“I’m pretty sure.” If they didn’t take his computer away first, that was. “The lawyer needs to find out which collection agencies are in charge of trying to get the money. The ones that are scaring you and calling in the middle of the night. The banks and credit card companies don’t like to give the names of the stooges they use, but unless Fair Debt’s repealed—and there are powerful people in Washington trying to do that—a good lawyer can force them to do it. The people phoning you step over the line all the time. They’re a bunch of scumbags working in boiler rooms.”

Not all that different from the scumbags working here, Luke thought.

“What are boiler—”

“Never mind.” This was going on too long. “A good debt relief lawyer will go to the banks with your answering machine tapes and tell them they have two choices: forgive the debts or go to court, charged with illegal business practices. Banks hate going to court and having people find out they’re hiring guys just one step away from leg-breakers in a Scorsese movie.”

“You don’t think I have to pay?” Maureen looked dazed.

He looked straight into her tired, too-pale face. “Did you do anything wrong?”

She shook her head. “But it’s so much. He was furnishing his own place in Albany, buying stereos and computers and flatscreen TVs, he’s got a dolly and he’s buying her things, he likes casinos, and it’s been going on for years. Stupid trusting me didn’t know until it was too late.”

“It’s not too late, that’s what—”

“Hi, Luke.”

Luke jumped, turned, and saw Avery Dixon. “Hi. How was the trampoline?”

“Good. Then boring. Guess what? I had a shot, and I didn’t even cry.”

“Good for you.”

“Want to watch TV up in the lounge until lunch? They have Nickelodeon, Iris said so. SpongeBob and Rusty Rivets and The Loud House.”

“Not now,” Luke said, “but you knock yourself out.”

Avery studied the two of them a moment longer, then headed up the hall.

Once he was gone, Luke turned back to Maureen. “It’s not too late, that’s what I’m saying. But you have to move fast. Meet me here tomorrow. I’ll have a name for you. Somebody good. Somebody with a track record. I promise.”

“This . . . son, this is too good to be true.”

He liked her calling him son. It gave him a warm feeling. Stupid, maybe, but still true.

“It’s not, though. What they’re trying to do to you is too bad to be true. I really have to go. It’s almost lunchtime.”

“I won’t forget this,” she said, and squeezed his hand. “If you can—”

The doors banged open at the far end of the hall. Luke was suddenly sure he was going to see a couple of caretakers, a couple of the mean ones—Tony and Zeke, maybe—coming for him. They’d take him somewhere and question him about what he and Maureen had been talking about, and if he didn’t tell right away, they’d use “enhanced interrogation techniques” until he spilled everything. He’d be in trouble, but Maureen’s trouble might be even worse.

“Take it easy, Luke,” she said. “It’s just the new residents.”

Three pink-clad caretakers came through the doors. They were pulling a train of gurneys. There were sleeping girls on the first two, both blond. On the third was a hulk of a red-haired boy. Presumably the WWF fan. All were asleep. As they rolled closer, Luke said, “Holy crow, I think those girls are twins! Identicals!”

“You’re right. Their names are Gerda and Greta. Now go on and get something to eat. I need to help those fellas get the new ones situated.”

11

Avery was sitting in one of the lounge chairs, swinging his feet and eating a Slim Jim as he watched the goings-ons in Bikini Bottom. “I got two tokens for not crying when I got my shot.”

“Good.”

“You can have the other one, if you want it.”

“No, thanks. You keep it for later.”

“Okay. SpongeBob is good, but I wish I could go home.” Avery didn’t sob or bawl or anything, but tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah, me too. Squish over.”

Avery squished over and Luke sat down next to him. It was a tight fit, but that was okay. Luke put an arm around Avery’s shoulders and gave him a little hug. Avery responded by putting his head on Luke’s shoulder, which touched him in a way he couldn’t define and made him feel a little like crying himself.

“Guess what, Maureen has a kid,” Avery said.

“Yeah? You think?”

“Sure. He was little but now he’s big. Older even than Nicky.”

“Uh-huh, okay.”

“It’s a secret.” Avery didn’t take his eyes from the screen, where Patrick was having an argument with Mr. Krabs. “She’s saving money for him.”

“Really? And you know this how?”

Avery looked at him. “I just do. Like I know your best friend is Rolf and you lived on Wildersmoochy Drive.”

Luke gaped at him. “Jesus, Avery.”

“Good, ain’t I?”

And although there were still tears on his cheeks, Avery giggled.

12

After lunch, George proposed a game of three-on-three badminton: he, Nicky, and Helen against Luke, Kalisha, and Iris. George said Nicky’s team could even have Avery as a bonus.

“He’s not a bonus, he’s a liability,” Helen said, and waved at a cloud of minges surrounding her.

“What’s a liability?” Avery asked.

“If you want to know, read my mind,” Helen said. “Besides, badminton’s for pussies who can’t play tennis.”

“Aren’t you cheerful company,” Kalisha said.

Helen, walking toward the picnic tables and games cabinet, hoisted a middle finger over her shoulder without looking back. And pumped it. Iris said it could be Nicky and George against Luke and Kalisha; she, Iris, would ump the sidelines. Avery said he would help. All finding this agreeable, the game began. The score was ten-all when the door to the lounge banged open and the new boy walked out, almost managing a straight line. He looked dazed from whatever drug had been in his system. He also looked pissed off. Luke put him at six feet and maybe sixteen years of age. He was carrying a considerable belly in front—a food gut that might become a beer gut in adulthood—but his sunburned arms were slabbed with muscle, and he had an awesome set of traps, maybe from lifting. His cheeks were spattered with freckles and acne. His eyes looked pink and irritated. His red hair was standing up in sleep-scruffy patches. They all stopped what they were doing to check him out.

Whispering without moving her lips, like a con in a prison yard, Kalisha said, “It’s the Incredible Bulk.”

The new kid stopped by the trampoline and surveyed the others. He spoke slowly, in spaced bursts, as if suspecting those he addressed were primitives with little grasp of English. His accent was southern. “What . . . the fuck . . . is this?”

Avery trotted over. “It’s the Institute. Hi, I’m Avery. What’s your n—”

The new kid put the heel of his hand against Avery’s chin and shoved. It wasn’t particularly hard, almost absent-minded, but Avery went sprawling on one of the cushions surrounding the trampoline, staring up at the new kid with an expression of shocked surprise. The new kid took no notice of him, or the badminton players, or Iris, or Helen, who had paused in the act of dealing herself a hand of solitaire. He seemed to be talking to himself.

“What . . . the fuck . . . is this?” He waved irritably at the bugs. Like Luke on his first visit to the playground, New Kid hadn’t slathered on any repellent. The minges weren’t just swarming; they were lighting on him and sampling his sweat.

“Aw, man,” Nicky said. “You shouldn’t have knocked the Avester over like that. He was trying to be nice.”

New Kid at last paid some attention. He turned to Nick. “Who . . . the fuck . . . are you?”

“Nick Wilholm. Help Avery up.”

“What?”

Nick looked patient. “You knocked him over, you help him up.”

“I’ll do it,” Kalisha said, and hurried to the trampoline. She bent to take Avery’s arm, and New Kid pushed her. She missed the springy stuff and sprawled on the gravel, scraping one knee.

Nick dropped his badminton racquet and walked over to New Kid. He put his hands on his hips. “Now you can help them both up. I’m sure you’re disoriented as hell, but that’s no excuse.”

“What if I don’t?”

Nicky smiled. “Then I’ll fuck you up, fat boy.”

Helen Simms was looking on with interest from the picnic table. George apparently decided to head for safer territory. He strolled toward the door to the lounge, giving New Kid a wide berth as he did so.

“Don’t bother with him if he wants to be an asshole,” Kalisha said to Nicky. “We’re okay, Avery, aren’t we?” She helped him to his feet and started backing away.

“Sure we are,” Avery said, but tears were once more spilling down his chubby cheeks.

“Who you callin a asshole, bitch?”

Nick said, “Must be you, since you’re the only asshole here.” He took a step closer to New Kid. Luke was fascinated by the contrast. New Kid was a mallet; Nicky was a blade. “You need to apologize.”

“Fuck you and fuck your apology,” New Kid said. “I don’t know what this place is, but I know I’m not staying. Now get out my face.”