Bryan risked looking her in the eyes, the same color as half the leaves drifting lazily to the grass below. Jess, who remembered about the sandwich. Who talked about him sometimes. Who didn’t like things perfect—thank God. She’d wanted him to walk her home. Him.
From around the front of the house, Bryan thought he could hear shouting, but Jess didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. She was looking back at Bryan, daring him, it seemed, to speak. There was no turning back now.
“I’m going to say something, and it’s probably going to sound stupid or lame, but just let me get it out and try not to laugh, okay?”
Jess nodded, not taking her eyes off of him. He thought about everything he’d been through today, everything he’d done. This, by far, was the hardest. He took a deep breath.
Jess Alcorn—I have battled witches and Tanks. I have stolen treasure and fought in wars and solved equations and nearly been run over, twice. I have faced spiders and mice and Bosses and Princes. I have been beaten, again and again, but I’ve continued and continued and continued. And now, finally, I’m here. Finally I think I can say what I’ve wanted to say for years.
Bryan set the penny on the ledge between them.
“This has probably been the absolute worst day of my life,” he said, breathless. “But right now . . . at this moment . . . it’s totally worth it.”
Jess shook her head, but she didn’t laugh.
“You’re kinda weird. You know that, right?” she asked.
Bryan nodded. It was hard to argue, but it wasn’t exactly the response he was hoping for.
Before he could say anything else, though, Jess smiled. “But you’re pretty sweet, too.” She looked up at the moon, then reached for the penny on the ledge, balancing it carefully on her thumbnail. “Make a wish,” she said.
“Me?”
“It’s your penny,” she said.
So Bryan shut his eyes; he made a wish, then he opened them just as Jess flicked the penny into the night. He watched it, his last coin, pirouette up over the ledge, heads over tails, glinting once, like a firefly, before disappearing into the electric-blue water of the pool below. Then Jess turned so that their noses were almost touching, and he could feel her breath on his cheek.
“So this is how it ends,” he said.
“Maybe not,” she said with a shrug.
Bryan Biggins closed his eyes.
He never saw the writing in the sky.
He didn’t need to.
Saturday
The Day After Friday
Bryan Biggins sat up with a start.
Somehow he had slept through his alarm. He looked at the clock sitting by his bed. It was already 9:38. He had overslept. He was late for school. Forget being late for Mr. Tennenbaum’s class again. He had slept through math entirely.
Then it hit him: It was Saturday. His parents had let him sleep in. He had dropped off the moment his body hit the sheets and hadn’t moved.
And he had been having the strangest dream.
Bryan rubbed his eyes and stretched his legs, swinging them easily out of bed. He was still dressed in last night’s clothes. The filthy jeans. The sweaty T-shirt. He put his head in his hands, trying to sift through the muddled fog in his brain, trying to remember everything that had happened, to separate what was real from what wasn’t, when something on his nightstand began to buzz. He panicked, one hand instinctively reaching for his pocket, for a nickel or dime, and finding it empty. Then he relaxed.
It was only his phone. He had two new text messages already this morning. The first was a long one from Oz, saying that he would have to cancel Saturday-night game night and the next ten game nights on account of being grounded for stealing his mom’s stun guns and getting chased off private property, but that it was worth it just to see the looks on everyone’s faces last night. He asked Bryan to call him as soon as he got the chance because they had a lot to talk about.
The second was from her.
Free this afternoon? Wanna hang out at the park? Sandwiches. No mustard. Y/N?
Bryan smiled a cracked and swollen smile.
The girl you like asks you if you want to hang out at the park. Yes or no. Press any key to continue.
Bryan took a deep breath, finger poised over his phone.
He had never been 100 percent completely sure of anything in his life.
Until now.
Epilogue:
Defeating the Demon King . . . Again. Again.
“Greetings, chosen one. I have been expecting you.”
“Oh, you have, have you?”
“Welcome to my lair.”
“Seen it all before, jerkwad.”
“I had hoped you would join me, but now I see that your heart is impure. I have no choice but to destroy you.”
“Right. Like to see you try.”
“Then let us begin, warrior, so I can wallow in a bath of your cruor.”
“Oh yeah. Bring it. Taste that. Hmm? You like that? Want a little more? Oh, really? You’re off to see the wizard now, baby. You thought my buddy Bryan was tough? Wait till you see what I got planned for you. You think that’s going to work? Chew on this. . . . Oh yeah. See that? Here it comes. HERE . . . IT . . . COMES. And skadabam!”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
“Yeah! Take that, you exploding chunk monkey. That’s right. Who da man? Who da MAN? Who da . . . what the heck?”
Oswaldo froze in his chair and stared dumbly at the screen as the pieces of the Demon King reassembled themselves before his very eyes.
“Congratulations, warrior. It is time for your true journey to begin.”
Acknowledgments
This book is dedicated to fun. No doubt I will hear about this from my wife, children, and/or mother, but I dedicated the book to the very thing it was written for. Writing Insert Coin to Continue was a romp. It made me feel like I was twelve again, but not in a here-comes-the-acne-and-awkwardness way. In a good way. In a did-you-know-there-was-a-secret-code-that-gives-you-infinite-lives kind of way. In a first kiss kind of way.
And there are a lot of people I have to thank for making it such a blast to write.
First off—big thanks to Amy Cloud, my editor, who sounds like she should be the protagonist in a kick-butt RPG. Thank you for your unending patience, wisdom, and enthusiasm, and for helping this book reach the next level without making me start over. You are the Clank to my Ratchet. The power pellet to my Pacman. The Luigi to my Mar . . . you know what . . . I’ll just stop there.
To the rest of the team at Aladdin—Mandy Veloso, Erica Stahler, and Karin Paprocki—many thanks for correcting my math and for whipping Coin into shape. I couldn’t have asked for a better squad. Thanks also to Orlando Arocena for making the little boy inside me pine for the days of dropping quarters into Galaga every time I look at this awesome cover.
Thanks to Adams Literary for their persistence, finding a home for all of my stories, even the whacky ones. I’m going to try and get you guys to publish my collection of limericks from the second grade next.
To my family and friends for their continued support—to my lovely wife, Alithea, and especially to my kids, Nick and Isabella, who are in many ways responsible for this book. Life is a crazy game. There are a lot of levels to gain, a lot of puzzles to solve, a lot of bosses to beat, but you have taught me to have fun playing and never give up.
Because the rewards are worth unlocking.
About the Author
JOHN DAVID ANDERSON writes novels for young people and then, occasionally, gets them published. He is the author of Ms. Bixby's Last Day, Sidekicked, Standard Hero Behavior, Minion, and The Dungeoneers. He lives with his patient wife and brilliant twins in Indianapolis, Indiana, right next to a state park and a Walmart. He enjoys hiking, reading, chocolate, spending time with his family, playing the piano, chocolate, not putting away his laundry, watching movies, and chocolate. He likes video games where mustachioed plumbers fall into pools of lava and thinks twenty minutes of Dance Dance R
evolution counts as a full cardio workout. He has leveled up forty-one times, but he hasn't grown up yet.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN
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First Aladdin hardcover edition September 2016
Text copyright © 2016 by John David Anderson
Jacket illustration copyright © 2016 by Orlando Arocena
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Jacket designed by Karin Paprocki
Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia
The text of this book was set in Avenir LT Std.
This book has been cataloged with the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4814-4704-1 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-4706-5 (eBook)
Insert Coin to Continue Page 19