Arcade Catastrophe
Page 21
Pigeon felt tense. She expected a response. He felt like the truth must be written all over his face. Her guess wasn’t too far off—except her parents weren’t the evil magicians. She was. What had Mr. Stott said about handling these inquiries? He tried to respond without blatantly lying.
“I don’t know anything about your parents,” Pigeon said. “As far as I know, they might have been really good people. Maybe they were hexed by bad magicians or something. Maybe Mrs. White kept them prisoner. Maybe they weren’t magical at all.”
“Maybe some big spell killed my parents and wiped my memory at the same time,” Lindy said. “Somebody threw a magic bagel of power at us and I lost my family.”
“Not all magic is edible,” Pigeon pointed out.
“Do you get why I’m freaked?” Lindy asked. “If my real parents were good people, why all the secrecy? They must have been bad. It must be a dirty secret. Maybe I hated them. Maybe I loved them. I might never know. Am I supposed to believe that I lost my memory and nobody knows how it happened or where I came from? Seriously? What happened before I turned up in that candy shop with you, Nate, Summer, and John? My life didn’t start at that moment. What happened before?”
“What did John tell you?”
“Dad and John both told me that I lost my memory by accident. They told me no magic can restore it. They claimed not to understand the spell. They said they never knew my parents, but they’re certain that I have no living relatives. My first memories from the candy shop are hazy. Everything was so new and unfamiliar. I felt deeply confused. I hardly heard what anyone was saying. It was as if in that instant, fully conscious, I had just been born.”
“If Mr. Stott can’t explain what happened,” Pigeon said, “I don’t have a prayer.”
“Does it have to do with Mrs. White?” Lindy asked. “The lady who owned the candy shop before Dad? Was I her prisoner? Her helper? I know she was a big villain.”
“John and Mr. Stott defeated her,” Pigeon said. “We helped. Nate especially. She went away. She won’t be back.”
“Did Mrs. White do something to my parents?” Lindy asked. “I mean, my first memories are at her candy shop.”
“I don’t know, Lindy,” Pigeon said, terrified by how close her questions came to revealing the truth. “I’d never met you before that day. I don’t know much about what Mrs. White was doing, except that she was trying to take over the town with her magic. I was a captive there myself. Have you considered that there might not be any big conspiracy to hide your past? Maybe nobody can answer your questions because nobody knows?”
After staring at Pigeon searchingly, Lindy sighed. “It stinks getting left out. I want to help John. I want to help you guys.”
“We don’t even understand what’s going on yet,” Pigeon said.
“What do you know?”
Pigeon paused. How much should he say? Anything?
“Have you ever felt left out, Pigeon?” Lindy asked.
“All the time,” he confessed. “I mean, I used to feel like that all the time. Before I became friends with Summer, Trevor, and Nate.”
“That’s how I’m feeling,” Lindy said. “I’m wondering if I have any real friends.”
She was his friend. He couldn’t tell her where she came from. Shouldn’t he tell her something? Making her feel friendless and desperate might be worse than telling her that she used to be a psychotic, murderous magician.
“You can win tickets at Arcadeland,” Pigeon finally said. “That new arcade in Walnut Hills.”
“You just blew my mind,” Lindy said dryly. “Why haven’t I heard about this on the news? How have they covered this up?”
“There’s more,” Pigeon said uncomfortably. “You use the tickets to buy prizes. The most expensive prizes are four hand stamps that grant membership into four different clubs. We think the kids in the clubs can get magic candy like Mr. Stott makes. We’re not positive about anything. We have no idea who runs Arcadeland. We’re not even sure about the clubs. But we’re investigating.”
“You’re trying to earn tickets to join the clubs?” Lindy asked. “So you can find out what’s really going on?”
“Pretty much,” Pigeon replied, worried that he had said too much.
“I could help,” Lindy said, her eyes lighting up. “You need help earning tickets.”
“Lindy, no,” Pigeon said. “Please. Your dad would kill me if I got you involved. I trusted you by telling you. Don’t betray that by getting us busted.”
“He won’t know,” she promised. “I’ll be sneaky.”
“It could be extra dangerous for you,” Pigeon said, his mind racing. “We don’t know where you came from, but we suspect your origins must be magical. I mean, your memory was wiped, and we found you at Mrs. White’s. Nobody wants you exposed to magical bad guys.”
Lindy regarded Pigeon thoughtfully. “You guys are going there tomorrow?”
“Right when it opens at nine,” Pigeon said.
“Don’t stress,” Lindy said with resignation. “I won’t crash the party.” She reached out and rubbed Pigeon’s shoulder. “Thanks for trusting me. I appreciate it. I won’t let you down.”
“Okay. Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
“You were great. I should go. You need your rest.”
“Good night, Lindy.”
“Good night.”
Chapter Seven
Odd Hours
Hunched over a rifle at the shooting gallery, Nate chewed his fourth stick of Peak Performance gum since entering the arcade. When the doors had opened at nine, he, Trevor, Summer, and Pigeon had wasted no time getting started.
By his third consecutive stick of Peak Performance, Nate could feel the effects waning. The light games were getting tougher to freeze at the right time, and he could no longer break the high scores on basketball, Skee-Ball, or the football tossing game. But if he took his time, he could still hit all ten of the far targets at the shooting gallery.
The arcade workers had made some adjustments since last night. Shooting Stars remained out of order, as was a high-paying game where the player spun a huge wheel. The shooting gallery jackpot for the ten far targets had been reduced to 250 tickets. When the ten farthest targets were hit, sirens no longer indicated that anything unusual had happened. Nate saw the lack of attention as a good thing, although he lamented losing the huge payout. Still, 250 tickets remained very attractive when you could claim them every turn.
“I don’t know anything about your parents,” Pigeon said. “As far as I know, they might have been really good people. Maybe they were hexed by bad magicians or something. Maybe Mrs. White kept them prisoner. Maybe they weren’t magical at all.”
“Maybe some big spell killed my parents and wiped my memory at the same time,” Lindy said. “Somebody threw a magic bagel of power at us and I lost my family.”
“Not all magic is edible,” Pigeon pointed out.
“Do you get why I’m freaked?” Lindy asked. “If my real parents were good people, why all the secrecy? They must have been bad. It must be a dirty secret. Maybe I hated them. Maybe I loved them. I might never know. Am I supposed to believe that I lost my memory and nobody knows how it happened or where I came from? Seriously? What happened before I turned up in that candy shop with you, Nate, Summer, and John? My life didn’t start at that moment. What happened before?”
“What did John tell you?”
“Dad and John both told me that I lost my memory by accident. They told me no magic can restore it. They claimed not to understand the spell. They said they never knew my parents, but they’re certain that I have no living relatives. My first memories from the candy shop are hazy. Everything was so new and unfamiliar. I felt deeply confused. I hardly heard what anyone was saying. It was as if in that instant, fully conscious, I had just been born.”
“If Mr. Stott can’t explain what happened,” Pigeon said, “I don’t have a prayer.”
“Does it have to do with Mrs. White?” Lindy asked. “The lady who owned the candy shop before Dad? Was I her prisoner? Her helper? I know she was a big villain.”
“John and Mr. Stott defeated her,” Pigeon said. “We helped. Nate especially. She went away. She won’t be back.”
“Did Mrs. White do something to my parents?” Lindy asked. “I mean, my first memories are at her candy shop.”
“I don’t know, Lindy,” Pigeon said, terrified by how close her questions came to revealing the truth. “I’d never met you before that day. I don’t know much about what Mrs. White was doing, except that she was trying to take over the town with her magic. I was a captive there myself. Have you considered that there might not be any big conspiracy to hide your past? Maybe nobody can answer your questions because nobody knows?”
After staring at Pigeon searchingly, Lindy sighed. “It stinks getting left out. I want to help John. I want to help you guys.”
“We don’t even understand what’s going on yet,” Pigeon said.
“What do you know?”
Pigeon paused. How much should he say? Anything?
“Have you ever felt left out, Pigeon?” Lindy asked.
“All the time,” he confessed. “I mean, I used to feel like that all the time. Before I became friends with Summer, Trevor, and Nate.”
“That’s how I’m feeling,” Lindy said. “I’m wondering if I have any real friends.”
She was his friend. He couldn’t tell her where she came from. Shouldn’t he tell her something? Making her feel friendless and desperate might be worse than telling her that she used to be a psychotic, murderous magician.
“You can win tickets at Arcadeland,” Pigeon finally said. “That new arcade in Walnut Hills.”
“You just blew my mind,” Lindy said dryly. “Why haven’t I heard about this on the news? How have they covered this up?”
“There’s more,” Pigeon said uncomfortably. “You use the tickets to buy prizes. The most expensive prizes are four hand stamps that grant membership into four different clubs. We think the kids in the clubs can get magic candy like Mr. Stott makes. We’re not positive about anything. We have no idea who runs Arcadeland. We’re not even sure about the clubs. But we’re investigating.”
“You’re trying to earn tickets to join the clubs?” Lindy asked. “So you can find out what’s really going on?”
“Pretty much,” Pigeon replied, worried that he had said too much.
“I could help,” Lindy said, her eyes lighting up. “You need help earning tickets.”
“Lindy, no,” Pigeon said. “Please. Your dad would kill me if I got you involved. I trusted you by telling you. Don’t betray that by getting us busted.”
“He won’t know,” she promised. “I’ll be sneaky.”
“It could be extra dangerous for you,” Pigeon said, his mind racing. “We don’t know where you came from, but we suspect your origins must be magical. I mean, your memory was wiped, and we found you at Mrs. White’s. Nobody wants you exposed to magical bad guys.”
Lindy regarded Pigeon thoughtfully. “You guys are going there tomorrow?”
“Right when it opens at nine,” Pigeon said.
“Don’t stress,” Lindy said with resignation. “I won’t crash the party.” She reached out and rubbed Pigeon’s shoulder. “Thanks for trusting me. I appreciate it. I won’t let you down.”
“Okay. Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
“You were great. I should go. You need your rest.”
“Good night, Lindy.”
“Good night.”
Chapter Seven
Odd Hours
Hunched over a rifle at the shooting gallery, Nate chewed his fourth stick of Peak Performance gum since entering the arcade. When the doors had opened at nine, he, Trevor, Summer, and Pigeon had wasted no time getting started.
By his third consecutive stick of Peak Performance, Nate could feel the effects waning. The light games were getting tougher to freeze at the right time, and he could no longer break the high scores on basketball, Skee-Ball, or the football tossing game. But if he took his time, he could still hit all ten of the far targets at the shooting gallery.
The arcade workers had made some adjustments since last night. Shooting Stars remained out of order, as was a high-paying game where the player spun a huge wheel. The shooting gallery jackpot for the ten far targets had been reduced to 250 tickets. When the ten farthest targets were hit, sirens no longer indicated that anything unusual had happened. Nate saw the lack of attention as a good thing, although he lamented losing the huge payout. Still, 250 tickets remained very attractive when you could claim them every turn.
