These Deadly Games(10)

Randall looked me square in the eye and said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Because they’re not you.”

You’d think a revelation like that would make my heart drop, or my breath catch, or my face go beet red. But nope. Nada. I loved Matty and all, but we’d been friends since we were diaper-bound. I’d never even considered becoming more; if anything, I’d assumed the thought of kissing someone he’d once seen puke all over herself in a bouncy castle would make him a bit cringey. So I felt … nothing. Instead, my eyes flicked to Dylan—the brooding snark factory—lining up his next shot at the beer pong table. He’s what made my heart wobble. Randall had laughed. “And Matty’s not him. Funny how that works.”

Matty moved closer, snapping me from the memory. “Crys, you’re shaking. What’s going on?” Of course he’d know something was wrong. He knew my tells. He knew when I was lying. But I didn’t have time for this. I had to get to room 311.

“I’m sick, Matty,” I snapped. “That’s what happens when you’re sick. You get all shaky and stuff. Just go back to class, okay? I can take care of myself.” I spun toward the ladies’ room.

But he took my hand before I could disappear inside. “Wait!”

I gasped and yanked my hand back. He hadn’t grabbed it hard or anything—it was just a reflex—but he knew why I reacted like that, and his eyes widened with regret.

“Oh, geez, I’m so sorry. I’m the human equivalent of a fart.”

“No, it’s fine.” It wasn’t his fault I was so uptight.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just, when you left class … you looked terrified. I haven’t seen you look like that since…” He trailed off, and a dark look crossed his face. I swallowed hard. I knew what he was thinking.

I wanted to confide in him so badly. If there was anyone I could trust, it was him. But if I told anyone what was happening, and Caelyn’s kidnapper found out—no, I couldn’t risk it.

“Yeah, I was terrified to hurl in the middle of class—” I gripped my mouth, pretending a new wave of nausea was surging up my throat. Casting him an apologetic look, I sprinted to the ladies’ room, slammed the door, and made some convincing retching sounds.

After flushing the empty toilet, I checked the time. Fourteen minutes left. I had to move. I inched open the door and peeked into the hall to make sure the coast was—

Someone shoved open the door, and I flailed backward.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry—oh.” As soon as Lucia Ramirez laid eyes on me, her face morphed from apologetic to agitated. What, had she come to cackle at me some more?

Lucia had been bitter since she didn’t make the cut for our esports team. I felt terrible for how tryouts went down, but honestly, what did she expect? As Zoey’s biggest competition for class valedictorian (much to Zoey’s parents’ chagrin), Lucia was clearly smart, but she had no aim whatsoever. It’s not like the varsity softball team would recruit someone who couldn’t catch a ball. But then she tried to get revenge. Key word: tried.

“Are you okay?” Lucia asked. Did she mean after nearly whaling me in the face with a door, or my supposed ailment?

“I’m fine,” I huffed. Why couldn’t everyone just stay in class? She awkwardly blocked the door, just like at her party when she’d stopped me on my way out. “Your sweater’s adorable,” she’d said, her sweetness fake as aspartame. She’d totally invited us as a bribe of sorts, not because she genuinely wanted us there. I’d shot back, “Oh, please. Your brownie points are rancid.”

We hadn’t spoken since, but I didn’t have time for her drama right now. “Excuse me.” I brushed past her and out into the hall, where the coast was, in fact, clear, and hustled to the third floor.

Yep, room 311 was Mrs. Chesser’s precalc class, which I had next period. Was there a class in there now? I crept past the door, craning my neck to see through the window.

The room was deserted.

I dashed inside and shut the door, trying not to think about how getting busted would land me a suspension. That was the penalty for cheating or plagiarism—there were no slaps on the wrist at Newboro High. You cheat, and it goes on your permanent record. And if I failed, Caelyn would pay the steepest price. My heart was officially trying to eject itself from my chest cavity.

Next week’s key is locked under a desk … A file cabinet was nestled under the teacher’s desk. If I was right about the clue, the answer key must be in there. Oh, God. I’d never so much as stolen a lip gloss from CVS. Was I really going to do this?

Caelyn’s gurgling scream flashed through my memory.

Yes.

Yes, I was.

I tugged the file cabinet’s top drawer, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. Because of course it was. The bottom drawer was locked as well. I glared at the keyhole in the top-right corner. I knew how to pick locks in plenty of video games, but in real life? Forget it.

Maybe Mrs. Chesser kept the key nearby.

I slid open the top desk drawer and scanned the impeccably organized contents—neat rows of pens, pencils, chalk, calculators … and there was the key. Which was really dumb. Someone really ought to tell Mrs. Chesser how dumb that was.

It took me a few tries to get the key in the lock thanks to my trembling fingers, but eventually I managed it and yanked open the top drawer. It was stuffed with manila file folders, all labeled in Mrs. Chesser’s neat cursive. The first one had next Tuesday’s date on the tab. I grabbed it and set it on the desk. She’d already made copies. I quickly scanned the first one. Yes, this looked like what would be on next week’s test. But where were the answers? I slipped out the last exam in the pile.