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.