“All right,” Mr. Hendricks had said. “You’re in charge.”

At first Luke’s idea had seemed like a disaster. Boys who had sat still all their lives had no idea how to run. They cowered at the sight of a ball rolling toward them, collapsed in fear to see a football spiraling their way. But Luke had been patient, throwing the balls so slowly they barely seemed to move, applauding anyone who managed even to walk fast And now, after three months, They had a pretty good pitching arm on him, and John was a master at dodgeball, and there was a little kid in the eight-year-old class who could run so fast, he could even beat some of the teachers who occasionally stayed for races.

Luke thought he had every right to be proud. They still mostly played in the dining hall, with all the tables and chairs cleared away, because the idea of going outside was too much for most of the boys. But Luke had hopes. By next summer, he thought, they’d all be outdoors climbing trees, maybe even making up games of their own.

That was what Luke dreamed of, when he wasn’t dreaming of the Population Law being changed.

But tonight, as he began folding up chairs and tables after dinner, Ms. Hawkins, the school secretary, stopped him.

“No games for you tonight, young man,” she said.

Luke gaped at her. Ms. Hawkins never stayed around school until dinnertime, let alone afterward. She was a shadowy figure herself — Luke couldn’t remember her saying two words to him even once since the first day he’d arrived at school.

Ms. Hawkins went on talking, as if she was used to boys not answering. She probably was.

“You’re to meet your brother in the front hallway instead,” she said. When Luke didn’t move, she snapped, “Now! Get on with you!”

Luke handed her the chair he was holding. She managed to grasp it but looked puzzled, as if she could no longer understand what it was just because it was folded up.