She goes to the message center, where Ned—as CritterMaster99, his log-in—can exchange messages with other Critterscape players.

Ned has far more messages than one usually would.

She reads through them:

Looking for 5 Shockersquirrels?

Hey I need some Dangersaurs for later.

Need 10 Dangersaurs, 5 Sleeperdoodles, and 5 Boomdogs.

And so on and so on. She checks his “Critter” inventory—he only has a few of the digital creatures, certainly not enough for these proposed trades. But that’s not what they are.

She calls Ned. He answers on the first ring.

“Where are you?” she asks.

“Mike is driving us to the airport to get my dad,” Ned says. He sounds broken, miserable.

“You’re going to send me a text,” she says. “And you’re going to tell me what the code names are for each of the prescriptions inside the game.”

Silence. “I asked you not to mess with this.” He can’t say more because he’s in the car with Mike.

“If you don’t fulfill these orders, you’re going to get into trouble. Is that why Marland is around? He’s the guy who’s supplying you.”

“Please. My mom is dead and I can’t deal with this right now.”

“OK. Then I can tell everyone who messages you you’re out of the business. That’s one solution, Ned. Please, take it. You have to stop this.”

In the background she can hear Mike saying something reassuring, clearly having no idea what the discussion is.

“Not now. Do nothing until we talk, OK? I don’t want you to mess up my project.”

“Good luck with your dad,” she said, and she meant it. He hung up.

She waited and the text came: Shockersquirrels: Xanax. Boomdogs: Percocet. And so on, every Critter tied to a prescription drug. She made a list on a piece of paper and then went back through his messages. He had around seventy looking to buy in “Critter trades.” No mention of drugs or money. Everything was coded to terms used in the game.

She felt sick. How could she get him out of this ring or scheme or whatever it was without destroying his future by going to the police? He’d told her last week because he’d needed a way out, he’d said. His words rang in her ears: I can’t tell my mom. This would kill her. And I can’t let my friends deal with this guy. He’s dangerous. How do I shut this down?

Why would you even do this?

He said I could make a lot of money.

He who?

This guy I met. He had the supply; he needed the customers. The game would keep us from getting caught the way dumb kids dealing usually get caught via texting. He got me all the drugs once it took off. All I had to do was play the game and take the orders.

This guy was Marland, she suspected.