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:
And the game was on.