Page 31

It was a pistol, and it was matte black, and it was compact.In the dark, I couldn’t make out any more details, but what I saw was enough.I slowed to a stop.
“Go away,” Ryan said.“If I talk to you, they’re going to kill me too!”
Behind Ryan, movement drew my attention.A shape was wriggling through one of the arrow slits in the castle wall.It was weirdly gratifying to see that Keme, too, had stopped long enough to pick up one of the blasters.It was also terrifying to know that Keme was walking straight into danger.I tried to signal him, but I didn’t want Ryan to notice him.If Keme saw my tiny gesture, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“Who’s going to kill you?”I asked to fill the growing silence.“What’s going on?”
“Just leave me alone!”
“Ryan, who are you scared of?I can help you.I mean, not me personally, but Bobby—”
As Ryan opened his mouth—he was apparently unimpressed by my offer to get my boyfriend to help—Keme snuck up behind him.In one smooth movement, Keme brought the blaster back like a baseball bat.And then he swung.
The blaster struck Ryan in the back of the knee.Ryan lurched.His hand holding the gun moved forward, and the pistol kicked in his hand.
Something hit me in the chest.
Ryan crashed to the floor, and Keme stood over him, blaster raised like he might do some more clubbing.
Pain was starting to spread through me.
My only clear thought was: He shot me.
I looked down.
There, caught in the fold of my tee, was a little plastic airsoft round.
“How did you know it was airsoft?”I asked Keme.“How did you know that wasn’t a real gun, and he wouldn’t kill me?”
To judge by the expression on Keme’s face, that question hadn’t occurred to him.
Then he shrugged.
Chapter 10
“Ow, ow, ow,” Ryan said.“I think you broke my leg.”
“You’re lucky Keme didn’t break your head,” I said.“What were you thinking, pulling a gun on me?”
We were sitting in the manager’s office—Ryan had told us, twice, that it was the manager’s office.In case we didn’t understand the honor being bestowed upon us.It was a cramped room, with the usual particleboard furniture and a strong aroma of Hot Pockets.(I don’t have anything against Hot Pockets—at one point in my life, before I had to worry that my boyfriend might start looking for greener pastures, I’d even considered Hot Pockets one of the four main food groups.But they do contain trans fats and, well, despair.)
Massaging the back of his knee, Ryan said, “I’m not going to be able to walk.”
“You walked fine from the laser tag arena to your office.”
“No, I didn’t.It hurt.”
“You shot me,” I reminded him.
But he directed his look at Keme.“I’m going to tell my mom.”
Keme’s face, which was set in a mixture of annoyance andplease let me hit him again, didn’t change.
“She is going to bemad,” Ryan said, drawing the word out with the kind of glee that only elementary schoolers can manage.
“Ryan,” I said, “I need you to focus.What’s going on?Who’s going to kill you?”
“The same people who killed Paul.”