Variant

I took one last look for Lily. She wasn’t anywhere.

I was on my feet before I realized it, running at full speed toward Rosa. I couldn’t see her eyes through the glare on her mask, but as I neared, she shielded her body with her arms.

Gunfire erupted from everywhere and I felt the impact of dozens of balls hitting me in the chest, arms, and head. I tried to stop running and tripped into the dirt.

“Nice one, Fisher,” said a voice I recognized. “Did you really think we didn’t hear you ten minutes ago?”

I rolled over and saw Oakland standing at the door to one of the bunkers, his gun still trained on me. There were people in two other doors, and one in a ghillie suit in the tall grasses at the edge of the clearing. I’d never seen any of them.

Clumsily, I stumbled to my feet, raised my hands over my head, and called out “hit.”

Another shot slapped the back of my head, and the wet trickling paint felt like blood. I spun to see Mouse.

“Hit!” I shouted again.

Another ball snapped into my back, just below my shoulder blade, and I turned back to face Oakland. Where was the ref?

“Think you’re pretty awesome?” Oakland shouted, and fired five more shots. They would have hit me in the groin if I hadn’t moved an instant before. I was glad that he couldn’t see my face, because I was having trouble hiding how much it hurt.

An instant later a Society ref appeared in the clearing, blew her whistle, and looked me up and down.

“Looks like overkill,” she said, frowning at the mass of paint spots on my body. “Did they shoot you after you called ‘hit’?”

I glanced back at Oakland. Maybe I could get him to lay off a bit. “No.”

The ref looked suspiciously at the Havoc team, and then back at me. “Head off the field.” She blew her whistle to resume play.

There was the loud hiss of a gun behind me-two sharp pops-and then Lily’s voice. “We win.”

I turned to see her hand on Rosa’s arm.

Mouse’s mask was dripping with paint, and Oakland had been shot in the neck.

Chapter Eight

Hey, Benson,” Jane shouted, catching up with us and bumping me with her shoulder. The gangs were slowly forming back together as the players trickled out of the forest.

“Thanks for healing me.”

“No problem,” she said, stepping back and taking a good look at my tan sweats that were now polka-dotted with red and blue paint. She grinned. “I go to all that trouble and look what you do.”

I tried not to smile. “I was being heroic.”

Jane glanced over at Lily and Mason.

“Don’t look at me,” Mason said, holding up his hands. “I wasn’t there.”

Lily, still looking ahead at the forest floor, smiled. “It was definitely something.”

Jane laughed and bumped me again. “I told you this place was fun.”

“Yeah.” I glanced over at Lily. I wondered whether she’d been playing for fun, too. The way she acted on the field, I’d have guessed it was for survival.

Soon, Curtis and Carrie joined us, holding hands, and in a few minutes almost all of the V’s were back together, joking and celebrating. Lily explained her actions several times, and the others relayed their stories. We’d probably been walking for ten minutes before I realized that I was actually having fun. I felt like I was with friends, and it felt good.

Jane told me about the party we could expect-it was the most regular of the rewards for winning at paintball. The school sent food in through one of the elevators, and it was always something amazing. Havoc did a pretty good job with the cafeteria food, but the food at the party was more like a five-star restaurant’s. They even sent the kinds of food that we never got through the cafeteria: soda, candies, cakes, brownies, and all sorts of snacks. The parties usually lasted long into the night, and the school waived the rules about curfew and uniforms. It sounded great.

We emerged from the forest and stepped onto the grass surrounding the track. My legs were sore as we walked-I could still feel the imprint of each paintball, and I knew it would be worse tomorrow-but I ignored it. I was having too much fun.

“So, Benson,” Jane said, talking loud enough for everyone to hear. “Lily gave her version of the win. How about yours?”

“It was Saving Private Ryan,” I said. “The massacre on Omaha Beach.”

As our eyes met she gave me a mischievous grin, and the crowd fell silent as they looked to me. We were entering the sculpture garden on the edge of the track, and I hopped up on top of the carved stump.

“Did you ever see the end of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?” I asked, turning to face the V’s and preparing to tell my embarrassing story.

But I instantly knew from their faces that something was wrong. Their smiles were gone, replaced with blank and somber stares. Jane was holding her breath, and Lily bit her lip. Mason stepped through the crowd and grabbed my arm, pulling me down from the stump.

“What?”

Instead of answering he pointed down at the carvings. Heather Lyon

Died in the war

Will be missed

On the side, shallower and less well carved, someone had scrawled, I love you.