The Assassin Game Read Online Free Page B

right, all right!” Mr. Flynn—I mentioned, he’s my art teacher—drew the short straw and is on dining hall duty today. He’s one of the good ones though. He pretends he thinks the Game is ridiculous, but you know that if he was seventeen again, he’d totally be running the gig.
    I can’t help the smile from spreading over my face. I suck the oatmeal off my band, wipe it down, and clip it around my left wrist. All down the table, kids—apprentices—are doing the same. I marvel at the inky-black of the leather, and the clean silver glistening against the brown of my summer tan. There’s plenty of space for it there, because I think I lost my watch last night. That sucks, and I’m not in any particular hurry to retrace my steps and dig around in the sand for it. For now I’m more than happy to replace it with the black band. Game rules state that if I get Killed, the band will be cut off and nailed to the common room bulletin board. Some other members of the Guild have a bloodred knotted thread from last year. Alex has a very faded multicolored ribbon from the year before. Apprentices picked from lower down the school are few and far between; only Alex, my friend Marcia, and another boy called Carl are on to their third Game, but Alex is the only one who’s never been Killed, hence he has all the bracelets. I like this year’s trinket. There it will stay, hopefully, for the duration of the Game.
    I can’t eat my oatmeal; I’m too hyped. I get coffee, playing with that thing around my wrist, the outward mark that they like me now, at least enough to be included, enough to be Killed. Around me, nobody is eating the oatmeal. The overexcitement is manifesting in an oaty war, and Mr. Flynn is threatening to lose his cool, which is considerable.
    A small, neat book bound in the same shiny black leather as the bands is pushed in front of me. I look up. Marcia is standing behind me, doling out the books to the apprentices.
    â€œRead this; it’s the rule book.” She’s all business. Then she bends down, her long, brown hair nearly dipping into my oatmeal, and whispers, “Come and find me before class. Usual place.”
    I nod, a little too frantically.
    â€œWe have plans for later this afternoon,” she says.
    â€œWait a minute,” I say. “Aren’t you going on the bus to the mainland?”
    She shakes her head. “None of us are. Too good an opportunity to get everyone together here.”
    There’s a crash to my right; a yellowed skull has been slammed down on the table. Alex and the rest of the Guild leave, in a flurry of laughter, toast crumbs, and clattering plates.
    â€œQuietly!” booms Mr. Flynn. “And don’t think you’re too good to clean up after yourselves!”
    â€œWe have people to do that for us, Mr. Flynn, you know that!” Alex shouts back, and there’s more laughter.
    Mr. Flynn shoots him a look, but then the Elders and the Journeymen have gone and it’s too late for a retort. We apprentices are left alone at our table, along with our horrific new friend, the skull.
    â€œHere it is!” Martin cries, holding up the black book, then remembering the rest of the school around him, he leans in and whispers dramatically, reading from the book. “It says here, a skull means a Summoning is called. All Guild members are required to meet for the Summoning in the Place Most Holy.”
    Tesha picks up the skull with her fingertips and puckers her full lips. “Mmm, date night. Where and when?” she asks the skull.
    â€œHere!” Whitney, one of the other girls in my year, plucks a rolled up piece of paper from one of the skull’s eye sockets. She turns the paper around to us with a flourish. There’s a number four on it in black ink.
    â€œ4:00 p.m.?” I guess.
    Whitney blinks her big baby blues at me from underneath an artfully ragged fringe of black hair.