These Deadly Games(39)

“What, so someone pretended to be me?” said Randall, his tone still skeptical.

“No, actually,” said Sanchez. “Slightly different MO.” He didn’t elaborate, but I already knew. Lance Burdly. Whoever the hell that was. Probably no one at all.

And whoever was doing this wasn’t just after Randall—they were after our whole team. I needed everyone to connect the freaking dots already. Matty’s allergic reaction. Dylan’s suspension. Did they think it was all a coincidence?

With Sanchez focused on Randall, I nudged Akira’s elbow and mimed taking a bite of a brownie.

But she just looked confused. “What’re you doing?”

Sanchez gave me a weird look, and my cheeks flamed even more. Emulating a game of charades would look suspicious as hell. I covered my mouth and coughed. “Nothing.” Sanchez glanced back at his notes again. I looked to Dylan, hoping he’d caught on, but he was staring at the floor, hands clasped with his elbows on his knees, deep in thought. God, this was frustrating.

“Anyhow,” said Sanchez. “Can you think of anyone who’d swat you?”

“Pfft, no,” said Randall. “Some fuckbucket must’ve gotten the address wrong.” Everything was always a joke with him. Even now. I let out an exasperated huff. “What?” he asked.

“Not everything’s a joke,” I snapped. “This is serious.” It must’ve been a defense mechanism—he’d rather kid around than confront the fact that someone disliked him enough to hurt him.

“I know it’s serious,” he said. “My dad’s the one in surgery right now—”

“What about Fishman?” Dylan interrupted. “Seems most likely to me.”

Sanchez rubbed his cheek. “Say what now?”

“Jeremy Fischer,” Akira explained. “Another MortalDusk gamer. He’s competing on Sunday, too. He lives nearby, and he hates our guts.”

“Not enough to do this,” said Randall.

“You sure about that?” I prodded in a low voice. I wished Matty were here. He would’ve been quick to remind Randall how their biggest hero had disappointed them.

But Dylan was almost as quick. “You were first to knock him off the top leaderboard spot,” he said to Randall. “And the way he’s lost subscribers to us—to the channels you manage—his earnings could’ve taken a hit, for all we know.” My breath hitched; I hadn’t thought of that. Was that possible? I didn’t track our numbers as closely as Randall did. It’s not like we were suddenly making bank.

“No way—” Randall started.

“And we totally sabotaged that date of his,” said Akira. “Not on purpose, but still.”

“What happened there?” Sanchez asked, and Akira recounted the incident. “Mmkay,” Sanchez said when he finished scribbling notes. “Anyone else?”

“I mean,” said Dylan, adjusting his glasses, “technically, it could be anyone else on Fishman’s team. Or anyone playing in the Vermont tourney. Anyone else after the prize money could have a motive.”

I nodded, but Randall’s eyebrows shot up.

“What’re their names?” asked Sanchez. “The other people on … this person’s team?” We screwed up our faces—we knew their streamer names, not their real names. But Dylan rattled them off, anyway.

There was someone else, too—someone with a grudge against us all. I glanced at Dylan, who clenched his sharp jaw as he watched Sanchez jot his notes. Did he realize the answer key in his locker was connected to all of this? Did he remember my suggestion that Lucia might’ve done it? What about Akira and Randall—didn’t anyone remember how she’d tried getting revenge? I had her name on the tip of my tongue, ready to risk it all, when Sanchez flipped his notebook closed.

“Alright,” he said, “I’ll check out these gamers, see if any of them have a track record for this kind of behavior. It’s a start.”

A start wasn’t enough. Sanchez didn’t have all the information, and by the time he made any progress, An0nym0us1 might make me hurt someone else. They might hurt my sister. I watched helplessly as Sanchez crossed the room to talk to Mrs. Lewis again.

If he didn’t know the whole truth, how much could he really help?





CHAPTER 16


Once Sanchez was out of earshot, Akira whipped out her phone again and tapped the screen. “You get all that?” she said softly.

“Most of it,” said Zoey.

“Oh, damn,” I said. “You didn’t hang up?”

“No.” Akira gave me a sheepish look. “I just turned off the speaker volume—”

“Guys, what the hell is going on?” Zoey said so shrilly Akira almost dropped her phone. She lowered the volume. “This can’t be a coincidence. It can’t be.”

My heart leaped into my esophagus. Finally.

“What can’t be?” Randall asked.

“What happened to Matty!” said Zoey. “Is someone trying to pick us off or something?”

Akira exclaimed, “What?” and Dylan’s mouth dropped open.

“Zoey, that’s nuts,” said Randall. “Speaking of which,” he glanced at me, “I mean, no offense, but the brownies were—”