“She’s so organized,” Lia said. “I bet her closet is gorgeous.”
“Don’t worry.” Gem pulled out their work and grinned. “Once we win the game, nothing will be able to hold us back. We’ll be unrivaled.”
Lia laughed. “I don’t think they give scholarships out for fake-murdering classmates.”
In class, Lia had always been very, very rivaled.
With AP exams looming and their fates soon to arrive in admission portals, everyone took to the lab with as much liveliness as the day-old sheep eyeballs they were dissecting. At the next table, Devon Diaz, Lia’s oblivious crush since seventh grade, was the only one really following the steps of the lab and not just cutting the eye into tiny pieces. His fingers curled around the handle of his scalpel as if it were his violin bow, steady and sure of every move. He blew his black hair, a touch too long and curling at the ends, out of his eyes and rolled his shoulders back. Devon was sharper than any note he ever played, always wearing button-down shirts and dark jeans. He was put together and knew exactly what he wanted—all A’s, pre-med, and no distractions. Like dating.
Specifically, like dating Lia.
Near the end of class, Gem leaned over and whispered, “If Devon’s our target, will you be able to kill him?”
“Of course I could kill him,” Lia said, already calculating how hard she would have to pull the trigger to let loose the least amount of water. “But he’s not playing.”
“Did you ask him?” Gem asked. “You never talk to him.”
“Yes.”
This was a lie. Lia hadn’t asked him. She’d just watched him for months. They moved in similar but distant circles, and he liked talking about music and how math touched everything. Lia could listen to him talk for hours, and sometimes did when she happened upon him talking to someone else and she could listen from the other side of a corner or bookshelf. He had no interest in what she could talk about—escape rooms, games, and sometimes art—but he was always kind enough to listen to her anyway. He would nod and smile, nudging her to keep talking. He was too nice.
And he always laughed at her jokes no matter how goofy they were.
“I never thought you’d have the nerve,” Gem whispered.
Lia held up the small Nerf pistol—accuracy over deluge—she had started carrying in her bag Monday to get used to the weight. She didn’t want any surprises come Friday. She sprayed Gem once, only lightly on the shoe, and a few drops of water splattered across the floor. Abby looked up from the book in her lap across the aisle.
Lia shrugged and mouthed, “Sorry.”
Abby covered her laughter with the book as Ms. Christie gathered their worksheets and took them across the hall to the classroom.
“I could hear you talking about me, you know,” Devon said, turning around. He spun his scalpel across his knuckles like a pen. “If I was playing, I would take you out first.”
“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.