Lightning

sane. The Eel was insane, and there was no way of knowing how he would react to being knocked flat.
    As she hesitated, his crooked, yellow grin widened.
    A flush touched his pale cheeks, and Laura realized it might be a flush of desire, which made her nauseous.
    She walked away, dared not run until she had climbed the stairs and was out of his sight. Then she sprinted for the Ackersons' room.
    "You'll sleep here tonight," Ruth said.
    "Of course," Thelma said, "you'll have to stay in your room until they finish the bed check, then sneak down here."
    From her corner where she was sitting in bed doing math homework, Rebecca Bogner said, "We've only got four beds."
    "I'll sleep on the floor," Laura said.
    "This is against the rules," Rebecca said.
    Thelma made a fist and glowered at her.
    "Okay, all right," Rebecca agreed. "I never said I didn't want her to stay. I just pointed out that it's against the rules."
    Laura expected Tammy to object, but the girl lay on her back in bed, atop the covers, staring at the ceiling, apparently lost in her own thoughts and uninterested in their plans.

    In the oak-paneled dining room, over an inedible dinner of pork chops, gluey mashed potatoes, and leathery green beans—and under the watchful eyes of the Eel—Thelma said, "As for why Bowmaine wanted to know if she could trust you alone… she's afraid you'll try suicide."
    Laura was incredulous.
    "Kids have done it here," Ruth said sadly. "Which is why they stuff at least two of us into even very small rooms. Being alone too much… that's one of the things that seems to trigger the impulse."
    Thelma said, "They won't let Ruth and me share one of the small rooms because, since we're identical twins, they think we're really like
one
person. They think they'd no sooner close the door on us than we'd hang ourselves."
    "That's ridiculous," Laura said.
    "Of course it's ridiculous," Thelma agreed. "Hanging isn't flamboyant enough. The amazing Ackerson sisters—Ruth and moi—have a flair for the dramatic. We'd commit hara-kiri with stolen kitchen knives, or if we could get hold of a chainsaw…"
    Throughout the room conversations were conducted in moderate voices, for adult monitors patrolled the dining hall. The third-floor Resident Advisor, Miss Keist, passed behind the table where Laura sat with the Ackersons, and Thelma whispered, "Gestapo."
    When Miss Keist passed, Ruth said, "Mrs. Bowmaine means well, but she just isn't good at what she does. If she took time to learn what kind of person you are, Laura, she'd never worry about you committing suicide. You're a survivor."
    As she pushed her inedible food around her plate, Thelma said, "Tammy Hinsen was once caught in the bathroom with a packet of razor blades, trying to get up the nerve to slash her wrists."
    Laura was suddenly impressed by the mix of humor and tragedy, absurdity and bleak realism, that formed the peculiar pattern of their lives at Mcllroy. One moment they were bantering amusingly with one another; a moment later they were discussing the suicidal tendencies of girls they knew. She realized that such an insight was beyond her years, and as soon as she returned to her room, she would write it down in the notebook of observations she had recently begun to keep. 
    Ruth had managed to choke down the food on her plate. She said, "A month after the razor-blade incident, they held a surprise search of our rooms, looking for dangerous objects. They found Tammy had a can of lighter fluid and matches. She'd intended to go into the showers, cover herself with lighter fluid, and set herself on fire."
    "Oh, God." Laura thought of the thin, blond girl with the ashen complexion and the sooty rings around her eyes, and it seemed that her plan to immolate herself was only a desire to speed up the slow fire that for a long time had been consuming her from within.
    "They sent her away two months for intense therapy," Ruth said.
    "When she came back," Thelma said, "the adults talked about how much better she was, but she seemed the same to Ruth and me."

    Ten minutes after Miss Keist's nightly room check, Laura left her bed. The deserted, third-floor hall was lit only by three safety lamps. Dressed in pajamas, carrying a pillow and blanket, she hurried barefoot to the Ackersons' room.
    Only Ruth's bedside lamp was aglow. She whispered, "Laura, you sleep on my bed. I've made a place for myself on the floor."
    "Well, unmake it and get back in your bed," Laura said.
    She folded her