Abby sighed. “Maybe also help me wash him?” she asked.

Devon glanced at Lia. She nodded.

“Yeah,” Lia said. “I’ll do that while you get your arm checked out. Do we have a deal?”

“I don’t tell anyone this was related to the game, you don’t get disqualified, I get to breathe freely for a week, and I don’t have to wash Omelet?” Abby grinned and stuck out her good hand. “Deal.”

Lia took her hand, a plan already forming in her mind.

Abby’s parents weren’t terribly mad. Her mom was mostly worried about infection, her dad about scarring. They let Lia into the backyard to wash the mud off Omelet, and Gem drove Ben home. Devon stuck around to help with Omelet.

“So I guess today was a wash,” Lia said, holding Omelet in place as Devon unknotted a twig from his fur.

Devon laughed. “We can get a clean start next week.”

Lia stroked the damp fur on Omelet’s other side. Omelet let out a soft ah-woo. “She’ll be okay, right?” Lia asked.

“Are you asking because you’re worried about her or because you’re worried about someone connecting it to Assassins?” he asked, and tossed the twig away. “I know I said it jokingly, but your priorities are a little weird.”

He picked out the last of Omelet’s muddy mats—Lia was sure Omelet hadn’t been this muddy when he left the park with Ben, but she could blame Ben for letting him roll about—and the dog whined.

“I know, but you’re such a good boy,” Devon mumbled. A squirrel leapt along the fence around Abby’s backyard, and Omelet tensed. “Don’t even think about it, egg.”

“Egg?” Lia asked.

“He’s a good egg,” Devon said. “I can’t believe you shot him and then let Abby make a deal with you.”

“It was her idea.” Lia frowned. She wasn’t sure how to read Devon—he had joked with her, but he also seemed a little mad about the whole thing. Sometimes she wished people came with handbooks.

Devon Diaz: loves puns, baby talks to dogs, and will judge you for loving Assassins too much.

“Of course I was more worried about Abby.” And that was true—Lia’s hands had been trembling by the time they had gotten to Abby’s house. “But once I knew she was fine, I started thinking ahead. This game is determined in seconds and minutes, not days. We needed to know right then what would happen or else all our plans would’ve been useless.”

Abby was easygoing, but she could have died. Lia had needed to take advantage of any good feelings Abby had before she found out for sure if she needed stitches.

“Sure, but it’s still just a game,” Devon said. “I’ve never seen you this into something.”

Devon was into acceptable things—music and medicine. Lia’s interests—video and table-top games—were things her parents definitely didn’t understand. They could brag about her brother’s soccer and his stellar grades, but with Lia, there was nothing to brag about.