These Deadly Games(50)

Zoey glanced nervously at the nearby house, still worried about getting caught, and I shushed everyone. We all stilled for a moment, half expecting the house’s floodlights to switch on. But the yard remained dark. Whew.

“Whose turn is next? Brady, why don’t you go?” I suggested, wanting him to feel included. I still felt bad about earlier.

His eyes widened. “Nah, it’s okay, someone else can go. Akira?” But Akira had already gone—we’d found her hiding behind a shrubbery within three minutes.

“No, you go!” said Zoey encouragingly. “You can hide best.” She glanced my way, like she just wanted someone to beat me.

Brady’s brow pinched. “Why’s that?”

“Uh…” Zoey mashed her lips together, realizing her unintentional backhanded compliment.

Randall piped up, clapping dirt from his hands, “Cuz you’re a shrimp.” He and Matty burst out laughing again. Randall didn’t mean anything by it; we all teased each other relentlessly, knowing it was just for fun. But Brady cringed. To him, an insult was just that.

“Guys, stop it,” I said.

Brady glanced back toward his house. “I don’t want to be ‘it.’”

“Think something’s gonna getcha in the dark, scary woods?” Randall taunted, wriggling his fingers.

Akira rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing scary in the woods.”

“You don’t know that,” said Zoey. “Remember the bear they caught prowling around here last year?”

“Maybe the bear’s hungry for some shrimp.” Randall clawed at Brady’s arm.

Brady shoved him away and bunched the extra material from his sweatshirt sleeves in his fists. “Fine. I’ll be ‘it.’” He raised his chin. “I hope you losers are ready to search till morning.”

I hooted, and Matty clapped Brady’s back. “Look who’s talking smack now.”

“Yeah, right,” said Akira. “We’re gonna find you in two minutes flat.”

“No, you’re not,” Brady faltered. Should’ve quit while he was ahead.

Randall opened his mouth to retort, but I flicked his arm. “Let’s count it down. Ready?”

Akira gripped my hand. “Ready!”

I grinned encouragingly at Brady and made a mental note of his bright red sweatshirt, which should be easy to spot, before closing my eyes to count to a hundred.

It would’ve been so easy for any of us to cheat—to peek through our lashes in the dark and see where he went.

But cheaters never win, and winners never cheat. So we all squeezed our eyes shut.

Later, I’d wish I’d cheated.





CHAPTER 20


I grasped for the door handle, desperate to get out of here. Maybe Mr. Saito and I had pushed the remote buttons at the same time, and that’s why the garage door hadn’t opened. But it would any moment. Akira’s parents would catch me in the act. I threw open the door and fumbled my phone, and it clattered to the concrete floor. “Shit,” I hissed.

Hang on. Something wasn’t adding up.

How had Akira’s parents flown back from California so quickly? I thought they’d changed their flight to tomorrow night. Besides, the flight back was at least six hours, plus about an hour drive from the airport.

Each of An0nym0us1’s games had unexpected consequences. The exam. The brownies. The 911 call.

The garage door hadn’t opened yet.

Think logically.

Why had An0nym0us1 micromanaged me? Get into the car. Turn on the engine. Both before I’d opened the garage door. Think like a game designer. Each task served a purpose. Sometimes the most obvious answer is the one that eludes us.

It hit me like a shock bolt to my skull.

Car exhaust in an enclosed space was a leading cause of carbon monoxide poisoning. It was the answer I’d missed in chemistry class a few weeks ago—when Zoey beat me for those bonus points—despite the horrific story Mr. Ferguson told us the day before. Five teens in Florida had driven to a hotel to celebrate one of their birthdays and accidentally left the car running in the bottom-floor parking garage. The next morning, they were all found dead around the bed in their room on the second floor, still dressed, food half-eaten, poisoned by carbon monoxide fumes.

Now, the engine of Mrs. Saito’s minivan purred softly, like a tiger getting cuddly. And I was about to bolt, leaving it running with Akira upstairs like a snoozing gazelle.

No.

They wanted me to kill Akira. Kiki. My best friend. I thought of all she’d been through, battling her own mind to eat without thinking food was turning her into a monster. I thought of all the beautiful things she’d created, of everything she had yet to build. I thought of all her progress, her grit, her hopes and dreams and kindness snuffed out as she slept.

No way.

I was being paranoid. This was too much. But sometimes the answer stared you in the face, and all you had to do was stare back. The exam. The brownies. The 911 call.

I was right. I knew I was right.

And I could stop this.

In one fluid motion, I turned off the engine and scrambled to pick up my phone, making lots of scraping and scuffling noises to hide the absence of the engine noise. Not bothering to see if the screen was cracked, I stuck the phone into my jacket pocket, blinding An0nym0us1 if they were watching.