These Deadly Games(28)
Ugh, how had things gotten so messy this year? Nothing discombobulated a good friendship like hormones.
“So, who’s streaming today?” Randall asked. Akira cringed. Though we’d all be on audio, we rotated which two of us streamed our screens and webcams each day. Akira hated being on camera and despised when it was her turn, especially ever since we got trolled—though, to be fair, we’d all felt a bit wary after that. But her therapist encouraged it as part of the exposure therapy to bolster her self-esteem. So lately she’d been sucking it up. Dylan was the only one who flat-out refused, in his rebellion against social media. “You and me?” Randall poked Matty’s arm.
“Let’s do it,” said Matty. Akira’s posture relaxed.
As we loaded MortalDusk, Matty asked Dylan, “You got suspended, right, bro?” Dylan nodded morosely. “Shit. Does that mean you’re technically suspended from our team?”
My stomach dropped.
Everyone stared as Dylan blanched, and Zoey straightened hopefully. Ha. She’d even throw Dylan under the bus for a spot at the tourney—if he couldn’t play, that meant the rest of us could.
“The tourney’s not a school event, though,” I said. Many players were older, like Fishman and his Vermont-based team he’d scrounged up since his usual buddies were scattered around the world. All I knew about them was they lived up near the Canadian border.
“Yeah, but it’s technically a team activity,” said Matty. I squinted at him. Was he really concerned over this technicality? Or was he being a jealous doofus?
“Mr. Ferguson hasn’t said anything yet,” I said. Back when Matty officially established our esports team at Newboro High—his moms insisted he play a team sport, and they couldn’t argue that esports didn’t qualify—Matty recruited Mr. Ferguson as our supervisor. But Mr. Ferguson was so busy running the Science Olympiads, he pretty much left us to our own devices. “So until he does, let’s assume Dylan’s good to play. We’ve got a better shot at winning with him on the team.”
I thought Dylan would appreciate this, but his jaw clenched. Did he think I only cared about his gameplay, not him? Caelyn’s voice echoed in my head: Do you even care about anything in the real world? My heart went rigid. Oh, God. None of this mattered. I had to warn Lance Burdly. I had to find my sister.
As soon as my dragon dropped me off at Bewitched Bay, I let some random elf kill me without fighting back. “Dammit!” I cried. Not exactly an Oscar-worthy performance, but Zoey smirked. Ugh. Well, I couldn’t worry about that now. Fat chance I’d get to play in the tourney, anyway—God knew what would happen before Sunday.
I tabbed over to Google.
No results found for “lance burdly.”
None at all? Huh. I switched to searching on social media—tuning out Randall and Matty’s witty banter and the occasional grunt in battle like humming in the background—but there were no Lance Burdlys anywhere. Weird. Well, not everyone had profiles. Dylan didn’t. Whenever someone asked for his handle, he’d say, “I’m not giving corrupt corporations access to my brain.” And whenever he caught any of us doom-scrolling, he’d say, “Those algos have you addicted.” All valid points.
Next, I checked every directory site I could find, but still, nada. My stomach sank. How could a person not exist online at all?
“Nailed it!” Matty cried suddenly. I jumped out of my skin. “And that’s twenty K.” Oh, snap—he’d secured the third spot at the tourney. Randall whooped, but Zoey scowled—I could tell she hated that the boys got there first. I returned Matty’s mimed high-five, but Akira threw me a worried look. She wanted the prize money for college. Her heart was set on Cornell, which had one of the top architecture programs, but since it was Ivy League, there was about a snowball’s chance in hell she’d get a scholarship. And none of us wanted to be buried under student loan debt like our parents.
At least Akira knew what she wanted to do with her life. Sometimes I thought maybe I could become a video game developer, to create the lush landscapes and stories I loved escaping into. But did I even have the design chops? Would I need to learn to code? Zoey had tried to teach me some stuff, but none of it stuck. Could I devise intricate puzzles and rules? I hadn’t thought it through, and let’s be real—I could barely think further ahead than next month.
Matty happily scarfed down the rest of his brownie. “Too bad you crapped out so early, Crys.”
“Too bad your face crapped out,” I shot back reflexively.
He chortled approvingly—our audience loved that kind of banter—scratching the back of his neck, then covered his mic so the livestream wouldn’t hear, “It’s just nice having a Fishman-free round.”
“Ugh, I know.” But I had bigger problems. And so did Lance.
In the next round, I had to stay alive long enough not to arouse suspicion, so I half-heartedly hunted for treasure chests. “Hey, Matty, I got a fire staff. Want it?” That was his favorite weapon. I preferred a shock staff since its lightning bolts reached farther, and I could sneak onto rooftops and snipe people.
“Nah.” He scratched his neck again. “Already got one.”
“’Kay.” As I sped toward Calamity Castle, I heard footsteps thud nearby, so I veered toward a cottage and dashed upstairs to peek out a window. An avatar with long, flowing blond hair in a pink gown sprinted across the dirt path. I hovered my cursor over them and right-clicked. DaggerQueen29.