The Candy Shop War, Vol. 2: Arcade Catastrophe by Brandon Mull Read Free Book Online Page A

than it would cost to earn all those tickets.”
    “Earning the tickets is supposed to be fun,” Nate said. “I think they have the prizes as sort of a bonus.”
    Trevor folded his arms and leaned against the glass counter. “I don’t know. If I put in all the effort to win 10,000 tickets, I’d want something better than a neon clock.”
    “You could get two mini foosball tables,” Nate pointed out.
    “Exactly,” Trevor said. “How long do you think that mini foosball table would stay fun?”
    “You can be like me, and just go for the bouncy balls. Let’s see . . . the little ones are 25 tickets, medium are 50, and the bigger ones are 100. Cheap and fun.”
    “If you say so.”
    “You’re welcome to give your tickets to me,” Nate said.
    “I could probably find a prize if I had to,” Trevor hedged. “Maybe that glow-in-the-dark yo-yo.”
    “Hours of fun,” Nate said. “Want to shoot some hoops?”
    “We can shoot hoops for free,” Trevor mentioned. “At the park. At our school.”
    “Right, but on a normal court it isn’t timed, the balls don’t automatically keep coming, nothing keeps score, and you don’t get tickets at the end. Besides, we’re not really paying for it.”
    “Okay, I’m in.”
    They walked over to the row of basketball shooting games against the wall. Most had mini basketballs. A couple at the end were larger, with full-sized balls and a longer distance to the hoop.
    Only one person was currently playing—a skinny kid with dark hair who looked to be about their age. He was on one of the smaller machines. As the timer ticked down, he sank one ball after another, most of them swishes. After releasing each shot, he snatched another ball before the previous one had dropped. Taking no time to aim, he kept shooting with mechanical regularity. The infrequent missed shots didn’t rattle him, although occasionally an inbound shot would collide with a ball still bouncing on the rim.
    For the last thirty seconds, the hoop slid farther away, awarding three points instead of two for each basket made. After the hoop retreated, the kid missed only twice even though he was still shooting about as fast as Nate could imagine. At the buzzer, his score was 105. The machine started expelling a long ribbon of tickets, which joined other strips of tickets coiled at his feet.
    “That was amazing,” Nate said loudly.
    The kid looked over. “I’ve been practicing.”
    “Can you shoot like that every time?” Trevor asked.
    The kid shrugged. “Mostly. You guys want to have a competition?”
    Nate didn’t feel very eager. He doubted he could sink half as many baskets in the same amount of time. “What sort of competition?”
    The kid smiled. “Whoever sinks the most baskets keeps all the tickets.” He looked down at the tangled ribbons of tickets by his feet.
    “We don’t have any tickets,” Trevor said. “We might only earn a few.”
    “Then you don’t have much to lose,” the kid replied.
    “Sure,” Nate said, taking out a token.
    Trevor claimed a machine on one side of the kid, Nate on the other. Nate and Trevor inserted their tokens. The kid swiped what looked like a credit card through a card reader above the token slot.
    “What’s that?” Nate asked.
    The kid held up the card. “If you’re going to play a lot, you can buy a card from the counter and use it instead of tokens.”
    “Seems easier.”
    “It is. You guys ready?”
    “Ready,” Trevor said.
    Nate punched the start button. Basketballs rolled his way. The hoop wasn’t too far away, but he missed his first shot. The second shot clanged off the rim. The third went in. He tried not to notice the kid beside him shooting balls twice as fast and hardly missing. Nate kept shooting, missing plenty.
    Just as Nate started sinking shots with regularity, the hoop slid back for the three-point finale. Nate made only one shot at that distance. His final score was 27. The machine rewarded him by spitting out three