“We fixed your hair,” Bello says. “Even that didn’t wake you up. You must have been really tired.”
I slept through them undressing me, cleaning me and braiding my hair.
“Maybe tired isn’t the word for it,” I say.
Bello nods. She looks so relieved, like she thought maybe I was going to die. She leans in and hugs me.
I hug her back. It feels so good to hold her.
People saw me naked. I don’t like that. Maybe it’s silly to feel that way considering all we’ve been through, but no one should take off someone’s clothes without their permission. That’s creepy. I know Bello and the others were trying to be nice, though, and it’s good to feel clean again, so maybe now isn’t the time to say anything about it.
Bello leans back.
Ah, I should have known…she’s starting to cry.
“Oh, Em, you look so much better now,” she says. These tears are from happiness, apparently. “Are you hungry?”
Since I fought my way out of the coffin, what have I eaten? Just the one piece of blue fruit, I think.
“I’m starving,” I say.
“Let me get you something.” She hurries away.
I stand on weak legs. I lean against a tree trunk for balance. Every muscle in my body aches.
O’Malley glances my way, as if to check on me. He sees I’m up and his face breaks into a wide smile. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile like that before—he is so handsome. Even from a distance, his blue eyes shine like gemstones.
I realize he’s holding the spear.
He jogs toward me. Spingate and Gaston see me, too. They stop their wrestling game and scramble to their feet.
Aramovsky notices the commotion, then notices me. He gives me a funny look, then goes back to talking to the people seated around him. I wonder what he’s saying.
O’Malley is still smiling when he reaches me.
“Em, I’m so happy you’re awake,” he says. “We were beginning to worry.”
Spingate runs in. The scepter bounces against her right hip, held there by a loop of white fabric that hangs down from the left side of her neck—made from another circle-star shirt, probably.
She wraps her arms around me, squeezes me tight.
I wince, cry out from unexpected pain.
She lets go quickly. “Oh, I’m sorry! Did I bump your scratches?”
I laugh, a little embarrassed. “No, I hurt all over.”
Gaston grins. He points a single finger, reaches toward me slowly, and gives me a firm poke in the right shoulder. The sore muscle there barks with dull pain. I twist my shoulder away from him.
“That hurt,” I say. “What did you do that for?”
He laughs. “To see if it would hurt, I guess.”
Spingate scowls at him. “It’s not funny to hurt people, Gaston.”
“I know, I know,” he says. “Sorry, Em.”
Gaston is strange. Likable, but strange.
I notice that his clothes are still dirty. So are Spingate’s. No, that’s not right—all the blood is gone from her shirt. So she cleaned it, then got dirty again? It’s dust, mostly, but also grease streaks and a few flakes of rust. That isn’t just from playing in the grass. While everyone was either sleeping or cleaning, Spingate and Gaston were doing something else.
I reach out and brush a bit of rust from her sleeve.
“Where did you two go?”
Her eyes widen. Her face reddens.
“Uh…” is all she can say.
Gaston grins. “We took a torch and explored more of the straight hallway.”
This news catches O’Malley by surprise.
“You did what?”
“We ex-plooooored,” Gaston says, drawing the word out like he’s talking to a stupid person. “We followed the hallway to see where it goes. Does that answer your question, O’Malley, or do you need me to find another way to explain what explored means?”
“I know what it means,” O’Malley snaps. “In this case, it means We snuck away and went off on our own without permission.”
Gaston rolls his eyes. “Oh, I see, without permission. Hey, everyone, I found my dad! Turns out his name is O’Malley. You know, come to think of it, all that fruit I ate is giving me gas. When I need to take a crap, can I just go, or do I have to get your permission first?”
O’Malley is getting angrier, which obviously makes Gaston happy. Why does he have to poke at people?
“This isn’t about permission,” I say. “It’s about staying safe. We can’t get separated. Didn’t you see Latu’s body?”
Gaston looks at me for a moment, then down. Yes, he saw Latu’s body, and yes, that image stuck with him.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have gone off by ourselves,” he says. “But we can’t stay here forever. I wanted to see how far the hallway went, in case there was trouble, so we’d know how long we’d have to be in the dark. I thought I’d get some work done while you slept, so you don’t have to do everything.”
There is no sass in his words, none of the condescending tone he uses to talk to the bigger boys. He respects me. That thought fills my heart with warmth. For reasons I can’t explain, Gaston’s opinion of me is important.