Page 46 of They're Watching You

“What is this about?” I ask as he reaches for the pages.

“It’s nothing,” he says quickly, tucking them into a notebook. “Some research for chemistry.”

“You mean the class we have together?” I ask, a strange, heavy coating settling over my lungs. He just lied to my face.

Gavin inhales, biting his lip as he stands in front of me, silent for a too-long stretch of time. He reaches into the back pocket of his khaki pants to retrieve his wallet.

“Wait a minute,” I say, suddenly certain he’s going to try to pay me to keep quiet about his “research.”

But it isn’t money he hands me a second later. It’s a photo of a little girl. She has the same honey-strewn shade of hair as Gavin’s, only a touch lighter. Same green eyes. She’s sitting in a wheelchair, unsmiling.

“My sister, Gabriella,” Gavin says. “She’s ten. A few years back, she started having health problems. Lots of them. Trouble breathing, moving, even speaking. Doctors ran millions of tests, but they never figured out what’s wrong with her.”

“That’s terrible,” I say, staring at the photo.

“Whatever it is, it’s progressive, and it seems to be moving quickly. I don’t know how much time Gabby has left. The papers you saw are trials for various medications that always seem promising, but never end up working.”

“Is that why you joined the society? To try to pay for your sister’s medical expenses?”

Gavin shakes his head. “This is about more than money. I’m in the society because I’m my sister’s only hope.” He lowers his voice, glancing over his shoulder. “At first it was a financial thing. I thought maybe if I could get high enough in the society, one day I’d have the resources to help her, or at the very least keep her comfortable. But now, since reaching Medi Supreme, these medications—these trials—I don’t even know where they’re coming from. Some doctor who is in the society sends me the results and moves on to the next drug. These people are doing things no amount of money can buy. Things that aren’t exactly…aboveboard.”

“You’re letting them experiment on your sister?” I hiss.

“What else am I going to do? Let her die?”

“Gavin, these people are not good. I know it seems like it, but theytookPolly.”

Gavin’s gaze drifts away from mine. “The more I think about it, the more I think Annabelle’s playing with you. Like she did with Jordan. You were pretty worried about her too. It’s what the Gamemaster does.”

My stomach drops from under me. “No, Gavin. You don’t understand.”

“I don’t need to understand,” he says, green eyes shimmering. “I need to win the games.” He takes the photo back from me, returning it to his wallet with great care.

I remember the pained way he looked at me when I asked him to let Remington win. He might’ve given up progress with his sister’s treatment because of me. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know.” He tightens his grip on his books and plods off, leaving me to face Dr. Yamashiro. Passing periods between classes at Torrey-Wells are fifteen minutes, which is necessary considering your next class could be a twelve-minute walk across campus. I’ve already spent half of these minutes with Gavin.

Inside, Dr. Yamashiro is sweeping his room for trash and possibly notes my class left for the next one about the test.

“Hi, Dr. Yamashiro,” I say, cowering near the door.

“Maren.” He meanders back to his desk. “I was so sorry to hear of your illness.”

“My illness?”

He nods, sifting through the stack of tests. “Yes, but the take-home examination worked out perfectly. Ah, here it is.” He lifts an exam and waves it before me. “I had time to grade it while your classmates were testing.”

“The take-home exam,” I repeat, licking my lips.

“Yes, one of your friends turned it in for you. Should you be walking around in your condition?”

“Dr. Yamashiro,” I say, taking the exam from him. “I think you were misinformed.”

But sure enough, my name is scribbled in the top right-hand corner.

Along with a big, red letterA.Ninety-nine percent.

A dagger of shock pierces my spine, up and out through my skull. When I attempt to speak, my mouth feels cottony.

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