These Deadly Games(20)

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Hello to you, too.” He meandered over, rubbing the dark scruff on his cheek and chuckling to himself—over what, I had no idea. Maybe he was remembering how he’d annihilated my team this morning.

My mind reeled, caught off guard by his appearance. I’d only met him IRL once before. And it was a complete disaster.



* * *



Soon after we recruited Dylan, all six of us had been squished into a red-cushioned booth at Happy Grillmore, sipping milkshakes and cracking open the new kid, when in walked Fishman, basically the Harry Styles of the online gaming community. Zoey let out an odd squeak, and Matty’s jaw practically hit the table. “Holy shitmonkeys.”

“Is that…?” said Randall, breathless.

“Yep.” Zoey’s cheeks flushed with excitement. “Fishman.”

Fishman slipped off his hat and shook out the rain, sliding into a nearby booth. A pretty Black girl peeled off her raincoat and sat across from him, adjusting her braids and gold-hoop earrings as the server handed them menus.

“He’s even hotter in real life,” Akira cooed.

Randall nodded. “Way hotter.”

“You know who Fishman is, right?” I asked Dylan as he sipped his vanilla shake.

“Mm, no.” He set down his glass. “Where I come from, we all live under these gigantic boulders, so.” He kept his tone flat, without cracking a smile. When he finally met my gaze, only the slightest twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

Before I could think of a clever retort, Matty exclaimed, “We have to go over there, bro,” practically hyperventilating. “We have to say something.”

Randall nodded aggressively, for once speechless. He insisted we livestream almost every day, but despite climbing the leaderboards, our Twitch and YouTube channels had been slow to grow. A shout-out from Fishman would make our subs skyrocket. We’d tried initiating challenges with him, but he’d ignored us. He was a few years older—maybe he wanted nothing to do with a bunch of dorky teenagers.

Akira looked wary. “I dunno. This whole thing reeks of nope.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Don’t celebs hate that kind of thing?” But Matty already stood, bouncing on his toes.

Zoey tugged me from the booth. “Oh, c’mon. He’s not, like, Chris Evans. He’s just a person.” I’d argue Chris Evans was just a person, too, but I let her take my hand and drag me over.

Fishman’s date noticed the group of us hovering first and froze mid-laugh. “Um … d’you know these kids?”

“I only just moved to Lakecrest,” said Fishman. “Don’t really know anyone yet. Can we help you?” he asked us, quirking his brow. Was there a hint of recognition there?

Matty and Randall looked ready to pop like balloons, and Zoey squeaked again, completing her transformation into a chipmunk. So much for Fishman being just a person.

Oh, geez. One of us had to say something. “Hi,” I said. “Sorry to bother you—”

“We recognize you from Twitch!” Matty spouted. “We’re big fans! We play MortalDusk, too! I’m Mattastic15! We were in the same round last week! I don’t know if you remember! I shot someone on your team at Calamity Castle! And then you killed me!”

Wow. Zero chill whatsoever. People at neighboring tables turned to look. I cringed, and Akira muttered, “Oh, God.”

Fishman’s eyes darted between us and his date. “Sorry, you got the wrong dude.” Uh-oh. Was she oblivious to his online persona?

“No way,” said Randall. “You’re Fishman, right?”

“Fishman?” His date sneered and crossed her arms.

“No!” said Fishman. “I dunno what they’re talking about.” He snapped his fingers. “Ah, you know what? I bet I was catfished.”

“Catfished?” Matty repeated incredulously.

I grabbed Zoey’s wrist. “Guys, let’s go—”

But she shook me off. “We watch you stream, like, every day. You can’t fake that.”

Did they not see how intrusive this was? Akira did—she was plucking at the back of Randall’s shirt, trying to pull him away. Dylan held a fist to his lips, stifling laughter. If he had second thoughts about joining this clown factory, I wouldn’t blame him.

Fishman let out a defeated huff and narrowed his eyes at Matty. “Who’d you say you were?”

“Matty Wilson—”

“I’m Randall Lewis,” Randall interrupted, eagerly extending his fist for a bump. “Ran_With_It in MortalDusk—”

“Oh, fuck.” Fishman rubbed his scruffy cheek, leaving Randall hanging. “You’re those pesky little dipshits…” he muttered. Yikes—he did recognize us. Had he noticed us climbing the leaderboard, encroaching on his turf?

“Wait,” said his date, “these kids know you from a video game?”

“And his streams,” said Matty uncertainly, thrown by Fishman’s reaction. “He’s got, like, five million subs.”

“You got time for that? It said on your profile you ran a tech start-up—”

“I do, babe.” Jeremy cleared his throat. “Well … not a conventional start-up, per se. More like … a game influencer … start-up…”