The Wikkeling (5 page)

Their voices faded as they left the bedroom and moved down the hall into the kitchen.

After eating breakfast and saying good-bye to her mother, Henrietta walked to the bus stop. The swirls of scented car exhaust dragged at her tired feet. When she reached the crosswalk, she pushed the button and waited for the picture of the dead pedestrian to turn into the picture of the scared pedestrian.

She arrived to find Gary, dressed in matching tan vinyl pants and coat, already there. He was hunched over, kneeling in the artificial turf as she approached, and his short black hair was combed back, plastered to his head and shining. He appeared to be disentangling a piece of trash from where it had become ensnared in the plastic grass blades, muttering to himself under his breath.

When he saw Henrietta approaching, he stood up quickly, looking a little embarrassed. His big eyes were bright black under his thick, black eyebrows, which were the kind that met in the middle. Henrietta didn't speak to him. She felt a little shy and stood a few feet away, watching for the school bus along the line of cars that faded into the hazy distance.

“I'm sorry I was a jerk yesterday!” said Gary loudly. He said it with such drama; it was obvious he'd rehearsed it.

“You were a jerk,” said Henrietta. “But I'm sorry you got in trouble.”

“Me too.” Gary knitted his connected eyebrows for a moment, which made them resemble an inchworm.

“Were your parents mad?” said Henrietta.

“My mom was furious.”

“Well, detention is no big deal. I get it almost every day. Oh, did I see you go in the new house yesterday? It's right across the street from me.”

“We just moved in,” said Gary. “Our house from before got demolished, and we had to move. Which house are you in? Are you in the old one?”

“Yes,” she said.

“That's what our house was like. My mom hated it, and so did I. I love our new place. It has heated floors! Our old house was always scary, and it made me sick. At night it creaked and kept me awake.”

Henrietta was about to tell him about the mysterious
thump
that had awakened her that morning, but Gary interrupted her with another question. “Do you have many friends here?” he asked. “Are there nice kids here?”

“I don't know,” said Henrietta. “I'm . . . kind of unlikable, I think.”

“Me
too
!” said Gary. He clenched his hands excitedly.

“Well, maybe we'll get along,” said Henrietta.

The bus rolled up just then and opened its door. Henrietta and Gary boarded as Honk Ads blared around them. “
BE FAST AND ACCURATE
WITH TINCAN'S NEW SKIPPING-STONE PHONE
!”

Henrietta felt an odd sensation. It reminded her of when one of her headaches went away. It was happiness.

T
hat morning the seating arrangement for the remainder of the year was projected on the screen at the front of class. It had been created by integrating high scoring students with low scoring ones in the hope that low scorers would be positively influenced by their proximity to high scorers and improve the class average. Certain studies suggested that this could happen.

As a result of this reshuffling, Henrietta and Gary found themselves seated next to one another—the lowest scoring student and the highest. As everyone found their seats Ms. Span initiated the math session for the day, and a series of problems appeared at the front.

“Be fast and accurate,” she said.

The first problem was:

10 + 4 =

Henrietta typed “14,” and the next problem appeared:

25 + 13 =

Next to her, Gary grunted, as if physically trying to push through a pile of dirt to get to his answer. It seemed to cost him physically, which was odd, given his excellent grades.

“Good, Hiroki,” said Ms. Span, as she watched everyone's progress on her screen.

Henrietta was just about to type “38,” when suddenly, she stopped. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt the strange sensation of someone standing next to her. Then the headache appeared.

She instantly forgot what was happening in the classroom as she reached into her pocket for her pill, popped it into her mouth, and swallowed. She clutched the edge of her desk with both hands as the headache grew.

“Are you okay?” said Gary, leaning toward her.

“I'm getting a headache,” Henrietta replied. The headache wobbled one way and then another, and then it tipped and fell behind her left eye, which temporarily went blind. The headache was now medium-sized.

“What's going on back there?” said Ms. Span, removing her reading glasses to peer at the back of the room. Henrietta hadn't noticed, but everyone was turned toward her.

“Henrietta has a headache,” said Gary.

“She has permission to see the nurse,” said Ms. Span. “The rest of you keep working. Don't let her distract you.”

The headache was a yellow, pulsing ball. Each pulse got bigger, and she could see its brightness with her otherwise blind left eye. She stood and stumbled down the aisle of desks. As she exited the classroom, Ms. Span logged her out of the test by entering ILLNESS next to her student number. Gary appeared distracted as well, and Ms. Span decided that perhaps it would benefit Henrietta to have a little help. She scrolled to Gary's name and logged him out, too.

“Gary,” she said, “please accompany Henrietta to the infirmary.”

Gary stood and followed Henrietta out. She seemed entirely oblivious to his presence as she stumbled through the empty hallway past other classrooms to the nurse's office. She tilted her head forward to keep the headache from rolling around in her skull.

The school nurse, Ms. Morse, looked up from her computer as Henrietta and Gary entered. Ms. Morse was a kind, older woman who always seemed sincerely concerned about Henrietta and all the other children who came to her for help. As Henrietta entered, Ms. Morse asked, “How can I help you two?”

“Henrietta has a headache,” said Gary.

“How bad is it, Henrietta?” said Ms. Morse.

“Medium,” said Henrietta. Ms. Morse led her to a back room that contained several rows of closely spaced cots. Sometimes when Henrietta arrived other students were being treated, usually for turned ankles or bruised elbows, but today there was no one. Henrietta lay face down on the nearest cot, her forehead pressing into the cream-colored plastic pillow.

“Which eye?” said Ms. Morse.

“Left,” said Henrietta.

“Should I call your mom?”

“No.” Henrietta wanted the questioning to stop. It was distracting, and she needed to concentrate. She tilted her head further forward on the pillow, to try to pin the headache against her blacked-out eye.

“I'll check back,” said Ms. Morse, and she left. There was a clatter of keys as she logged Henrietta and Gary into the infirmary.

Henrietta focused on the headache. Of all the abilities she'd acquired in life (walking, speaking, reading, writing) this was her most advanced. Over the past couple years, she'd become aware of every move of her headaches. She studied them with the intensity that a deer studies a mountain lion.

She kept the pulsing ball contained, and eventually it began to subside, shedding its layers. Finally, it melted to nothing.

Her vision returned, although the outlines of everything seemed shaky, and that was how Gary appeared. His edges vibrated.

“Hi,” he said. He was sitting opposite her on one of the other cots.

“How did you get in?”

“I came with you,” he said. “Ms. Morse said I could stay if I was quiet. School's over now, anyway.”

“I didn't even notice you,” said Henrietta. “Thanks for coming.”

“If we'd been reversed, I wouldn't have noticed you, either. I used to get headaches, too. Like yours. As soon as yours started, I recognized it.”

“You don't get them anymore?” said Henrietta.

“Not since my mom and I moved out of our old house. My headaches stopped right away. The doctor says it was House Sickness. I bet that's what you've got, too, because of your old house.”

“Did they start behind your forehead?” Henrietta was reluctant to believe Gary had the same problem as she.

“You know what?” Gary leaned toward her conspiratorially.

“What?”

“I knew you were getting it before
you
did. I was doing the math problems, and then I thought I noticed someone standing next to you. I turned to look, but no one was there. Then you reached for your pills.”

Henrietta shook her head. “That's impossible.”

“But I
knew
it,” said Gary. “I saw it before you even did anything.”

Henrietta shook her head again, but not too hard—she was still a little dizzy. “Who was there?” she said.

“I couldn't tell,” said Gary.

“What's really weird,” said Henrietta, “is I always feel like someone's there for a second.” Henrietta still felt shaky, and she leaned on Gary as they made their way into the hall.

“We have to go back for detention,” she said.

“Ms. Span said we could do it tomorrow, since you were sick and I was . . . well, helping out, I guess,” said Gary.

As they stepped through the front doors, they immediately saw that something unusual was happening by the turnaround, where a circle of students had formed. At its center, a kindergartner lay on the ground, curled up. Her face, nearly obscured by curly black hair, was screwed into a grimace. Henrietta recognized her as the girl she'd seen in History and Nutrition, who had left the note on the screen.

Henrietta and Gary pushed forward into the ring of students as one of the bus duty supervisors arrived, a large woman named Mason whom all the children were a little afraid of. The bystanders parted at her approach, and she wordlessly
plucked the girl from the pavement. “Nothing to see here. Back in your lines,” she said, and strode off toward the infirmary.

Gary whispered, “Let's follow.” They walked a small distance behind until Mason disappeared inside Ms. Morse's office with the little girl, and then reappeared alone heading back toward the parking lot turnaround.

“Let's ask Ms. Morse,” said Henrietta.

Inside, Ms. Morse sat at her computer, typing. “What can I do for you two?” she said.

“We were wondering about that girl,” said Henrietta.

“Rose will be all right.” Ms. Morse looked quizzically at the two of them. “You all certainly do stick together,” she said.

“We all?” said Gary.

“You kids with headaches,” said Ms. Morse.

“Rose has a headache?” said Henrietta.

“Can we go sit with her?” asked Gary, glancing at his phone to see how much time they had before the buses came. It would still be a little while.

“I suppose,” said Ms. Morse, “but be quiet. She's resting. Her mother is on the way.” She led them back to the cots, where Rose lay curled like a baby bird, her eyes squeezed shut in pain. Ms. Morse indicated that Gary and Henrietta should sit on the cot opposite Rose's.