gonna start a fire,â Pauly whispers desperately, as if to convince me that he has a plan.
I give him a dubious look.
âIâm serious,â he insists.
âYou mean, like in a wastepaper basket?â I ask.
âNo, a
real
fire,â Pauly says. âSarah and I have been collecting stuff. Weâve got matches, a couple of bottles of nail-polish remover, some spray paint, and a bottle of alcohol from the infirmary. The rags wonât be a problem. Everyone will have to evacuate. The fire department will have to come. In the confusion we sneak out.â
âYou set a real fire, and someone could die,â I tell him.
âAnother winter here and Iâm dead anyway,â Pauly says. He means it. Sarah nods in agreement.
Mr. Sparks enters the room. His clothes are askew, and he looks flustered as he tucks in his shirt. Thereâs a long, reddish scratch on his arm and a smaller one under his left eye. âEveryone up. Back to quarters until further notice.â
A female chaperone takes Sarah and the other girls back to the female wing. Mr. Sparks marches us males toward our dorm. We turn a corner, and lying on the floor is something that looks like a giant brown caterpillar with silver stripes. Itâs Megan, wrapped in a blanket thatâs been duct-taped closed like a full-body straight jacket. Duct tape covers her mouth as well. Her eyes are swollen shut, and her face is streaked with drying blood.
TWELVE
âYou cannot initiate a visit to the infirmary.â
Itâs a desperate plan. A thousand things could go wrong. I know they want and need me to join in, but I canât see taking that risk. The odds are way against them, but Iâm worried just the same that theyâll try it without me.
I leave Sarah a note:
Do you really think paulyâs joke is funny?
At the next meal she leaves her answer:
Iâam, not sure I care.
Sheâs so up and down. But in a way the answer is reassuring. At least sheâs not gung ho to torch the place.
Two days later she leaves another note:
3 PM-Infirunary
Around two forty-five Iâm in my carrel, studying chemistry on the computer, which makes no sense considering there are no labs for experiments. I prop my elbows on the desk, press my fingers against my temples, and close my eyes.
âWhatâs up, Garrett?â Mr. Sparks comes over.
âHeadache, sir.â
He studies me. Kids are always making up excuses to go to the infirmary. Some want to get out of whatever job theyâre doing. Some are tired and want to rest. Some are just so desperate for a pill theyâll settle for Tylenol. There have been times when I could have gone, like when I had that nosebleed with Joe, but Iâve purposefully resisted. Iâm not even sure I knew why. Itâs almost as if instinctually I understood that I had to save them for when I really needed them.
âWhat do you want to do?â Mr. Sparks asks.
âNothing, sir. Itâll go away.â
He accepts that answer and goes back to his chair. I pretend to look at the computer screen. Five minutes pass. Mr. Sparks returns. âYou havenât touched the keyboard.â
I fake a wince. âGive me a minute, sir. Iâll get going.â
âYeah, right,â Mr. Sparks says. âRon, take Garrett to the infirmary.â
Level Six automaton Ron pops out of his carrellike a jack-in-the-box and accompanies me out of the room. I canât help thinking back to the night Harry and Rebecca first drove me here, and the way Harry lectured Rebecca when he thought I was trying to manipulate her. I may not have known much about manipulation then, but Iâve learned plenty about it since.
Out in the yard we cross the grass toward the infirmary. The breeze is dry and fresh, and it feels like fall is coming. A few leaves have begun to turn yellow. The Faith family of females is lined up in the yard doing jumping jacks, led by their
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