Free Deadly Little Games by Laurie Faria Stolarz Page A

of ordering us some hors d’oeuvres,” he jokes. “But you’re welcome to get whatever else you like.”
    “This looks perfect,” I say, peeling off my coat.
    Adam sets me up with a plate and napkin, and then starts gabbing away about how he and his study buddies come here at least every other night.
    “So, you’ve made a lot of friends at school?” I ask, eager to steer the conversation into more personal territory.
    We end up talking about how his semester’s going, how he’s taking an Intro to Drafting class, and how he’s thrilled to have an apartment of his own.
    “At first I thought I wouldn’t be able to afford it,” he says. “But I got a really good job at an art-supply store down the road. I get a discount on drafting tools, and they pay me time and a half on the weekends and holidays.”
    “That’s great,” I say.
    “It’s actually better than great, because I’ve already met a couple of architects in the area. With some good old-fashioned schmoozing, I’m hoping to be able to work my way into one of the firms, maybe as an intern.”
    I nod, genuinely happy for him, because I know this is what he really wants, and I’ve seen how truly talented he is. About a month ago, he crafted me a model of Camelia’s House of Clay, the pottery shop I might own one day, even adding in tiny wooden tables, and shelves full of greenware.
    “And how’s Ben doing?” he segues. “Are you two still seeing each other?”
    “Do you really want to be talking about this?” I ask, for the sake of his feelings.
    He pauses midchew. His dark brown eyes scrunch up in confusion. “Why not? Unless I’m touching on a sore spot?”
    “No sore spots. Things between Ben and me are good.”
    “Then how come you don’t sound so sure?” He grins.
    “I am sure,” I say, but I don’t think he hears me. There’s a girl standing at our table now. She’s pretty, with bobbed dark hair and eyes the color of pale blue sea glass.
    “Who’s your friend?” she asks Adam, before either of us has a chance to say hello.
    “Camelia, this is my friend Piper,” Adam says, by way of introduction.
    A couple of girls stand slightly behind her. “And that’s Melissa and Janet,” he continues.
    “Make that Jungle Girl Janet,” Piper says, “who just won her fourth competition for her talent on the trapeze.”
    “Piper’s sort of my biggest fan.” Janet blushes.
    “Well, congratulations,” I tell her.
    “Thanks.” She smiles, tugging nervously on her braid. “Do you go to Hayden, too?”
    “Actually, I’m still in high school,” I confess.
    “My sympathies to you,” Piper says. “I would absolutely die if I had to go back to raising my hand just to get up out of my seat, or answering to a school bell.”
    “Not to mention immature boys, the humiliation they call gym class, and tons of pointless homework.” Melissa brings a strand of her strawberry blond hair up to her mouth for a chew.
    “Okay, so minus the gym class, college actually isn’t so much unlike high school,” Piper jokes. “So, are we still on for tonight?” she asks Adam, taking a sip of his root beer.
    “Or will you be spending the rest of your day hanging out with high school girls?” Melissa mooches a curly fry from our plate. She dips it into the tartar sauce and then shoves it between her freckled lips.
    Adam ignores her comment, proceeding to tell me that he and Piper are working on a project together for school.
    “Not just any project,” she insists. “We’ve been assigned to be husband and wife in accounting class. We have to work out all our bills on his football coach’s salary. I’m a stay-at-home mom with four kids, three dogs, and a parakeet. Is that supercute, or what?”
    “More like super high school,” Melissa says before I can answer. “I think I did a similar assignment in health class.”
    “Well, whatever,” Piper says, swatting the negative words away. There are frowny faces painted on her candy pink