Deadly Pink by Vivian Vande Velde Read Free Book Online Page A

“I never thought ... I mean, a gamer would know...”
    Ms. Bennett interrupted: “Sybella, why don't you get Adam to come in here, please?”
    Without argument, Sybella left. She looked relieved to be going.
    To my mother, Ms. Bennett said, “I am so sorry, Mrs. Pizzelli. That was such an unfortunate thing for her to say, but in the context of games, she never stopped to think—”
    “What happened?” I asked. “Has something gone wrong with Emily?” Duh. Of course I meant: Has something gone MORE wrong with Emily than that she won't come out of what has to be the world's most boring and irritatingly insipid total immersion game—sort of Barney Visits Candy Land and Goes to Visit Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood?
    Mom said, “That stupid girl—”
    “It was an honest mistake.” Ms. Bennett turned to me and explained, “Your signal went flat, and your mother asked what happened, and Sybella said that you'd died.” To Mom, Ms. Bennett added, very emphatically, “There is no way Grace can be in physical danger here, Mrs. Pizzelli. We told you that already. Yes, Sybella didn't think before speaking, but that's because she didn't take into account your lack of familiarity with gaming. Characters die—and recover—all the time in the context of games. Far from wanting to upset you, Sybella was trying to put your mind at ease.”
    Mom had been too badly scared to be willing to forgive so quickly. “Still—”
    “Still,” Ms. Bennett said, “she's gone. Adam will help us out from now on.”
    Mom is basically a nice person, so—mad as she was—she couldn't help asking, “You're not saying you're firing her, are you?”
    Ms. Bennett, basically a clever businesswoman—one who knew she was facing the real chance of lawsuit regardless of what Mr. Lawyer Kroll might want everyone to believe—countered with, “Do you want her fired?”
    Mom considered, then said, “No. I just don't want her in here with us anymore.”
    Ms. Bennett nodded. “Done.” She returned her attention to me. “So what happened?”
    “Murderous pixies,” I explained.
    With a quick glance at Mom, Ms. Bennett assured both of us, “There are no murderous pixies in Land of the Golden Butterflies.”
    “Yeah, well, tell that to the ghoulish pair of whatever-they-weres that dangled me over a cliff.”
    “Do you mean mountain gnomes?” Ms. Bennett asked. “Are you saying they actually held you up over a cliff and then let you drop?”
    Gnomes made me think of those little statues people have in their gardens: solid, chunky bearded guys.
    “No, these were more like Barbie dolls,” I said, “but with hair the color of jelly beans.” In what I have to say was a pretty good imitation of their oh-so-cute wee little voices, I said, “Ooo, let us help you: wishes for coins.” Admittedly losing some of the quality of my impersonation, I finished with a certain amount of bitterness, “Never mind that we'll take your money, then drop-kick you from a great height.”
    “Sprites,” Ms. Bennett said.
    Sprites ... pixies ... whatever. I thought she was being intentionally contrary in refusing to respond unless I got the words exactly right.
    She asked, “What do you mean, they drop-kicked you from a great height? They actually pushed you?”
    “Well, not so much pushed,” I had to admit. What was this sudden need for precision? Had she been taking lawyering lessons from Mr. Kroll? “But they told me I could have a wish, and I asked if they could send me to where Emily was, and they said yes, and instead, they sent me over a very tall, steep cliff.”
    A male voice from the doorway asked, “How many coins did you give them?”
    I looked up to see a guy at least a few years older than Emily but not yet old, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. He kind of reminded me of Emily's boyfriend, Frank Lupiano, except with better hair. And broader shoulders. And, generally speaking, a more intelligent expression. Actually, he looked a lot better than