“That’s not how the game works,” Lia said through her embarrassment. Being so well prepared for Assassins gave her the courage she needed to talk to him. She knew him enough to know the smirk meant he was joking, but still. “If you were playing, I would put you out of your misery quickly.”

“How kind of you,” Devon said.

“Consider it your last chance to rub elbows with the trash people not in the top ten percent of the class,” Lia said. “Your last chance to screw around before you find out about college.”

Lia had no clue what she would do after graduation. Everything about Lia was average—mediocre grades, boring hobbies. Assassins was her last chance to prove she knew what she was doing.

“I already found out,” he said. His mouth twitched, and he moved as if to run a hand through his hair before remembering he was wearing eyeball-soaked gloves and holding a scalpel. “I got a Governor’s Scholarship. I’m taking the full ride to Hendrix.”

Governor’s Scholarships were coveted and a point of pride for parents. They more than covered tuition cost at the University of Arkansas, and Hendrix covered the rest of tuition for any student who received the scholarship and enrolled with them. In reality, it was just a desperate attempt to keep kids in Arkansas. Or that was what Mark had said when he turned his down two years ago.

“Really?” Lia nearly shouted.

Devon laughed.

“What?” Faith sliced her eye straight through the sclera. “What did you get on the ACT? Who else got one?”

Lia wasn’t the best student, but she was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to bisect the whole eye.

“Thirty-six,” mumbled Devon. He stripped off his gloves and glanced at Lia. “Who gets them is private, so you’d have to ask around.”

“I definitely didn’t,” Lia said. She’d gotten a 27 and a talking-to about not taking things as seriously as her older brother. Mark had gotten a 32, but he had played basketball. Lia played no sports and had no excuses for scoring lower than him. “That’s amazing!”

Devon grinned. “Thanks.”

“Of course you scored perfectly,” Faith muttered. Her face was blank, but she stripped off her gloves, doused her hands in hand sanitizer, and picked at her jagged nails until a little crescent peeled away. “The rest of us heathens will have to wait for our letters.”

“I’m sure you’re fine,” Lia said.

Faith loved competition, especially the easy sort that showed she was better—wearing hundred-dollar sweatpants to public school, eating lunch with a full set of miniature metal silverware, and suggesting that the rest of them get tutors like her whenever they talked about testing nerves.

“With a thirty-two and a fifteen-ten, I had better be.” Faith went back to her eyeball. “I did everything right. I’m not sure why I didn’t get higher. What did you get, Prince? I was sure you’d miss it because you were stalking us for Assassins or something.”

Lia rolled her lips together and couldn’t even bring herself to answer.

“No one cares about those scores as much as you,” Devon said. “Here—what do I need to do to sign up?”

He held out his phone to Lia. She pulled up the email she had sent to the Council and typed it word for word for him.

He leaned over her arm to read what she typed. “I don’t have a water gun, and I’m not ready to be killed.”

“You can borrow one of mine,” she said. “Dear Council, I, Devon Diaz, would love to lose Assassins.”

The bell for the end of first block rang. Devon hit SEND, and Lia got up, knocking over her open backpack, pens rolling away. He laughed and helped her pick them up.

“You should be more light-footed, master assassin,” he said. “I’ll text you to get that water gun.”

“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.”