“Finally getting that date, master assassin,” Gem whispered.
Lia knocked her shoulder against theirs. “Shut up.”
They wove their way through the halls to their next class, Lia noting every senior she knew leaving the bathroom with their phone in hand. As they sat down in their next class, Gem leaned against the window.
Outside, May Barnard and the other soccer girls sprinted across the lawn. They spent every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday first block at the gym down the street with the other varsity teams, and Lia was sure all of them would play Assassins. May was in the lead, her bright red hair streaming out behind her, and she threw her head back with laughter. She was pretty and perfect, and seemed to glow instead of sweat. Gem stared, mouth slightly open.
“This is serious. No romantic distractions.” Lia rolled her eyes and took her seat. “And she’s the reason you had in-school suspension for a week.”
“Growth and change are important aspects of life, and she did apologize.” Gem sighed and dropped their elbows to the sill, folding in on themselves like a dead spider’s legs. “She does that thing where she rolls up her sleeves, so it’s not like I could not like her. Look.”
“She’s not my type,” Lia said, “but if she’s our target, you don’t have to help kill her.”
“You’re so kind,” Gem said, and sighed. “I bet she could bench-press me.”
Lia laughed. “Is that a thing?”
“I don’t even care,” Gem said. “And you’re one to talk about romantic distractions.”
Lia flushed. “No distractions at all. If we’re not on a team, I love you, but you’re dead to me.”
Gem reached out and tapped the tip of Lia’s nose. “I always wanted a nemesis.”
The rest of class went as it usually did—boring—and halfway through, Lia added her new notes from her journal to the spreadsheet she kept just in case. It was always good to have a backup.
“There are definitely more people playing than I anticipated,” Lia said.
Cassidy Clarke twisted around at her desk. “Did you stalk us?” she asked.
Lia froze.
“Oh my God,” Gem said, pointing to the blue, pink, and white hairclip keeping Cassidy’s bun in place. “Where did you get this?”
“Online.” Cassidy scrunched her mouth up and narrowed her eyes, returning her gaze to Lia. “Did you follow me around?”
“No,” Lia said, and bit her cheek. “I did not follow you.”
Lia had only taken notes on where Cassidy said she was going. That wasn’t following.
“What about me?” Ryder asked, leaning around Cassidy to stare at Lia.
Lia pretended to check her journal and clucked her tongue. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“You liar.” Cassidy laughed, turned back around, and shook her head. “You better not win.”
Two days later, a hush fell over the cafeteria as noon neared, the silence so odd even Mr. Jackson, Lincoln’s sole security guard, looked up from his crossword. Of all the seniors Lia could see, at least half were bent over their phones.
At exactly noon, she got the message.
Hello, Lia Prince.
Welcome to Assassins. Your goal is to kill your targets with your team without being seen, and survive until only one is left alive. However, as with all good things, there are rules:
1. Kills must have (mostly) no witnesses. You are an assassin, an enigma wrapped in shadows and trailing mystery. You must be sneaky. All kills must be committed when the target is completely alone, and no one except your team members can see you kill your target. If you kill someone who is not alone, the kill will not be legitimate. Also, they’ll know you have it out for them.
2. Kills must be made with water guns, and the guns may only be filled with water. Any amount of water on clothes or skin is enough to kill the target, so don’t go overboard. Don’t modify paintballs and don’t aim for the face—we don’t want a repeat of three years ago.
3. Shields are allowed, but they must obviously be a shield. Your arm is not a shield; your backpack is.
4. Self-defense is allowed. If an assassin attempts to kill you and fails or you notice them first, you may kill them.
5. Do not commit a crime in order to kill your target. You will be arrested or worse, disqualified.
6. The school is a safe zone. No kills can be made on school grounds during school hours, and any that are made will get you disqualified.
7. Do not camp at your house to avoid death. Anyone who refuses to leave their house for more than three days in a row will be disqualified. Anyone who makes their parents follow them around for more than three days in a row will be disqualified. Do not pay non-players to follow you around. You will be disqualified. The game is about teamwork and survival as much as it is killing. You have your team for a reason.
8. When you kill your target, email [email protected] that you have completed your contract. The Council will provide you with a new target by the next midnight.
9. If you are killed and would like to dispute it, email [email protected] with your evidence of a disqualifying kill. The council will decide within a reasonable amount of time.
10.If there are only three assassins remaining, we will inform them of their accomplishment.
11. And the most important rule of all—have fun!
12. We’re kidding. Murder is a necessity. Fun is optional.
Your team members are Ben Barnard, Gem Hastings, and Devon Diaz. If you don’t already have them, phone numbers and addresses are in the student directory.
Your first target is Abby Ascher.
The game begins in five hours. Remember: you’re someone’s target too.
Good luck,
The Council
PS: OBVIOUSLY NONE OF THIS IS LITERAL. DON’T KILL ANYONE. NO DANGEROUS TRAPS. PUTTING ANOTHER ASSASSIN IN DANGER WILL DISQUALIFY YOU. IF YOU HURT ANYONE OR DAMAGE ANY PROPERTY, YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN.
“Well,” Lia said, laying her face on the plastic lattice table smothered in decades of student germs. “Devon’s going to be sad he can’t kill me.”
“No. Romantic. Distractions.” Gem pulled her up. “Gabo definitely didn’t write that last part. He hates caps.”
So the Council was still a mystery, then, but at least one concerned about legality.
Lia threaded her fingers through the table lattice. “Ben’s good, though, and he always goes all in.”
“I can’t believe your terrible flirting convinced Devon to play,” Gem said. “He’s walking over here, by the way.”
Devon usually ate with a handful of orchestra kids. He walked through the crowd toward their table. “Why do I feel like you set this up?” he said, dropping his bag onto the bench next to Lia and crossing his arms.
“Are any of the other orchestra kids playing?” Lia asked. “They group friends and classmates together.”
“Yeah,” Gem said, “we can’t have you and the second violin bitter about Assassins for the rest of the year after she kills you.”
He shook his head. “Most of them aren’t. We have rehearsal every night for the spring concert. It’s too easy to take us out.”
“Well, now you have us and Ben to protect you.” Lia smiled. “Did you read the rules?”
“Yes, but I’m assuming you have it all planned out. You love things like this,” Devon said.
Lia did love things like this—tabletop games, escape rooms…anything that relied on strategy and not luck—but how did he know that?
“Do I talk about it too much?” Lia asked. She talked about it sometimes. Maybe that was how he knew.
“No, you smile when you talk about things you like.” Devon read over the email again, his nose crinkling. “What happened three years ago?”
“Someone modded a pa
intball gun to shoot water balls that would pop on impact.” Lia held up her bio notebook and pointed to her labeled sketch of an eye. “Mark said the shooter hit a kid in the eye and got disqualified.”
She said it in a whisper. No one ever got disqualified. To be kicked out of the game was to be the ultimate buzzkill and loser. Getting disqualified meant you had done something bad enough to get removed and put the game in danger of being shut down. Disqualified kids were basically outcasts for the rest of the school year. Lia would die before suffering disqualification.
The kid who had been hit had deferred his first year of college. Lia’s older brother, Mark, had gotten third place that year, betraying his best friend on the final day. It wasn’t an academic achievement, but their parents had still been proud. Their pride only grew when college decisions came in.
He’d gotten scholarships and a special dinner. He’d gotten into MIT and been gifted a new car. Lia had gotten eighteen years of parents and teachers comparing her to him. She was always “Mark’s sister.”
Not this year. This year, she’d be better. If they had been proud of him for Assassins, they could be proud of her, even if it was only a game.
“Your priorities amaze me,” Devon said.
“Why?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The kid could have died, and you’re concerned about them still being counted ‘out’ in the game.” He looked at her and smiled. “You’d murder me in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you?”
“Only metaphorically.” Lia leaned back against the table. She had teased a smile out of Devon Diaz! Twice in three days! Sure, they had all been about murder, but that counted. “I would’ve made it a fun murder.”
“At least neither of you have to worry about it now,” Gem said. “Ben usually trains during lunch, so we’ll have to talk to him later.”
Impulsively, Lia uncapped her pen with her mouth and drew her phone number on Devon’s hand.
“Text me after school,” she said. “I’ll send out the plan.”
“Great.” He ran his thumb across the ink. “Can’t wait to win.”
Lia’s skin prickled at the easy way he trusted her.
The moment he was out of earshot, Lia grabbed Gem’s arm. “Was he being sarcastic?”
“I don’t think so,” Gem said. “I’ve never seen you romantically distracted. This’ll be fun.”
“This will be perfect.” Lia pulled up her schedule of all the seniors’ movements—when they got to school, their classes, where they ate lunch, when they left and how, and what they did after—and scrolled to Ben’s section. “He has a thirty-minute break between school and practice, and practice ends at four-thirty on Fridays. I’ll send out the plan then. Think we can get him tomorrow?”
“I’ve got nothing tonight and tomorrow, and then family brunch Sunday,” Gem said. “Rusty is ours.”
Rusty was the old red Saturn Gem shared with their younger sister, and it ran fine but looked rough after fifteen years. Gem was the only one with access to a car, though.
“Good. That’ll be safer,” Lia said.
Lia created a group text for her, Gem, Devon, and Ben.
Tomorrow we follow Abby. Gem and I will pick up Ben at 5:45 AM and Devon at 6:00 AM. Be ready. I’ll explain the plan then.
She was taking charge of the team, but someone had to, and if anyone was qualified, it was her.
Ben sent back sixty-nine exclamation points.
A few minutes later Devon texted back.
You still owe me a water gun, Prince
Blue, green, or yellow?
Surprise me
The next morning, Gem and Lia met in Gem’s driveway at five, and Lia waved to the yawning Mrs. Hastings, who was standing at the door. Lia wore black leggings, an old blue sweatshirt, and running shoes. Her hair was in a ponytail, and the only makeup she wore was mascara and some lip balm. It was easy for Lia to go unnoticed; she was middling. She doubted the assassin who had her name even knew what she looked like. Not that she was leaving her survival to chance; her neighbor walked her dog every morning at five, rain or shine, and Lia had walked over with her.
“I can’t believe you have the whole senior class tracked,” Gem said. “It’s creepy.”
“Which is why I’m not telling anyone,” Lia said as they got in the car. She scrolled through her spreadsheets. “And all the information I have, people blabbed about freely. It’s not like I hacked their calendars.”
Lincoln was a strip of hilly, boggy, foresty land in the way that only Arkansas could be, and the car wound its way from the dark streets that were too remote to warrant streetlights to the well-lit stretch of perfectly manicured lawns along Highway 10. Gem and Lia lived in the center of Lincoln, and their neighborhood was a mix of lower-middle-class people and people pretending to be middle class and ignoring the rising costs of their area. Ben’s family was new money, and he lived a good twenty minutes from Gem. White stone columns and peaked roofs replaced the skyline of evergreens and listing power lines.
Gem pulled up to a large house whose yard was littered with sports equipment, and several minutes later Ben jogged out the front door as if he woke up before dawn for elaborate water-gun assassinations every morning.
“ ’Sup,” he said, and tucked all six feet three inches of himself and his modded-for-distance water gun into the backseat behind Lia. He wore all black and had covered his Lincoln-Lions-red hair with a black beanie. “May said most of the soccer team isn’t playing, but track is. Hope y’all are in shape.”
“Is May playing?” Gem asked.
“I’m not my sister’s keeper.” Ben grinned and snapped the bands of his braces with his tongue. “Guess you’ll have to be brave and ask her yourself. May doesn’t like cowards.”
“Be nice,” Lia said, knowing how Gem felt. “Is May in the game or not?”
Gem’s light brown skin reddened around their cheeks and ears. By the time they had pulled into Devon’s small neighborhood tucked behind an old cemetery and the new Starbucks, Gem’s face was practically heating the car.
“Yeah, fine,” Gem said. “I get that she doesn’t like cowards. But…would she like me?”
“What?” Ben asked.
Gem glared at him in the rearview mirror.
“Oh.” Ben nodded, understanding. “Hell yeah.”
“Great.” Lia patted Gem’s arm. “Just don’t be a coward.”
“I’m going to murder you,” Gem whispered, and unlocked the doors.
Devon, a scarf pulled up around his chin, crawled into the seat behind Gem. “My face isn’t used to being up before dawn,” he said, yawning.
“Here’s the deal.” Lia turned to them, using her arm to hide the bleach spots on her sweatshirt. She had dressed for Assassins, but Devon looked impeccable. The ass. “I know every senior’s schedule, so we’re good if they don’t change that. Our new rules to live by are one, go nowhere alone, and two, practice your aim.” She looked at Ben. “Will you be okay at gym before school if we don’t pick you up?”
He nodded. “Never alone. And if I am…” He pulled open his coat and revealed two water guns Velcroed to the lining.
“Devon?” Lia asked.
“I’m assuming you and Gem will be picking me up?” he asked, one black brow arched. “My mother will be delighted about not sharing the car.”
“Great,” Lia said. “We should get Abby quickly. Once a few targets are killed this first weekend, people will get more paranoid. It’ll be better if we can kill Abby and then get to our next target quickly before people start changing their schedules. We’ll also learn who the competition really is,” Lia said. She held out a neon-green water gun to him. “Sound good?”
“Still slightly creepy.” Devon held up the water gun and checked the seal against the water sloshing inside. “I love green. This isn’t filled with caffeine, is it?�
�
“Only water,” Lia said. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He held up his thumb and forefinger. “It only lessens my love a little.”
Lia ignored the flutter in her stomach. “As you know, our target is Abby Ascher. What you don’t know is that she goes for a walk with her dog Omelet to Pleasant Pines and then she runs home before heading to work a few hours later.”
Lia hadn’t needed to follow Abby to know that. They lived near enough that her dad always joked about setting his watch by Abby’s morning run, even though all the watches he owned were digital.
“Oh my God,” whispered Ben, “she named her dog Omelet.”
“I know. It’s good.” Lia handed them each a printout of what she knew of Abby’s schedule. “Ideally, we’ll get her today, but if we don’t, there’s tomorrow morning or when she gets off work tomorrow.”
“Did you follow everyone?” Ben asked, his face scrunching up.
“Not everyone,” Lia said quickly.
Devon scanned the paper and whistled. “Your preparedness is terrifying.”
“It’s color-coded, but the printer sucks.” Lia gestured to his dark jeans and sweater. “Are you okay with those getting wet?”
“They won’t,” he said. “I refuse to die.”
“You need anything to blend in more?” Ben asked. He emptied one of his pockets, pulling free three granola bars, a collapsible water bottle, a ski mask, a sewing kit, an EpiPen, a flashlight, and three gum wrappers. “I came prepared.”
“Sure did,” muttered Gem, maneuvering the car into an empty spot a few blocks away from Abby’s house.
“Brown boy in a ski mask in the dark?” Devon said with both eyebrows raised. “Yeah, no thanks.”
Gem saluted Devon in the rearview mirror. “Who’s the EpiPen for? You allergic to anything?”
“Oh yeah, but it’s embarrassing,” Ben said, and laughed. “I’m allergic to latex. Makes me look like a lobster and as good at breathing air. May and I both carry one just in case.”
The Game Page 2