on with your meals.” She turned to the white-coated kitchen staff. “And extra desserts before bedtime, assuming you can provide cake and ice cream, Chef Doug?”
Chef Doug made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. Someone began to clap. Others joined in. Mrs. Sigsby nodded right and left to acknowledge the applause as she left the room, walking with her head up and her hands swinging back and forth in tiny, precise arcs. A small smile, what Luke thought of as a Mona Lisa smile, curved the corners of her mouth. The white-coats parted to let her pass.
Still applauding, Avery leaned close to Luke and whispered, “She lied about everything.”
Luke gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“That fucking bitch,” Avery said.
Luke gave the same tiny nod and sent a brief mental message: Keep clapping.
17
That night Luke and Avery lay side by side in Luke’s bed as the Institute wound down for another night.
Avery whispered, recounting everything Maureen told him each time he went to his nose, signaling her to send. Luke had been afraid Maureen might not understand the note he’d dropped into her basket (a little unconscious prejudice there, maybe based on the brown housekeeper’s uni she wore, he’d have to work on that), but she had understood perfectly, and provided Avery with the step-by-step list. Luke thought the Avester could have been a little more subtle about the signals, but it seemed to have turned out okay. He had to hope it had. Supposing that were true, Luke’s only real question was whether or not the first step could actually work. It was simple to the point of crudity.
The two boys lay on their backs, staring into the dark. Luke was going over the steps for the tenth time—or maybe the fifteenth—when Avery invaded his mind with three words that flashed on like a red neon, then faded out, leaving an afterimage.
Yes, Mrs. Sigsby.
Luke poked him.
Avery sniggered.
A few seconds later, the words came again, this time even brighter.
Yes, Mrs. Sigsby!
Luke gave him another poke, but he was smiling, and Avery probably knew it, dark or not. The smile was in his mind as well as on his mouth, and Luke thought he had a right to it. He might not be able to escape the Institute—he had to admit the odds were against—but today had been a good one. Hope was such a fine word, such a fine thing to feel.
YES, MRS. SIGSBY, YOU FUCKING BITCH!
“Stop, or I’ll tickle you,” Luke murmured.
“It worked, didn’t it?” Avery whispered. “It really worked. Do you think you can really . . .”
“I don’t know, I only know I’m going to try. Now shut up and go to sleep.”
“I wish you could take me with you. I wish it bad.”
“Me too,” Luke said, and he meant it. It would be tough for Avery here on his own. He was more socially adjusted than the little Gs or Stevie Whipple, but nobody was ever going to crown him Mr. Personality.
“When you come back, bring about a thousand cops with you,” Avery whispered. “And do it fast, before they take me to Back Half. Do it while we can still save Sha.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Luke promised. “Now stop yelling in my head. That joke wears out fast.”
“I wish you had more TP. And that it didn’t hurt you to send. We could talk better.”
“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. For the last time, go to sleep.”
Avery did, and Luke began to drift off himself. Maureen’s first step was as clanky as the ice machine where they sometimes talked, but he had to admit that it tallied with all the things he’d already observed: dusty camera housings, baseboards where paint had chipped off years ago and had never been touched up, an elevator card carelessly left behind. He mused again on how this place was like a rocket with its engines off, still moving but now in an inertial glide.
18
The next day Winona escorted him down to C-Level, where he was given a quick once-over: blood pressure, heart rate, temperature, O2 level. When Luke asked what came next, Dave checked his clipboard, gave him a sunny grin—as if he had never knocked him to the floor—and said there was nothing on the schedule.
“You’ve got an off-day, Luke. Enjoy it.” He raised his hand, palm out.
Luke grinned back and slapped him five, but it was Maureen’s note he was thinking of: When they stop testing, you might only have 3 days.