The Game

by Linsey Miller

  “Thank you,” Lia said. She wanted to go. She wanted to talk to someone. Abby was still so fresh that she felt like a secret Lia should keep when people asked her about it, and she was sure Ben would feel the same way. “Mom, I—”

  “And no more of this game,” her mom interrupted her. “I know you have no control over these things, but this is too much. Twice now this stupid game has put you in danger. You’re out.”

  “No!” Lia lurched. “Mom, the game isn’t—”

  “My God, Lia, what if you had still been there?” her mom asked. “What if you trip while chasing someone? What if they mistake you for a mugger? You have other things you need to think about, like your life.”

  If she had still been there, maybe Ben wouldn’t have died.

  Lia’s parents were in agreement: She wasn’t allowed to play the game any longer. They didn’t give her a choice, and they didn’t ask for her opinion.

  But Lia had done what they told her to for far too long. They talked about how dangerous it was to stay out late, to walk home alone, to talk to strangers. But Ben had been at home. Lia could think of nothing that would keep her safe from whoever killed Ben. The killer had incapacitated him with latex before even trying to kill him. The allergic reaction was all over the news.

  The killer knew him.

  “We talked to Devon’s and Gem’s parents,” her father said on the way home from the therapist’s office. He drove slower than he spoke, his fingers clenched around the wheel. “You’re excused for three days. Try to focus on school and getting healthy.”

  Like she wasn’t right now?

  Her mom cleared her throat. “What your dad means is, focus on yourself. Don’t feel like you have to push yourself to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  It was high school. Students always had to push themselves.

  “I want to keep playing Assassins,” Lia said. “I’ve been looking forward to it all year and planning for it, and we’re raising money for Abby.”

  “No,” said her mom. “Absolutely not. Focus on yourself.”

  “And school,” her father said.

  If she let them know she didn’t feel up to school, they’d just let her skip. Sure. Yeah. That was how that would work.

  He didn’t mention the deaths again after that, as if maneuvering around them would keep the grief at bay. Her mom, at least, gathered her up in a hug and settled her on the couch with a blanket. They gathered in the living room, glued to the news and their phones, and her mom repeated every hour or so about what a tragedy it was. She didn’t have access to the gossip-filled chats Lia did; not everyone thought it was a tragedy.

  “What an idiot,” one anonymous comment read. “What sort of linebacker loses a fight?”

  “The dude better be huge when they catch him.”

  Ben Barnard was murdered and still people found a way to twist it for laughs. The last murder in Lincoln had been five years ago, and it had been a family feud. Now there were two dead kids and dozens of rumors: Abby’s death wasn’t an accident. Ben had killed Abby and this was revenge. Assassins was cursed. Lia was cursed.

  She stopped reading after that.

  She had spoken to the police for an hour the day after Ben’s death, making sure her timeline lined up with everyone else’s. She couldn’t even blame them.

  “Maybe I am cursed,” she muttered while watching the evening news with her mom.

  Three days Ben had been dead, and Lia couldn’t wrap her mind around anything. There was nothing for her to do except sleep and speculate. Her teachers hadn’t sent her homework—Gem and Devon said they hadn’t gotten anything either—and without the game to plan for, she had nothing to fill her head. So Abby and Ben did instead.

  “Lia,” her mom said with that sigh of an adult holding back. “There’s no such thing as curses.”

  “Still.” Lia fiddled with her school agenda, flipping to the back pages. “Abby was my target. Ben was my teammate.”

  Abby Ascher—II

  Ben Barnard—I

  She would get a kill in his name if it killed her.

  “Why on earth would a curse or a killer center their life around you?” her mom asked. “Correlation doesn’t equal causation.”

  That didn’t totally apply, but Lia let her mom have it. “Devon’s calling,” Lia lied. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

  Can we talk? Lia texted him when she got to her room. She lay back on her bed, her open agenda in one hand and her phone in the other. She ran a thumb across Abby’s and Ben’s names, and the pencil smeared. Lia tossed the agenda aside. About anything?

  Devon’s response buzzed in her palm. “Of course,” he said, his voice quiet and low.

  “How are you holding up?” she asked, glad that he had called and not texted.

  It felt weird to ask, but Lia wasn’t sure talking about anything else was appropriate. No one ever prepped teens for deaths. She’d no clue what to do or say.

  “I’m okay I think,” Devon said. “Did they ask you if Ben had any enemies?”

  “Yeah. I told them he was the least likely person to have enemies.” Lia rolled onto her stomach and tried to separate her memories of Devon’s voice and how much she loved it from how Ben’s hand flopped against his dead chest with a hollow smack. “They kept asking about time, too.”

  Devon didn’t say anything for several seconds. “I think he died right after we left.”

  Lia didn’t ask why. It was Devon. He loved the weird, gross parts of biology few others did, and if he thought something, he was probably right. He deferred to her on the game; she trusted him with this.

  “They wanted to hurt him. He would have died even if they hadn’t stabbed him like that,” Devon said. “His arms and face were broken out from an allergic reaction, and I bet he couldn’t breathe. Even if he had won the fight, he wouldn’t have lived.”

  “But how did they know about his allergy?” Lia asked.

  Ben had barely wanted to tell them. She could think of no one who knew.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Are you going to the funeral?”

  “No.” Lia swallowed, throat hot and sore. “Apparently, I don’t do great at them.”

  “Ben would probably want a party instead anyway.”

  He would rather be alive, but Lia couldn’t even say that aloud.

  “Sorry. I need to go,” he said. “Text me whenever you want. I’m helping my dad cook now, but I’m not going to school for a few days.”

  “Okay. You too. You can message me whenever you want.”

  “Mom?” Lia wandered back into the living room and collapsed onto the couch next to her mom. Her dad couldn’t take off work, and she wasn’t sure she was upset about it. “Is it bad if I don’t go to the funeral?”

  “No,” her mom said. “Honey, you didn’t even make it through Abby’s. It is perfectly fine not to go to Ben’s.”

  Lia nodded. “I just feel bad not going, and I know it’ll be closed casket, but I know what he looks like and I can’t—”

  “Lia, it’s fine.” Her mom scrolled through another news article about it. “Lord rest his soul, but I doubt Ben would have noticed you weren’t there.”

  Lia winced. “That’s not nice. He would have. He might’ve been goofy, but he was great.”

  “Lia.” She put down her phone and faced her daughter. “I’m sorry. You’re right, and that wasn’t what I meant. Ben Barnard was a very good boy, and he certainly wouldn’t want you to be sad on his account.”

  Lia peeked at her mom’s phone: PROMISING FOOTBALL STAR STRUCK DOWN IN PRIME—RANDOM OR REVENGE?

  Lia shook her head. Abby had been reduced to her promising test scores, and Ben now to his promising sport.

  “Are you sadder about Abby dying?” Lia asked softly.

  “I’m sad two very promis
ing kids are gone,” her mom said. “I’m sad for them and what they could be, and for their parents.”

  But what if Abby and Ben hadn’t been promising?

  “Let us look at the one bright thing that may come from this.” Her mom picked up her phone again and wrapped her other arm over Lia’s shoulders. “Someone else might get Abby’s scholarship now and go on to do great things they might not have had a chance to do otherwise. Abby would like that.”

  Abby would like living, and it would suck to wonder forever if you only got a reward because someone else died.

  “They haven’t caught Ben’s killer yet,” Lia said. “They’re still out there.”

  “Wherever he is, I am sure the police are closing in on him,” her mom said. She looked up, her gaze going from Lia’s face to her clenched hands. “Those families have been through enough. You’re not a detective. They don’t need someone stalking them and playing hero.”

  But she already had stalked them. She knew nearly everything about Ben’s daily schedule and the daily lives of most of her classmates. Abby’s death was an accident, but Ben’s was intentional. How did they even know about his allergy? she wondered again.

  Her phone dinged, and Lia jumped. It was the Council.

  “I have homework,” Lia said too quickly and too loudly. “I’m going to go do it.”

  She dashed to her room before her mom could respond.

  Hello, assassins.

  The game is not canceled. The game is never canceled. All memorials, funerals, and graveyards are now off-limits. The money collected will be split between the animal shelter and the Boys & Girls Club. Ben Barnard was one of us. But we are not of Lincoln High. It has no authority over us. Lincoln has no authority over us. The game continues no matter who tries to stop it. For every assassin who keeps playing, the Council will donate $5. For every assassin taken out, the Council will match the players’ donations.

  Play for Abby and Ben. Win for them.

  Happy hunting,

  The Council

  By Wednesday, when Lia returned to school with Gem and Devon, the halls were still filled with whispers and rumors about Ben. Lincoln was a small town, and everybody knew somebody in the know. Lia barely listened to their history teacher talking about grief counseling. She had finished her missing work the night before, and it only took a quarter of class to finish the new homework due Friday. Instead of taking notes, she went over her list of possible Assassins players.

  If she didn’t, if she stopped thinking about school or the game, she would think about Abby and Ben. She couldn’t think about them yet.

  Much of the class couldn’t seem to either. No one was in their regular seat, not even Faith. She had swapped with Georgia so that Abby’s best friend didn’t have to sit near an empty chair.

  “And finally,” said Ms. Christie, straightening the papers in her hands, “I believe you’ll all be getting emails today detailing how that little game you all play every year is banned on school grounds. Anyone still found playing after today will be given in-school suspension for three days minimum, and repeat offenders will not be allowed to walk at graduation. This is, of course, for your safety.”

  Lia’s fingers clenched around her pen. “What?”

  Faith glanced sideways at Lia, and Devon touched her shoulder from his seat behind her.

  “Assassins,” Ms. Christie said, looking at Lia. “No more of that unless you want in-school suspension.”

  Lia didn’t listen to anything after that.

  A few hours later, outside at lunch, Devon sat next to her and held up his hand before she could talk. “I’m thinking about withdrawing from the game. I don’t really want to talk about it, but I wanted to let you know.”

  An uneasy energy settled in Lia, and she tapped her heels against the ground. This was the first time they had ever gotten to spend time together, and now it was almost over.

  “I’m not getting in-school suspension or banned from walking,” Devon went on, trying to convince Lia as well as himself. “My mom doesn’t want me walking around outside anymore either.”

  “You don’t have to go out,” Lia said. “Please. We can keep playing from inside the safety of Gem’s car.”

  “I haven’t decided,” he said. “I was only putting it on the table.”

  “Ben was home,” Lia whispered. “They were in his backyard, and they stabbed him so hard they couldn’t get the knife out. They wore latex gloves so he couldn’t fight back. Not playing isn’t going to keep us safe. If anything, we should spend more time together.”

  “But it might keep us safer, especially since they don’t know who killed Ben.” Devon unsnapped his lunch box and pulled out a sandwich. “Or why.”

  “Yeah, but what’s the likelihood it’s a serial killer?” Lia asked, picking at the knot of the Kroger bag she used for lunch. “Isn’t it always a family member or friend? We could win, and if we donate a lot, they have to match it.”

  Devon waved to someone behind Lia and shook his head. “We can donate and volunteer without wandering around in the dark.”

  “It’s not like we would be alone like Ben,” mumbled Lia. They shouldn’t have left. They should’ve stayed. They should’ve done anything else. “Our grief is making serial killers out of circumstance.”

  “Pithy but too late,” Devon said. “Faith, you still want to swap?”

  The other girl appeared near Lia’s left shoulder and sat delicately at the end of the plastic bench. She pulled a paper napkin out of her metal lunch box and laid it on her knee. Devon handed her a sandwich bag of crackers. She set a knob of tinfoil in front of him.

  “Wow,” Gem said. “This is the most secretive I’ve ever seen you. A lunchtime swap, mysterious tinfoil. It’s so clandestine.”

  Faith laughed. “I don’t like eating garlic bread at school.”

  “Fair.” Lia took a sip of her water to hide her wince. She hadn’t heard such a loud laugh since before Ben. “You can stay and eat with us.”

  “Thanks, but I do not do the cold.” She wiggled her gloved fingers as if playing a piano and tossed her fancy silverware, new crackers, and napkin back into her lunch bag. “My fingers get all shaky, and I told Georgia I’d eat with her.”

  She waved goodbye, and Lia ripped the handles off her lunch bag. A team of two people was at a severe disadvantage, but Lia had been planning for months. Maybe she could do it alone.

  “I’m going to keep playing,” Lia told him. “I hope you do, too.”

  Devon got up abruptly. “I’ll let you know.” And then he walked away.

  “So I guess you’re not dating, then?” Gem asked.

  Lia groaned. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to think and can’t think and need to think about something not Abby or Ben, and Assassins is that for me right now.” She picked up Devon’s forgotten garlic bread, peeled back the foil, and tossed a piece into the bushes. A robin pecked at the bread and dragged a chunk back to a small tree.

  “You want to get milkshakes and see if we can knock Nora out after school?” Gem asked.

  Lia nodded.

  The rest of the day was a blur. Lia didn’t have another class with Devon, and though they had texted over the last few days, they hadn’t talked about what happened at Ben’s party. Death put a damper on dating.

  I just feel weird about it is all, he texted her, unprompted, during third period. It’s a game, and you’re treating it like it’s real.

  She had no idea how to respond to that, so she settled on Okay.

  It was bad.

  “So,” Gem said as they sat in their car after school. “Nora.”

  “She goes to that big park down by the river after school before heading home,” Lia said. “Jogs, does resistance training, and yoga, depending on the day.”

  “Okay.” Gem started the car. “Let’s go f
ake-kill Nora.”

  They grabbed milkshakes and snacks, and Gem pulled over outside the park. It was one of those private parks owned by a homeowners association, and the gate to get into the lot was locked, a lone woman enjoying the solitude of the park and snapping selfies in front of the flower beds. They would have to get Nora on her way in or out, or find a way inside. Gem cracked a window and Lia pushed her seatback down.

  “So you and Devon vanished for a while the other night.” Gem sipped their drink. “Have fun?”

  Lia sank down in her seat. “Yes.”

  “You want to expand on that?”

  “Not really,” Lia said. “I feel sort of guilty about it now. You know.”

  Gem sucked on their teeth and nodded. “I don’t know if I should message May condolences or something. It feels…”

  “Like we left him to die but not really?” Lia offered.

  “Yeah,” Gem said. “What if we’d stayed later? What if we’d gotten there earlier?”

  “What ifs don’t bring people back. They just make us worry,” Lia whispered. Her therapist had told her that. “They might have just killed him the next time he was alone. We were just orbiting.”

  If death were a planet, Abby’s and Ben’s families were rings. Lia and Gem were distant moons or cold, observant stars.

  “If we keep this conversation up, I will cry, so I’m throwing you under the bus,” Gem said. “You and Devon make out?”

  “Oh my God.” Lia folded over her knees but nodded. “What does it mean?”

  Gem practically squealed. “It means you were wrong all these years!”

  “But it’s not good circumstances,” Lia said. “At all.”

  “Are you still talking?”

  “Yeah,” Lia said, “and I’ll see him tomorrow in class.”

  “Amazing,” Gem said.

  “Are you just excited because I was wrong?” Lia asked.

  “Blah blah blah I’m happy for you whatever.” Gem waved their hand. “So rarely can I say ‘I told you so.’ Let me have this.”