Luke rushed in past the ball monitor. He slipped behind the door, out of sight, and jammed his hand in his pocket And heard, “So my servant’s reporting for duty early tonight, eh?”
It was jackal boy, lounging on his bed.
Luke had to bite his lip to keep from screaming.
That night jackal boy was crueler than ever.
Luke had to repeat, “I am a fonrol,” fifty times. He had to hop up and down on one foot for five minutes. He had to do one hundred push-ups. (He’d never seen anyone do a push-up before. All the other boys howled with laughter when he stammeringly confessed, “I–I don’t know how.”) He had to push a marble across the floor with his nose.
Lying in bed that night, Luke despaired. His shoulders ached from the push-ups; his side was still bruised from being thrown out of the bathroom.
It wasn’t just that he wanted to read the note. It was maddening to always be around other people, to know that his every action might be observed, to never have a second of privacy.
How could he long to be alone, and feel so lonely, all at once?
Six
Luke got by.
It wasn’t really that hard, as long as he didn’t let himself want anything.
As long as he didn’t linger in the bathroom or halls, as long as he sat down promptly when he entered a classroom, as long as he didn’t try to eat at the wrong table, nobody bothered him except jackal boy. And jackal boy’s torture was bearable, even at its worst.
The problem was, Luke couldn’t always stop himself from wanting more.
He wanted home and he wanted his family and he wanted Jen alive again. And he wanted all the third children to be free, so he didn’t have to go around pretending to be someone else anymore.
Those were impossible dreams, little fantasies that he played with in his mind in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep.
The glow of those fantasies always made reality seem even bleaker the next morning.
But everything else he wanted seemed impossible, too.
He wanted to be able to climb into bed each night without even looking at jackal boy — without saying, “I am the dumbest lecker alive,” a hundred times, without doing a single push-up, pull-up, sit-up, or toe-touch. Once during a nightly session, he dared to mumble, “Leave me alone,” to jackal boy. But when Luke looked up, jackal boy was laughing hysterically.
“Did you — did you say what I thought — you said?” he sputtered between laughs. “‘Leave me alone.’ Oh, that’s a good one, you stupid fonrol. You going to make me? Go ahead. Make me.”
Jackal boy had his fists up, a taunting grin smeared across his face. Behind him, their other roommates gathered, eager for a fight. Eager, it seemed, to help jackal boy pound every shred of courage out of Luke.
Luke sized up the height and weight difference just between him and jackal boy. Never mind the rest of the boys. Nobody had to swing a single punch. Luke’s courage was already gone.
At least jackal boy tortured Luke only once a day.
Three times a day, in the cavernous dining hall, Luke longed for food that tasted good. Mouthing bitter greens and mealy bread, he dreamed of Mother’s stews, her biscuits, her apple pies. He could remember the exact sound of her voice asking him, “Want to lick the bowl?” whenever she made a cake. And then the taste of sweet batter.
He could remember every detail of the one time that he and Jen had made cookies together. They’d used special chips made of chocolate, and when the cookies were done and hot from the oven, the chips were melted and sweet on his tongue. He and Jen sat in the kitchen laughing and talking and eating cookie after cookie after cookie.
That was one of the best visits he’d ever had with Jen.
It was also one of the last.
He tried to forget that, but he couldn’t. He knew that if he sat down in the Hendricks dining hall and someone put a whole plateftil of the Jen cookies in front of him, they’d taste every bit as bitter as the greens. He wouldn’t be able to eat a bite.
And Mother’s biscuits, flown in fresh — if that were possible — would crumble in his mouth just like the mealy bread. Nothing could taste good when you ate alone in the midst of hundreds of boys who didn’t even know your name. Who didn’t care.
For Luke wanted a friend at Hendricks, too. Sometimes he forced himself to stop daydreaming and start paying attention to the other boys. He wasn’t brave enough to speak to any of them, but he thought if he listened, then someday…
He couldn’t tell the boys apart.
Maybe it had something to do with being in hiding all those years. He wasn’t blind — he could tell that some of them had different-colored hair, even slightly differentcolored skin. Some were taller, some were shorter; some were fatter, some were thinner. Some of them were older eventhan Luke’s brothers; others were a few years younger than Luke himself. But Luke could never fix any of them in his mind. Even jackal boy was unrecognizable outside of their room. Once he came up to Luke and said, ‘Ah, my servant! Just when I need a pen. Give me yours, kid.” And Luke stared, openmouthed, for so long that jackal boy just eased the pen out of Luke’s hand and headed off, muttering, “Fine time to turn statue on me.”
Another time, during breakfast, he overheard boys jok— ing at a nearby table.
“Oh, come on, Spence,” one boy said to another.
Luke stared.
At lunch he watched Spence slip into his seat. Luke practically smiled. Then Spence knocked over his water glass, dousing the boy beside him.
‘Ted, you lecker!” the other boy exclaimed.
— Not now,” Spence/Ted/E. J. said irritably. Or was he simply E. J., and Spence and Ted were totally different boys?
Luke gave up trying to keep track of anybody’s names. He thought he noticed other boys responding to multiple names, too, but he could never be sure.
Why was he so easily confused?
It was like the halls of the school, which always seemed to double back on themselves. From one day to the next, Luke could rarely find his way to the same classroom twice. So it didn’t matter that he was never sure which class he was supposed to be sitting in — he’d never be able to get to the right place, anyhow. The teachers didn’t seem to notice Luke, or anyone else. They’d occasionally point at a boy and declare, “Two demerits,” but they almost never called anyone by name.
Luke wondered about sneaking up to his room during classtime, and reading the note from Jen’s dad, since nobody cared where he was, anyway. But the hail monitors guarded the stairs, too. They guarded everything.
So, Luke reflected gloomily, the note that could save him was doomed to turn to lint in his pocket. And Luke was doomed to endlessly wander the halls of Hendricks, unnoticed, unknowing, unknown.
In bed at night. Luke took to having imaginary conversations with his family, Jen, Jen’s dad. His part was all apologies.
