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.”
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.
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 promising 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.