Free The Candy Shop War, Vol. 2: Arcade Catastrophe by Brandon Mull Page B

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    “The buzzards, the train cars, the star, and the engine window.”
    Cleon slapped Nate on the shoulder. “You should have 2,500 tickets coming your way. I’ll be back to make sure they all pay out. We’ve got a plague of winners all of a sudden.”
    Cleon walked away toward the Shooting Stars machine. Nate waited as the endless strand of tickets emerged from the dispenser. He grabbed the long ribbon and started folding. A modest crowd had gathered to watch the tickets pay out.
    By the time the machine had quit, Nate had a sense that all of the tickets were there. He regretted having to wait for them to unspool, since he knew the duration of the Peak Performance gum was limited.
    Cleon returned and opened up the ticket dispenser. “There are still some left on the reel,” he announced. “This model only holds 4,000 at a time, so it must have been fairly full when you started. Congratulations.” He closed up the machine and strode away.
    Tickets in hand, Nate went to find Summer. As he moved across the floor, the siren went off at the larger basketball game. Trevor had beaten his other record.
    Nate found Summer feeding tickets into the counting machine. “I won in three tries,” she said. “The pattern is complicated but not impossible. Five thousand tickets!”
    “That’s crazy,” Nate said. “Why waste time counting tickets? Peak Performance doesn’t last long.”
    “I have a ton of tickets to drag around,” she said. “Lots of people crowded to see when I won. Won’t I be sort of obvious if I keep winning huge?”
    “Who cares? We’re not breaking any rules. Did the jackpot lower after you won?”
    “No. It stayed the same.”
    “Take my tickets. I want to try before my gum wears off.”
    Nate handed over his shooting gallery winnings and hurried to the Shooting Stars machine. A grid composed of hundreds of tiny bulbs twinkled impressively. Each bulb was either white, red, or off. The white lights swirled and cascaded in complex patterns. Among the white lights, ten red lights zipped through the pattern like hyperactive fireflies.
    A horizontal line of ten bulbs in the middle of the grid was enclosed by a red rectangle. The rules explained that if you could freeze the display with the ten bulbs lit, you won a hundred tickets. If you could pause the grid while the ten center bulbs were red, you won the jackpot.
    Even with his perceptions enhanced by Peak Performance gum, Nate could see that the center bulbs only glowed simultaneously for the briefest instant. And it would require patience, because all of the reds only gathered there roughly once per minute.
    The young woman currently playing hit the button to pause the lights and trapped four white ones in the center rectangle. The machine gave her eight tickets.
    When she stepped aside, Nate approached the machine. It required two tokens to play. Nate swiped his card. He watched the flashing pattern of lights, finger poised above the button that would halt them.
    The reds were about to synchronize. He would have to get it just right. When he hit the button, all ten red bulbs froze, but there was a single bulb outside the rectangle. He realized that there was an infinitesimal delay between the pressing of the button and the stopping of the bulbs.
    Nate swiped his card again and waited. Freezing white lights in the rectangle would be simple. But getting all the reds would be tough even with Peak Performance. He would have to hit the button a tiny bit early.
    He saw the reds approaching. He hit the button, trapping ten red bulbs inside the rectangle. Sirens shrieked and lights flashed. Two ribbons of tickets began unreeling.
    Cleon hurried over. “You again?” he asked, lowering his tinted glasses just enough to stare at Nate directly. “What is going on?”
    “Quick reflexes?” Nate tried.
    Cleon stepped close. Nate could smell his cologne. “You know we have security cameras? We’ll review your every move.”
    “I’m glad,” Nate