led them into Iris Stanhope’s head like an explorer leading his party into a cave. The sponge in her mind was very big. Avery saw it as blood-colored, so they all saw it that way. They ranged themselves around it and began to push. It gave a little . . . and a little more . . . but then it stopped, resisting their efforts. George backed out first, then Helen (who hadn’t had all that much to contribute, anyway), then Nick and Kalisha. Avery came last, dealing the headache-sponge a petulant mental kick before withdrawing.
“Any better, Iris?” Kalisha asked, without much hope.
“What’s better?” It was Katie Givens. She had drifted to join them.
“My headache,” Iris said. “And it is. A little, anyway.” She smiled at Katie, and for a moment the girl who had won the Abilene Spelling Bee was in the room.
Katie turned her attention back to the TV. “Where’s Richie Cunningham and the Fonz?” she asked, and began rubbing at her temples. “I wish mine was better, my headache hurts like poop.”
You see the problem, George thought to the others.
Kalisha did. They were stronger together, yes, but still not strong enough. No more than Hillary Clinton had been when she ran for president a few years back. Because the guy running against her, and his supporters, had had the political equivalent of the caretakers’ zap-sticks.
“It helped me, though,” Helen said. “My own headache is almost gone. It’s like a miracle.”
“Don’t worry,” Nicky said. Hearing him sound so defeated scared Kalisha. “It’ll be back.”
Corinne, the caretaker who liked to slap, came into the room. She had one hand on her holstered zap-stick, as if she had felt something. Probably did, Kalisha thought, but she doesn’t know what it was.
“Movie time,” she said. “Come on, kiddies, move your asses.”
13
Two caretakers, Jake and Phil (known respectively as the Snake and the Pill), were standing outside the screening room’s open doors, each holding a basket. As the kids filed in, those with cigarettes and matches (lighters weren’t allowed in Back Half ) deposited them in the baskets. They could have them back when the show was over . . . if they remembered to take them, that was. Hal, Donna, and Len sat in the back row, staring vacantly at the blank screen. Katie Givens sat in a middle row next to Jimmy Cullum, who was lackadaisically picking his nose.
Kalisha, Nick, George, Helen, Iris, and Avery sat down front.
“Welcome to another fun-filled evening,” Nicky said in a loud announcer’s voice. “This year’s feature, an Academy Award winner in the category of Shittiest Documentary—”
Phil the Pill slapped him across the back of the head. “Shut up, asshole, and enjoy the show.”
He retreated. The lights went down, and Dr. Hendricks appeared on the screen. Just seeing the unlit sparkler in his hand made Kalisha’s mouth dry up.
There was something she was missing. Some vital piece of Avery’s castle. But it wasn’t lost; she just wasn’t seeing it.
Stronger together, but not strong enough. Even if those poor almost-gorks like Jimmy and Hal and Donna were with us, we wouldn’t be. But we could be. On nights when