The Quillan Games by D.J. MacHale Read Free Book Online Page A

testing their reflexes, or dodging videobullets, but they were all doing it with such concentration that it didn’t seem to be any fun at all.
    The same went for the people who were watching. They looked about as excited as they would be watching chess, which for me is about as thrilling as watching trees grow. There were only a few games actually being played, and each one had a small group of spectators who were watching with the same intensity as the players. There were no shouts of encouragement or taunting or advice being shouted out. I guess the best word to describe the whole atmosphere was “tense.”
    There is one other thing I need to point out. Remember the silver bracelet I picked up at the flume and stuck in my back pocket? Several of the people had similar ones. They wore them on their left arms, just above the biceps. All the people playing the games had them, and some of the spectators. It added one more curious touch to the already bizarre scene.
    â€œYayyyyy!” came an excited scream from the other side of the arcade.
    Finally! A sign of life! I jogged over to see the guy who was playing the 3-D shoot-out game. Apparently he had won. (The words YOU WIN ! flashing in red on the giant screen were a dead giveaway. Duh.) Unlike the other zombielike players, this guy was over-the-moon thrilled. A woman hugged him as if he had just won the zillion-dollar lottery. I think they were crying. Others gathered around, clapping and smiling. They were totally psyched that this guy had won. What was up with this? It was a freakin’ video game! I remember breaking the record on a snowboard simulator at the theater on the bottom of the Ave at home. Remember that game? Is it still there? I’m embarrassed to say how many quarters it took me just to see my initials at the top spot. And I did it, finally. But I didn’t go all nuts like this. I was happy, but give me a break.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” came a voice from behind me.
    I spun quickly to see a concerned-looking little bald guy staring at me. He wore a frown that crinkled his forehead. Was I not supposed to be there? Was this arcade off-limits to the general public? Maybe you had to be a member to get in, and I was definitely not a member. I had to play this very carefully.
    â€œUhh . . . ,” I said. “Are you talking to me?”
    â€œOf course I’m talking to you!” the little guy whined. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œJust hanging around,” I said casually. Okay, maybe that wasn’t the slickest comeback, but I had no idea where this guy was going.
    â€œJust hanging around?” he parroted with surprise. “Challengers don’t just hang around. Are you here to train?”
    Challengers? Train?
    â€œYes,” I said, though I had no idea what I was agreeing to. Obviously this guy thought I was somebody else. I figured it wasn’t a good idea to tell him otherwise. “Yeah, I’m training,” I bluffed. “Lots of training. Right here. Yessir.”
    The guy lunged at me and grabbed both my arms. It happened so fast I had no time to react. He looked me square in the eye. He was shorter than I am, so he had to look up to do it. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t scared. I know this may sound weird, but the look I saw in the guy’s eyes was . . . desperation.
    â€œWhat’s your event?” he whispered, as if not wanting anybody else to hear. “How good are you? Honestly. I’ve never seen you before. What are your chances? Tell me, please. I won’t share it with a soul.”
    The guy was weirding me out. He definitely had me mistaken for somebody else. Stranger still, he was asking me questions that he desperately wanted answers to. No, it was like he needed the answers. I debated about making somethingup to calm him, but that felt wrong. He wanted answers so badly that I didn’t want to say something that might