The Winner's Game(57)

Mom probes further by asking, “Can you explain why you’re so happy all of a sudden? A couple days ago you were pretty sour.”

She shrugs. “Why shouldn’t I be? Bree and Cade keep giving me all of these great compliments. Even if they don’t mean it, it’s kind of a nice change from the usual.”

Mom hands the notebooks back to me and Bree. “New rule,” she says. “From now on, you cannot take points away from anyone. You can give yourself all the points you’ve legitimately earned for being nice, but you cannot retaliate by taking points when someone is mean. In fact, if someone is mean to you, not retaliating should be a point in your favor, because that’s a very hard, very loving thing to do.”

“Well, there goes my advantage,” says Ann, sounding a little bummed.

“But I think you know it’s the best thing for everyone,” says Mom.

With a nod she says, “I know. Besides, I’m still going to win.”

A crooked smile develops on Bree’s face as she folds her arms. “Maybe this week, Ann, because I’m really in the hole right now. But I can make you a promise that for the rest of the summer, I’m going to be hard to beat. The hundred dollars will be really nice, but the best part will be seeing you lose.” She glances at me and adds, “And you.”

“And I love you too, Sis,” replies Ann, still smiling sweetly.





              Chapter 20





Bree




ANN DOZES OFF soon after we turn out the lights, but I toss and turn in bed for over an hour. My brain is spinning on all sorts of things—dead cats, the Winner’s Game, Ann’s heart, and especially the things she said about dying. Her opinion on death has been a little hard to swallow, but eventually I come to accept that maybe she is right. Not only is Ann herself a heartbeat away from her last breath, but any one of our lives could be snuffed out—just like Mr. Skittles’—in the blink of an eye.

That really sucks.

Even though the room is completely quiet, if I listen closely, I can almost imagine the sound of Ann’s defective heart echoing through the bed beneath me. Beating for now, but waiting, like a robber, to steal everything she has.

The last thing to cross my mind before I drift off is Ann’s comment from a couple days ago.

Everyone’s going to die. One way or another…

* * *



Even though I know Ann has pretty much won this first week of the Winner’s Game, I figure getting a little practice in for next week can’t hurt, so I spend Friday morning wandering around with Cade and the metal detector near Haystack Rock.

After all, what can be nicer than a sister who seems interested in what her little brother is doing? This should be worth a point for every minute I pretend to be enjoying it. My expectations are low that we’ll find anything valuable, but who knows, right? That’s the thrill of it, I guess. Each time the buzzer sounds, Cade can hardly contain himself. He digs like crazy, only to find some tiny piece of junk, but then he says that each failure just means he’s one step closer to finding the mother lode.

Ann joins us on the beach after we’ve been out there maybe an hour, but all she wants to do is sit there on her beach towel.

Sweet! No points for her!

I stop and look her way from time to time, to make sure she’s OK, and each time, she is in the same position, staring out at the ocean.

After another half hour I look up and Ann’s towel is empty. I scan the beach and spot her near the edge of the water, where she can almost get her feet wet, but not quite.

“Ann!” I shout. “What are you doing?”

The wind is blowing in her direction or she probably wouldn’t hear me. She turns slowly. “I’m going inside,” she calls back. “Are you staying?”

I nod. “Just until Cade is done.”

“Just make sure you both stay out of the water,” she calls back. “It isn’t safe.”

Shortly after noon Cade’s battery dies, so we head back home. Mom is in Grandma’s room reading more of her journals. She says she’s going to be a while, but asks if I’ll go check on Ann.

When I go up to our room, Ann is writing something on the bottom of her bed. “More hearts?” I ask.

She shakes her head, but her eyes remain focused on the pen strokes. “Planning.”

“Does Mom know—?”

She lifts a finger to shush me. “Just a sec. I’m almost done.” Half a minute ticks by before she lowers the pen. “What were you saying?”

“I was just wondering if Mom knows you’re writing on the bed.”