These Deadly Games(6)

“Are you serious? I don’t want to move to Maine! I don’t want to leave my friends. Do you? Do you even care about anything in the real world?”

My stomach clenched. Of course I did. I wanted that prize money to help Mom and Caelyn, so we wouldn’t have to move. So I wouldn’t have to leave my friends. I adored them, the way we slipped into our easy banter, the way we could spend hours together playing games and never get bored, the way we stuck together no matter what. I couldn’t imagine ever finding another group like them. That’s why I had to win the tourney.

Before I could reply, Caelyn pushed her door open. But we couldn’t leave it like this. It would kill me to leave it like this. “Wait—” I started.

“No.” She was already climbing out. “I have to get my inhaler. I can’t just laugh it off if I have an asthma attack.” She grabbed her duffel from the back seat and slammed the door, and I watched helplessly as she headed toward the school, avoiding the crowds, her bag bumping against her hip with each step.

Resolve coiled around my heart. I had to win that money for our family. I had to prove to my sister that I cared about way more than MortalDusk—and that a video game could amount to something real.

Something more than a way to hide from the terrible thing I did. Something more than a way to escape from my own memories.

I had to win that prize. And first I had to get those kills.





CHAPTER 2


I didn’t get those kills.

My stomach roiled just thinking about it. When I got to the computer lab at school, my friends were already there, waiting for me, but Zoey was missing. Zoey was staying home from school “sick” today. Zoey would get to play MortalDusk all day. Zoey was a horrible, sneaky, selfish, two-timing—

“You’re gonna take someone’s eye out with that,” Dylan whispered as he poked my shoulder blade. I flinched and dropped my pencil, which I’d been aggressively twirling between my third and fourth fingers, a habit I’d picked up years ago.

“Shit,” I said way louder than I’d meant to. Our whole history class turned to look at me—even Mr. Richardson, who’d been droning on about the United States electoral college. Dylan chortled under his breath while Matty, sitting at the desk beside mine, threw me a sympathetic look.

“Yes, actually.” Mr. Richardson nodded. “Many would agree with you that the system is quite flawed. But … please watch your language, Crystal.”

“Sorry.” I scooped up the pencil and twirled it again. Whenever I was bored or antsy, my fingers groped for a pen or pencil, eager for the soothing rhythm.

And I was antsy as hell right now.

Not only would Zoey gain an advantage today, but my sister was furious with me, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it until she got home tomorrow afternoon. There was no signal at Frost Valley, and the kids were supposed to turn in their phones for a technology-free two days, anyway. And then I’d be at the MortalDusk tourney in Burlington on Sunday. All you can think about is your stupid video game. God, what a mess. I hated leaving arguments unresolved. The tension mounted in my gut until I wanted to throw up. Ugh, how was I going to get through forty more minutes of this lecture, and then two more classes?

I must have looked a bit green, because Matty leaned over and whispered, “You look like you’re about to yak.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll make the team. You only need, what, ten more kills?”

“Eighteen,” I said.

Matty shrugged. “No sweat. You got this.”

“It’s not just that … It’s my sister…” I bit my lip and glanced at Mr. Richardson, who clicked to the next slide in his PowerPoint as he drawled on.

“What about her?” Matty’s golden eyes searched my face.

“We had this big fight this morning … She totally hates me right now.”

He snorted softly. “Oh, please. She wouldn’t know how to hate someone if they were chucking hamsters at her face.”

I bit back a laugh. “Mm, she’d actually love that.” Caelyn adored all fuzzy creatures. “No, but seriously … she’s angry I play MortalDusk so much.”

“No way. She made your tourney costume, didn’t she?”

“Yeah…”

“You’re just chomping on nothingburgers,” Dylan chimed in.

I swiveled in my chair. “Can you not right now?”

“Can I not what?” said Dylan, adjusting his glasses, feigning innocence. Was he trying to mock me or reassure me? His tone and steely eyes made it impossible to tell.

I narrowed my eyes at him, and he stared right back, lifting the corner of his mouth slightly. My heart did this weird little flutter, and I faced forward again. God, I could not figure that kid out. He was a walking contradiction—he aced every exam, yet barely studied; he killed at MortalDusk, yet never wanted to stream; he ranted about social media being society’s downfall, yet wanted to study algorithms and AI at MIT.

And I could never tell when he was serious or throwing me shade. All I knew was that his acerbic wit and razor-sharp snark sent a strange thrill down my spine. That his quizzical, almost unnaturally gray eyes made the butterflies in my stomach flip out. But I hated how I couldn’t read him. How I couldn’t stop my insides from going all mushy around him. How Zoey had thrown herself at him at Lucia Ramirez’s party the other weekend.