The Game Read online

  Lia added that to the top of her journal page on Ben in all caps. “Why is that embarrassing?”

  “You know.” He flushed as red as his hair. “Guy stuff.”

  Devon, holding back laughter, patted Ben’s arm.

  Lia checked her phone. “Abby should be leaving her house soon. If I were alone, I would get her at her house, but I figured this would be more fun. We can take positions around the path.”

  They slunk out of the car. Lia looked around her, a pair of binoculars pressed to her eyes. Shadows danced in the dark between the trees, limbs grasping at the air, and a woodpecker picked at a waterlogged fence post. The posts had marked the boundaries of the old park, but as the waterline of the creek winding through the area had grown, they had been lost. Now an old bridge arched over them, connecting the walking paths to the newer dog park.

  The four kids took up spots a little ways off the path. As Abby walked Omelet around the park, they would shoot her when she neared. Lia knelt in the cold next to Gem. Devon sat beside her.

  “Did you stalk me?” he asked.

  “It wasn’t stalking, and no. I didn’t think you would play,” Lia said. “It’s not like I watched people through windows.”

  Devon laughed, and Gem held a finger up to their lips. Leaves rustled in the late winter breeze. Lia rubbed the back of her neck.

  From the dimly lit street came Abby and Omelet. Gem gestured to Lia, miming a shot. Lia pulled a slightly larger water gun from her backpack. She was hoping the longer barrel would help her aim. She had spent most of winter break practicing. Abby paused on the bridge, and Lia took aim. Abby stretched her arms over her head.

  Lia fired. The water arched for Abby, perfectly on target. Omelet, a big Alaskan malamute, rose to his hind legs and lunged for Abby’s face, tongue lolling. Water splattered against his side. Startled, he pushed hard on her shoulders. Abby leapt back.

  “Good start,” Devon whispered.

  Lia groaned. “Crap.”

  A sickening crack silenced them all. Abby teetered on the edge of the bridge, her arms thrown back, and plummeted through the railing. She vanished beneath the bridge.

  Omelet yowled. The gun slipped from Lia’s hand. Gem inhaled sharply, their hand brushing Lia’s arm. Lia sprinted for Abby, the others crashing behind her, and wove between the old posts leading to the bridge. She ducked under the bridge and nearly tripped over Abby’s sprawled legs.

  “Abby!” Lia crouched down next to her. She lay faceup in the mud. “Are you okay?”

  Abby turned her head to stare at Lia and then glanced down at the old fence post right next to her side. “I think so?”

  “Abby!” Devon stumbled to a stop, Gem and Ben at his heels. “Is she okay?”

  “Can you sit up? Wait, can you move your legs? Did you hit your head?” Lia gently touched her shoulder. The post had torn through her coat and shirt, leaving a trail of splinters from Abby’s elbow to her wrist. Lia winced. “Your arm—”

  “Yeah,” Abby said, gaze stuck on it. “That could have been really bad.”

  “But for real.” Devon knelt on Abby’s other side and checked the rest of her for cuts. “Does anything else hurt?”

  “My pride?” Abby frowned and wiggled her feet. “I think I’m fine. Did you shoot Omelet?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Lia said. “And this.”

  Abby shifted, and Lia helped her sit up. Ben dug through his pockets and handed Devon three bandages, some tweezers, and hand sanitizer.

  “Thanks,” Devon said, “but doing this ourselves is probably a bad idea.”

  Lia swallowed. “How mad are your parents going to be?”

  “It’s not that bad, so a little mad maybe.” Abby turned her arm over, and above them on the bridge Omelet whined. “I’m okay, buddy. Sit.”

  Omelet sat, and Ben scrambled up the slight embankment to grab him.

  “Well,” Abby said, “this is an exciting start to Assassins.”

  “Do you think they’ll cancel it?” Lia asked.

  Devon eyed her with a look that said Seriously? “Priorities, Lia. Priorities.”

  “Sorry.” She sighed. “I’m just saying that would suck.”

  And it would all have been for nothing. She would have nothing left. Nothing after what happened last year.

  “Sorry,” Lia repeated. She stood and picked up the bridge railing that had given way. The push had yanked a handful of nails free, but it hadn’t broken when it fell. The nails glittered in the grass around Abby. Lia moved one away from where she was sitting. The wood looked worn down around the holes. The nails must have been loose. “But it’s not like the game is why she fell.”

  “It sort of is, though,” Devon said. He helped Abby move her torn sleeves out of the way. “It’s not that deep.”

  “I don’t think it’s that bad,” Abby said slowly. “I definitely need it cleaned, but I don’t want to be the girl who got Assassins cancelled.”

  Lia sighed. “I am really, really sorry you fell.”

  It wasn’t that Lia wasn’t sorry—she was—but the idea of the game being canceled over something even moderately her fault broke her skin out in goose bumps.

  She sat next to Abby. A few broken fingernails were around her feet. Okay. Lia was sorry about that. That had to hurt.

  “Gem, can you pull your car up as close to the park entrance as possible?” Lia asked.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Gem took off.

  “Do you think if you move, it’ll get worse?” Devon asked.

  Abby shook her head. “Don’t let Omelet jump down here.”

  “You good, then?” Ben asked, peeking over the bridge. “I can walk him to your house and meet you there?”

  Lia texted Ben the address to Abby’s house. She helped Devon pull Abby to her feet, taking care of the injured arm. Abby hooked her good arm over Devon, and Lia helped support the other. Her hands shook softly, but Abby didn’t seem to notice. Abby wrinkled her nose at the bridge as they passed it.

  “I always grab that railing to stretch,” Abby said. “I tie the leash to it, too. Good thing I didn’t today.”

  “The nails looked loose.” Lia squeezed her hand. “I am sorry.”

  Abby laughed. “I know. Let’s just not make this a habit.”

  They got her to Gem’s car and tucked her into the front seat, maneuvering the seat belt for her. Devon and Lia crawled into the backseat.

  “So,” Abby said, looking at each of them. “I don’t want to get the school involved—everyone would hate me—but you owe me.”

  Lia leaned back in her seat. “Yeah?”

  “Technically, what just happened was property damage,” Abby continued. “You could get disqualified if the Council found out.”

  Lia opened her mouth but couldn’t form the words. Gem winced.

  “Yeah,” Abby said, dragging it out. “If I told, you could get disqualified, and that would really be terrible.”

  Fear clamped Lia’s mouth shut, so Devon was the one who had to break the silence.

  “Are you trying to extort us?” he asked. “You already had the upper hand.”

  “I almost had no hand.” Abby hummed. “Oh my God, Prince, lighten up. You take this game way too seriously. I won’t tell anyone about this if you all agree to not kill me for a week.”

  They would be so far behind the other teams if they waited to go after Abby until next weekend, but she had a point. The game would still be on. If they were disqualified, they were done for in the game and in real life.

  “That seems fair?” Devon said, pitching the statement like a question.

  Gem nodded. “I would like to not be disqualified.”

  “And being the people who got adults involved with the game seems less than fun,” Devon said.

  Lia had shot Abby’s dog and sent her
tumbling off a bridge, and bore part of the responsibility for hurting her. It was fair. A week was more than enough time to figure out their new plan of attack.

  “It is fair,” Lia said grudgingly.

  The car pulled in front of Abby’s house. Outside, the malamute rolled over, dirt caking his wet fur. Ben laughed and took a picture.

  Abby sighed. “Maybe also help me wash him?” she asked.

  Devon glanced at Lia. She nodded.

  “Yeah,” Lia said. “I’ll do that while you get your arm checked out. Do we have a deal?”

  “I don’t tell anyone this was related to the game, you don’t get disqualified, I get to breathe freely for a week, and I don’t have to wash Omelet?” Abby grinned and stuck out her good hand. “Deal.”

  Lia took her hand, a plan already forming in her mind.

  Abby’s parents weren’t terribly mad. Her mom was mostly worried about infection, her dad about scarring. They let Lia into the backyard to wash the mud off Omelet, and Gem drove Ben home. Devon stuck around to help with Omelet.

  “So I guess today was a wash,” Lia said, holding Omelet in place as Devon unknotted a twig from his fur.

  Devon laughed. “We can get a clean start next week.”

  Lia stroked the damp fur on Omelet’s other side. Omelet let out a soft ah-woo. “She’ll be okay, right?” Lia asked.

  “Are you asking because you’re worried about her or because you’re worried about someone connecting it to Assassins?” he asked, and tossed the twig away. “I know I said it jokingly, but your priorities are a little weird.”

  He picked out the last of Omelet’s muddy mats—Lia was sure Omelet hadn’t been this muddy when he left the park with Ben, but she could blame Ben for letting him roll about—and the dog whined.

  “I know, but you’re such a good boy,” Devon mumbled. A squirrel leapt along the fence around Abby’s backyard, and Omelet tensed. “Don’t even think about it, egg.”

  “Egg?” Lia asked.

  “He’s a good egg,” Devon said. “I can’t believe you shot him and then let Abby make a deal with you.”

  “It was her idea.” Lia frowned. She wasn’t sure how to read Devon—he had joked with her, but he also seemed a little mad about the whole thing. Sometimes she wished people came with handbooks.

  Devon Diaz: loves puns, baby talks to dogs, and will judge you for loving Assassins too much.

  “Of course I was more worried about Abby.” And that was true—Lia’s hands had been trembling by the time they had gotten to Abby’s house. “But once I knew she was fine, I started thinking ahead. This game is determined in seconds and minutes, not days. We needed to know right then what would happen or else all our plans would’ve been useless.”

  Abby was easygoing, but she could have died. Lia had needed to take advantage of any good feelings Abby had before she found out for sure if she needed stitches.

  “Sure, but it’s still just a game,” Devon said. “I’ve never seen you this into something.”

  Devon was into acceptable things—music and medicine. Lia’s interests—video and table-top games—were things her parents definitely didn’t understand. They could brag about her brother’s soccer and his stellar grades, but with Lia, there was nothing to brag about.

  “It’s just…” Lia shrugged, sucked on her teeth, and shook her head. She started rubbing Omelet dry. “You wouldn’t get it. You’re good at things.”

  “I’m good at things because I work at them,” he said.

  “I work so hard at so many things,” Lia said, her voice rising. She took a breath. “When you say that, it sounds like you’re implying that I don’t work at things. Like I don’t practice. Like I’m lazy.”

  Lia tried and tried, but by the time the secrets to Calculus AB or chemistry made sense to her, the class was already on to some other new subject and Lia’s grade was a solid 75 percent. But with Assassins, she knew her classmates and the town, and she knew how games like this worked. She had finally had all the time she needed to prep. She could finally be good at something.

  “Sorry. I really didn’t mean it like that.” He finished drying Omelet off. “People say stuff to me all the time. They tell me I’m so lucky I’m good at music or that I have an ear for it.” He made a face. “I spent years practicing. They only ever see the outcome, never all the failures.” Then he looked at Lia. “You’re not failing at anything,” he said. “I’ve been in half your classes.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not good at them either. Ms. Christie had to ask my name three weeks ago, and I’ve had her for two classes.” Lia patted Omelet’s head and shrugged. “I’m really good at games, and they’re never important. This one is. It’s the only thing that Lincoln cares about that I’m good at.”

  And her parents were part of Lincoln. The adults of the town might turn a blind eye to the antics of Assassins, but they respected the tradition. She had always known her parents were disappointed in her, but this was a chance to make them proud.

  “I see where you get your mixed-up priorities now.” Devon pulled away from Omelet and gently draped the towel over his head like a veil. Omelet woofed and flicked his head back. “So the game is really important to you, huh?”

  Lia nodded.

  “I guess I should try harder, then,” he said.

  A pleasant warmth fluttered in her chest and she smiled. “Thank you. And I promise not to shoot anyone else off a bridge.”

  * * *

  It was an easy promise to keep. By Monday, Abby’s injury was common knowledge. How she got it was not.

  “She was teaching Omelet to box,” Georgia said. She sat next to Abby in every class they had together. “Omelet won.”

  Abby rolled her eyes and stole a piece of Georgia’s breakfast bar. “Lia and Gem were there. They saw Omelet best me.”

  “He has a mean uppercut,” Gem said. “How’s your arm?”

  “It still hurts,” Abby said. “The cops showed up.”

  “They did?” Lia asked nervously.

  Abby nodded. “They said someone had vandalized the bridge. And by someone they meant me.”

  “Why would anyone vandalize that bridge?” Lia asked. There were too many nosy neighbors for vandalism to turn out well. “Why would you?”

  “I think they thought I was trying to set a trap for Assassins.” Abby leaned back and prodded the brace on her wrist. “My mom told them that bridge had messed me up, so the city could expect a letter about medical bills.”

  “You’re too kindhearted for traps,” Lia said, and swung her backpack around. The mesh was terrible for keeping secrets, and Abby laughed before Lia had even finished pulling the water gun free. “Since you’re still alive, I thought you could use this.”

  Lia had modded the barrel to be more accurate—hopefully—over long distances, and the tank held just enough for five shots so that it wasn’t too heavy to lift quickly. Her dad had complained about the melted plastic smell that hung around the backyard as Lia worked on it, but the outcome was worth it.

  Abby took it with the reverence she usually reserved for dogs and books. “Did you make this?” she asked, and when Lia nodded, she grinned. “It’s such cheap plastic. How did you not just break it?”

  “Oh, no, I broke a few before this one worked out.” Lia tapped the neon-blue tip. “It’s way more accurate than normal, and light enough for you to use with only one arm.”

  Abby laughed and tucked it into her bag as her teacher walked in. “I wasn’t expecting this. Thank you.”

  “Of course,” Lia said. She needed to keep Abby happy for now.

  Lia had heard three different accounts of how Abby had hurt her arm before lunch, and all of them featured the game. More than a few students whispered furiously about how breaking the bridge could mess it up for all of them. Lia sank down into her seat at the lunch table.<
br />
  “How can you be so good at poker and have such a bad poker face?” Gem pulled out their lunch. “What’s your plan?”

  “Let’s wait for Devon,” Lia said, pointing toward his lithe frame dodging the elbows and yellow lunch trays of the crowd outside the cafeteria.

  “I heard about Abby’s fight with a vandalizing freshman,” he said instead of greeting them.

  Lia yanked open a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. “I thought she assassinated the Council.”

  “Obviously not,” Gem said, “because we all know the truth—Omelet’s a werewolf.”

  “Okay, I hadn’t heard that one.” Devon sat down next to Lia, his leg a mere few inches from hers, and pulled out a squat thermos filled with soup. Steam fogged up his glasses when he unscrewed the top. “Regardless, people are a bit nervous about the Council canceling the game.”

  “They wouldn’t cancel,” Lia said quickly.

  “They would if the cops got involved,” Gem said. “One year canceled is better than all future years banned.”

  “Abby seems happy to play along so far,” Lia said. Her Cheeto-dusted fingers left orange prints on the table as she fidgeted. “I can’t believe her arm was fractured. The fall tore out some of her nails, you know.”

  “I definitely checked out her hand, and she had all her nails unless she’s been hiding extras.” Devon leaned back. “It was just an accident. If anything, whoever is in charge of the park is responsible.”

  “Most of the adults in town played Assassins. They know the deal,” Lia said. “We need to decide what to do once our week is up and we can go after her.”

  “She’ll change her schedule,” Devon said. “The one you know.”

  Lia stared at him. “Obviously.”

  Assassins was hers. It hurt that Devon didn’t know she knew that, as if she weren’t able to figure it out. Abby would return to her walks soon, fractured arm or no. She was as picky about her walks with Omelet as she was about her books; she had cried in fourth grade when Sam Allen dog-eared a page in her favorite novel.