the sparkler is lit, we are. When the sparkler is lit, we’re destroyers, so what am I missing?
“Welcome, boys and girls,” Dr. Hendricks was saying, “and thank you for helping us! Let’s begin with a few laughs, shall we? And I’ll see you later.” He wagged the unlit sparkler and actually winked. It made Kalisha feel like vomiting.
If we can reach all the way to the other side of the world, then why can’t we—
For a moment she almost had it, but then Katie gave a loud cry, not of pain or sorrow but of joy. “Road Runner! He’s the best!” She began to sing in a half-screaming falsetto that drilled into Kalisha’s brain. “Road Runner, Road Runner, the coyote’s after YOU! Road Runner, Road Runner, if he catches you you’re THROUGH!”
“Shut it, Kates,” George said, not unkindly, and as Road Runner went meep-meeping down a deserted desert highway, and as Wile E. Coyote looked at him and saw a Thanksgiving dinner, Kalisha felt whatever had almost been in her grasp float away.
When the cartoon was over and Wile E. Coyote had once more been vanquished, a guy in a suit came on the screen. He had a microphone in his hand. Kalisha thought he was a businessman, and maybe he was, sort of, but that wasn’t his main claim to fame. He was really a preacherman, because when the camera drew back you could see a big old cross behind him outlined in red neon, and when the camera panned away you could see an arena, or maybe it was a sports stadium, filled with thousands of people. They rose to their feet, some waving their hands back and forth in the air, some waving Bibles.
At first he did a regular sermon, citing chapters and verses from the Bible, but then he got off onto how the country was falling apart because of OPE-e-oids and for-ni-CAY-tion. Then it was politics, and judges, and how America was a shining city on a hill that the godless wanted to smirch with mud. He was starting about how sorcery had bewitched the people of Samaria (what that had to do with America was unclear to Kalisha), but then the colored dots came, flashing on and off. The hum rose and fell. Kalisha could even feel it in her nose, vibrating the tiny hairs in there.
When the dots cleared, they saw the preacherman getting on an airplane with a woman who was probably Mrs. Preacherman. The dots came back. The hum rose and fell. Kalisha heard Avery in her head, something that sounded like they see it.
Who sees it?
Avery didn’t answer, probably because he was getting into the movie. That was what the Stasi Lights did; they got you into it bigtime. Preacherman was hitting it again, hitting it hard, this time from the back of a flatbed truck, using a bullhorn. Signs said HOUSTON LOVES YOU and GOD GAVE NOAH THE RAINBOW SIGN and JOHN 3:16. Then the dots. And the hum. Several of the empty movie theater seats began to flap up and down by themselves, like unmoored shutters in a strong wind. The screening room doors flew open. Jake the Snake and Phil the Pill slammed them shut again, putting their shoulders into it.
Now the preacherman was in some kind of homeless shelter, wearing a cook’s apron and stirring a huge vat of spaghetti sauce. His wife was by his side, both of them grinning, and this time it was Nick in her head: Smile for the camera! Kalisha was vaguely aware that her hair was standing up, like in some kind of electrical experiment.
Dots. Hum.
Next, the preacherman was on a TV news show with some other people. One of the other people accused the preacherman of being . . . something . . . big words, college words she was sure Lukey would have understood . . . and the preachman was laughing like it was the biggest joke in the world. He had a great laugh. It made you want to laugh along. If you weren’t going crazy, that was.
Dots. Hum.
Each time the Stasi Lights came back, they seemed brighter, and each time they seemed to delve deeper into Kalisha’s head. In her current state, all the clips that made up the movie were fascinating. They had levers. When the time came—probably tomorrow night, maybe the next—the kids in Back Half would pull them.
“I hate this,” Helen said in a small, dismayed voice. “When will it be over?”