Lia had always needed something. She was hungry, but everyone always told her that what she wanted wasn’t right. It was like wanting bread and being told carbs were bad. She wanted to do what she wanted, and here she was, finally doing it, except none of it was right.
Devon squeezed his eyes shut and sat on a mossy rock. “I’m worried about you.”
“Oh,” Lia said. “Don’t be. I’m fine.”
He stared at her.
“I’m mostly fine.” She shrugged. “I need something to do. I don’t have anything else to think about except sad things—Abby and graduation and Mark—and I want to do something good. I want to finally be the best at something.”
Devon cleared the dirt off the rock next to him. “Come here.”
“Why?” She sat next to him, a not-uncomfortable shudder in her spine. “What’s wrong?”
“If you keep standing,” he said, “Leo will see you.”
Lia grinned. “Thank you. And now we wait,” she said.
After the first five minutes, Devon slouched. His shoulder rested against hers, and she pulled her binoculars from their case, cleaning a smudge from the lens. He didn’t bring up his feelings on the game again, and Lia didn’t push her luck. It figured that he hated it and thought she had bad taste. That was the implication, anyway.
She hated implications. They kept her up at night, reminding her of all the missteps she had ever taken. She had always hoped he at least liked her as a person.
“Lia,” he whispered suddenly, “I think I—”
Her phone vibrated, and he shook his head.
“He’s on his last lap and last in the pack,” Lia said, reading Gem’s text. “Stopping traffic now.”
Lia rose to her knees on the rock. Devon braced against her side, keeping her steady. The stragglers ran past, and a single figure bringing up the rear came into sight. Leo slowed a bit, shaking out his ankle, and glanced up and down the street. The runners ahead of him turned the corner. He froze.
Lia pulled the trigger, and water splattered against Leo’s chest. He stumbled back and shrieked. Lia leapt to her feet.
“Yes!” Her water gun hit the ground, and she grabbed the towel from her bag. “Leo, you are officially out.”
He stared up at her, mouth a wide O.
“The hell, Prince?” he shouted, and laughed. “Did you clear the road or something? How long have you been back there?”
“Not long. Sorry, but you’re out,” Lia said, tossing him the towel. “No hard feelings?”
“Man, I hope the rest of my team gets you next.” But Leo snorted as he said it and threw the towel at her. “Solid, though. I didn’t think anyone would just wait around on the off chance I’d be alone for a few seconds. Am I your first?”
Lia nodded.
“I got to get back,” Leo said after a minute of laughing and drying off. “Nice shot.”
“Thanks.”
The moment Leo vanished over the edge of the creek, Devon wrapped Lia in a hug. His arms pinned hers to her side, and his hands clutched the back of her coat. Lia froze, nose to his shoulder and heart in her throat, and he squeezed her once. His breath ruffled her hair.
“Your plan worked,” he said. “You were right.”
He let her go as quickly as he had grabbed her, and Lia could only pat his shoulder. “We did it.”
“You did it,” he said, following her out of the creek. “I just watched.”
“Still, I like having you around.” She laughed and shook her head. “It’s just a game, but it makes me happy.”
Tires squealed in the distance. Lia jerked, twisting toward where the sound had come from. Branches bobbed in the forest, each rustle and creak another shock to her heart, and a shadow that might have been a car driving past slipped through the trees. Devon’s fingers tightened around hers, and he tugged her toward the gym parking lot.
“You’re not alone,” he said. “If you see your assassin, they can’t kill you now.”
“I don’t see anyone. I keep thinking I do. I thought—” She glanced down. Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t feel them at all. She pressed her scabbed palms together and hissed. “I thought I saw someone that morning with Abby. I didn’t.”
“The game and Abby, even though it was an accident, are making you paranoid.” His fingers brushed her back and fell away. “That’s why I’m worried.”
She waved to Gem across the street. “Maybe it is just that. Have you noticed anyone following you?”
He shook his head. “Like I told you before, I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.”
She was pretty sure he hadn’t told her before, but she had forgotten nearly a whole day and her journal.
“Maybe your assassin hasn’t gotten serious yet,” Lia said, “or they got taken out already.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Still a pity I don’t get to take you out.”
“If we’re the last team standing, then you can take me out.”
She froze.
“Is that a promise?” he asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
“Threat.” Lia smiled, full of their success against Leo and her need for something better than what her life was right then, and said, “If we’re the last team standing, you can try to take me out.”
Their new target was a kid Lia knew only by voice. Peter Baird had been reading the announcements since they were freshmen, his ever-happy voice a staticky constant, and Lia had only ever seen him from across hallways. She had been sure he wouldn’t play since he never seemed to do anything except read the announcements and go to class, but to be fair, all she ever did was go to class. It would be hard to get him.
Devon had returned to his usual seat in biology, though he had dropped a note on Lia’s desk before class started. He was being followed; his assassin was shorter than him, which didn’t narrow the options down; and orchestra rehearsals for the spring concert were starting Wednesday. Lia drew an X over her quick scribble of Peter’s class schedule. She couldn’t find any times during the week when Peter would be alone.
“Group work time.” Gem knocked on Lia’s desk, dragging Lia out of her desk and pulling their seats to connect with Devon’s. “You two good with this?”
Devon nodded. His neighbor and default group partner, Faith, scooted her desk back. Ms. Christie passed out a packet of problems.
“What are we doing?” Lia asked Gem softly.
“Proving Hess’s law,” Gem whispered. “Biochemistry, chapter thirty-two.”
“Here,” said Faith, handing over a full page of perfectly ordered notes that were color-coded and highlighted. Her looping cursive was beautiful and impossible to read. “I’m glad you’re back at school. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Lia said on instinct. “Just a bit distracted. Thank you.”
“No problem.” Faith flipped open her packet, fingers tapping at the edge of her desk, and signed her name at the top. “Did they tell you anything about what happened? I can’t believe she tripped.”
“Faith,” muttered Devon. “Don’t.”
“Sorry,” she said quickly.
“She tripped.” Lia filled out her name at the top of the worksheet. It was chicken scratch in comparison to Faith’s. “And landed wrong.”
Faith hummed. They passed the packet around and filled out the ones they knew off the tops of their heads. Gem and Faith made small talk, and Lia slipped Devon the schedule she had written down of Peter’s, a little asterisk next to his after-school activities.
“Do you know Peter?” Lia asked Faith after they had exhausted their knowledge of biology and had resorted to flipping through their book for help. “He’s our next target.”
“He arrives fifteen minutes early to read the announcements, gets to class ten minutes late, and is in all regular classes plus creative
writing,” said Faith. “That’s all I know.”
That was all Lia knew, too, and all she had written in her journal. Ms. Christie didn’t have it, and Lia knew that meant it had been tossed by the janitor. A year she had spent on that journal, and now it was covered in ham cubes and misprinted exams at the bottom of a Dumpster.
Lia flipped to the back of her school agenda and wrote Abby Ascher in the neatest script she could. After the name, she added a single tick mark. At least winning meant they were doing something good for the shelter, too.
Gem flipped through their book and groaned. “Which of you knows how to do problem eighteen?” they asked. “It’s the only one we haven’t got.”
“Yeah, one sec,” said Faith. She dug into her backpack and pulled out a crinkled packet of papers identical to the one they were working on. “My sister had Ms. Christie, too. This is easier.”
Devon pulled the packet onto his desk and studied question eighteen. “That seems slightly against the rules.”
“It’s homework, not a test,” said Faith. “In the real world, you can look up formulas. Look, I even alphabetized her notes and assignments. Flip to H.”
Gem spun their pen along the back of their knuckles and tapped a page in their book. “Don’t bother. I got it.”
“Work smarter,” Faith said. “Not harder.”
The group finished the packet with twenty minutes to spare. Ms. Christie was busy trying not to chide Georgia for reading, and the others were quietly chatting. Devon read over Peter’s schedule.
“He’ll be at several orchestra rehearsals, you know,” Devon said. “He’s always the announcer at concerts and plays. The house has him record everything the week before dress rehearsals so that he doesn’t have to be there every night.”
“I’ve never gone to a concert,” Gem said.
“No,” Devon said, “you haven’t.”
“Shut up,” Gem said. “Lia doesn’t go either.”
“She went to the first few.” Devon looked over Gem’s work on question eighteen and set the packet aside. “You sat in the back, and then you walked out during one of my solos and stopped coming altogether.”
Lia looked up. She’d gone to the concerts hoping something might happen with Devon. “You remember that?”
“Of course,” he said, as if it were nothing at all. That was the danger with Devon Diaz—she was never quite sure when he was being sincere or sarcastic. “Are you the only one allowed to notice people?”
“No,” she said, “but you’ve never mentioned that.”
“You’ve never really talked to me,” Devon said, smiling. “Anyway, it was the height of rudeness, and I’ve hated you ever since. It’s why I joined Assassins in the first place.”
Faith rolled her eyes and powered on her phone, hiding the light of the iPhone under her desk. “Again. Shocked you’re playing.”
“School’s almost over. What do I have to live for now if not revenge?” He shrugged. “Not as weird as you starting CrossFit.”
“God, you’re so much more sarcastic than I thought,” Gem said. “I can’t believe you wasted four years not talking to anyone but band kids.”
“Band and orchestra aren’t the same thing,” he clarified. “Also, that’s rich coming from a theater kid.”
“Why are you in theater?” Faith asked, turning to give Gem a once-over. “You’re top of the class, diverse, perfect for law school. Theater’s like the one weird spot on your college apps.”
Gem shrugged. “I like theater. I like getting to lord my power over the props table. I like messing around with the squibs,” Gem said. “They don’t usually call me ‘diverse’ either, so that’s a plus.”
Faith flushed. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I—”
“We know,” Lia said.
Devon cut in. “Can I borrow your pen, Gem?”
“Oh, sure,” Gem said, and reached into their bag. “Here.”
Gem held out the pen in a flat palm and pushed it up their sleeve to their elbow. Devon reached for the pen, slowly, and Gem lifted their pinkie and brought it down. The pen flipped out of their hand and under it. Gem turned their hand over. No pen.
Devon laughed.
“When did you learn magic?” Faith asked.
Gem had started practicing sleight of hand after a particularly intense middle school version of Robin Hood, and mostly did stage work now—props, sets, and front-of-house manager. Last semester’s rendition of Wait Until Dark had left Gem exhausted and up to their elbows in fake blood and prop knives.
“Magic’s not real,” Gem said. “I’m just impressive. If you ever went to a play, you would know that.”
Later, when school was over, Lia met up with Gem in the parking lot.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Gem said. “You’ve seen my tricks so often.”
“I never get tired of it,” Lia said, wrapping one arm around Gem’s waist. “Never. Except that one with the fake blood. Don’t do that one again without warning me. Took ages to get the stain out.”
Gem unlocked the car doors and they both got in.
They leaned their head against the steering wheel. “I know we have things to do, but can one of the things be a nap?”
“After we follow Peter to wherever he goes at night,” Lia said, patting Gem’s back.
Gem groaned. Lia laughed and let her head fall against the window. Outside, a figure stood at the open trunk of a car across the lot with their face turned to Gem and Lia. Lia raised a hand to block her reflection, and Gem started the car. The figure tossed something heavy into the trunk and slammed it shut.
“I think we’re being followed,” Lia said.
Gem sighed. “This is fun, but I’ll be glad when it’s done. Let them follow. We can take them.”
The car—a small blue hatchback—followed them for five minutes before turning off into a Sonic. Lia couldn’t quite make out the driver’s face, and Gem kept two cars behind Peter, who hadn’t seemed to notice he was being followed. He immediately went home, and for two hours went nowhere else. Gem and Lia did homework in the car, peeking down the street every few minutes to make sure Peter didn’t leave. He didn’t.
Finally Gem and Lia called it a night, and Lia decided to follow him in the morning.
“You’ll be on your own,” Gem said. “I am going to the gym.”
Lia scrunched up her nose. “You never go to the gym.”
“It’s a new thing I’m trying,” Gem said, blushing. “May’s going with me.”
“Really? That’s great!” Lia said. Sometimes she had to remind herself that people led lives outside the game. She just wasn’t able to be one of them.
After Gem dropped her off, she stood there, in the entry hall, alone. It was nearly eight. Dinner was little more than the slightly charred scent of Brussels sprouts—they’d stopped having family dinners after Mark went to college since they couldn’t do family dinners without the whole family.
“Lia?” her mom called. The music in the kitchen lowered. “That you?”
“Yeah! I was with Gem.”
“Did you get your homework done?” Her mom came around the corner, familiar tense face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Lia said quickly. She had already witnessed a murder and dragged her family through that. She was fine. She was. She needed to keep moving. “Just thinking. Can I eat?”
“Of course.” Her mom shot her an odd look and headed back toward the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll warm up the chicken.”
Lia’s phone vibrated in her pocket, and she fished it out. Devon had texted her:
Peter started birdwatching after New Year’s, and I bet he meets up with that club.
My mom can drop me off at your house and we can walk. I’ll bring breakfast. You bring binoculars.
And the game was on.
&
nbsp; Lia wasn’t sure how Devon knew where she lived. She opened the door before he could knock, slipping out into the dark with him. The morning was cold, colder than it usually was in March, and the wind ripped through their coats like shears through paper. Devon was bundled up in a black wool coat and burgundy scarf, and his hair was curled from the wind. He clutched a small white bag in his left hand, and Lia stayed on his right. Despite the chill, she kept a few inches between them. If Devon wasn’t interested in dating, she shouldn’t push it.
“You cold?” he asked, and pulled his right hand from his pocket. “Here.”
He held out his hand and Lia took it. He tucked her hand into his pocket. At the bottom was one of those hot packets that stayed warm after snapping, and he closed her fingers around it. Lia crossed her other arm over her chest and shoved it under her arm. Devon’s fingers curled around her hand.
“Thank you,” Lia said, ducking her head against the wind and hoping the cold hid her warm cheeks. “So Peter bird-watches? Even on days like this?”
“Especially on ones like this.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s a matter of pride, I think? I don’t know. He likes birds.”
It was a while to the park, and Lia’s parents had agreed to let her walk there since Devon was with her. The dark, though, closed in. The silence made the back of her neck itch.
“Stop.” Devon stopped at the edge of a small parking lot, a lush green park full of frost-ridden evergreens and a trail lined with rosemary bushes leading into the dark. The sun was peeking over the horizon, and he untangled his hand from hers. “We have about fifteen minutes before they show up. Some kid leads it. He’s trying to make it a thing.”
“How do you know?”
He handed her the white bag. “If I tell you I tried it last year, how much will you laugh?”
Lia grinned.
“I hated it,” he said. “Here. You like cinnamon rolls, right?”
“They’re my favorite,” she said, following him into the park. “For this, I won’t laugh.”
“How kind of you,” Devon said, and he hid his smile behind a hand.
The Game Page 6