The Candy Shop War, Vol. 2: Arcade Catastrophe

by Brandon Mull

  “Exactly,” Trevor said. “How long do you think that mini foosball table would stay fun?”

  “You can be like me, and just go for the bouncy balls. Let’s see . . . the little ones are 25 tickets, medium are 50, and the bigger ones are 100. Cheap and fun.”

  “If you say so.”

  “You’re welcome to give your tickets to me,” Nate said.

  “I could probably find a prize if I had to,” Trevor hedged. “Maybe that glow-in-the-dark yo-yo.”

  “Hours of fun,” Nate said. “Want to shoot some hoops?”

  “We can shoot hoops for free,” Trevor mentioned. “At the park. At our school.”

  “Right, but on a normal court it isn’t timed, the balls don’t automatically keep coming, nothing keeps score, and you don’t get tickets at the end. Besides, we’re not really paying for it.”

  “Okay, I’m in.”

  They walked over to the row of basketball shooting games against the wall. Most had mini basketballs. A couple at the end were larger, with full-sized balls and a longer distance to the hoop.

  Only one person was currently playing—a skinny kid with dark hair who looked to be about their age. He was on one of the smaller machines. As the timer ticked down, he sank one ball after another, most of them swishes. After releasing each shot, he snatched another ball before the previous one had dropped. Taking no time to aim, he kept shooting with mechanical regularity. The infrequent missed shots didn’t rattle him, although occasionally an inbound shot would collide with a ball still bouncing on the rim.

  For the last thirty seconds, the hoop slid farther away, awarding three points instead of two for each basket made. After the hoop retreated, the kid missed only twice even though he was still shooting about as fast as Nate could imagine. At the buzzer, his score was 105. The machine started expelling a long ribbon of tickets, which joined other strips of tickets coiled at his feet.

  “That was amazing,” Nate said loudly.

  The kid looked over. “I’ve been practicing.”

  “Can you shoot like that every time?” Trevor asked.

  The kid shrugged. “Mostly. You guys want to have a competition?”

  Nate didn’t feel very eager. He doubted he could sink half as many baskets in the same amount of time. “What sort of competition?”

  The kid smiled. “Whoever sinks the most baskets keeps all the tickets.” He looked down at the tangled ribbons of tickets by his feet.

  “We don’t have any tickets,” Trevor said. “We might only earn a few.”

  “Then you don’t have much to lose,” the kid replied.

  “Sure,” Nate said, taking out a token.

  Trevor claimed a machine on one side of the kid, Nate on the other. Nate and Trevor inserted their tokens. The kid swiped what looked like a credit card through a card reader above the token slot.

  “What’s that?” Nate asked.

  The kid held up the card. “If you’re going to play a lot, you can buy a card from the counter and use it instead of tokens.”

  “Seems easier.”

  “It is. You guys ready?”

  “Ready,” Trevor said.

  Nate punched the start button. Basketballs rolled his way. The hoop wasn’t too far away, but he missed his first shot. The second shot clanged off the rim. The third went in. He tried not to notice the kid beside him shooting balls twice as fast and hardly missing. Nate kept shooting, missing plenty.

  Just as Nate started sinking shots with regularity, the hoop slid back for the three-point finale. Nate made only one shot at that distance. His final score was 27. The machine rewarded him by spitting out three tickets.

  Nate looked over to see that Trevor had scored 33. The other kid had tallied 101. His machine was gushing tickets again.

  “How many tickets are coming out?” Nate asked.

  “You get fifty for breaking a hundred,” the kid replied. “The record today is at 114. I put it there. If you break that, the jackpot is 300. They reset the record to 80 every morning.”

  “How many tickets do you have?” Nate asked.

  “Right now, around eleven hundred. Plus your three. And his four.”

  Nate tore off his three tickets and handed them over. “Why so many tickets?” he asked. “What are you saving up for?”

  The kid suddenly looked a little shifty. “I don’t know. One of the big prizes, I guess.”

  “Like what?” Trevor wondered. “The guitar?”

  “Something like that,” the kid replied vaguely. “You guys want to try me again?”

  “Why risk all your tickets?” Nate asked.

  The kid shrugged. “It isn’t much of a risk, and I get a few extra. Plus I get bored shooting alone.”

  “I’ll try again,” Nate said.

  “Sure,” Trevor agreed.

  Nate shot faster this time. He felt like he had a better feel for it. By the end he had scored 36. Trevor scored 41. The kid had 108.

  Nate tore off his four tickets and handed them over.

  “You’re not letting him steal your tickets?” asked a voice from behind.

  Nate turned. A kid in a Giants cap stood beside a girl with dark hair. They looked about his age. Maybe a little older.

  “I knew I’d probably lose,” Nate explained.

  The hat kid laughed. “Definitely, not probably. Nobody beats Roman.”

  Nate looked over. “Is that your name? I’m Nate.”

  “Trevor,” Trevor added from the other side.

  Roman nodded at them.

  “How many are you up to?” the hat kid asked Roman.

  “Low forties,” he replied.

  “Low forties?” Trevor asked. “You have over a thousand tickets.”

  “He means more than forty thousand,” the girl said.

  “Forty thousand?” Nate exclaimed. “Are you compulsive or something? Like one of those gamblers who can’t quit?”

  After glaring at the girl, the hat kid turned to Nate. “He’s not addicted. He’s just really good. Something you wouldn’t know about.”

  “How good are you?” Nate shot back, feeling insulted. “You on the arcade basketball pro tour?”

  “I’m better than you,” the hat kid replied. “Look, you should get lost, we need to talk to Roman.”

  Nate knew he should be focused on reconnaissance, but the rudeness was too blatant to ignore. “How about you beat me at basketball first? One game. You on one side, Roman on the other.”

  The hat kid chuckled. “I don’t need four tickets.”

  “I have more than nineteen dollars in tokens. Whoever wins gets them along with my tickets. If I win, I get Roman’s tickets and whatever you can offer.”

  The hat kid glanced at Roman, who shrugged.

  “Okay,” the hat kid said. He produced a card like the one Roman was using. “There’s more than a hundred dollars in tokens on here. You beat me, you keep it. If Roman beats me, I’ll buy him lunch.”

  “Deal,” Nate said, pulling out a stick of Peak Performance gum and putting it in his mouth.

  “You in too?” the hat kid asked Trevor.

  Trevor raised both hands. “I’ll just watch.”

  The hat kid walked to the game beside Nate and swiped his card.

  “What’s your name?” Nate asked.

  “Chris,” he said, “but you can call me daddy.”

  “We’ll see,” Nate said, inserting a token.

  “You guys ready?” Roman asked.

  They all hit their start buttons.

  Nate grabbed his first ball. The hoop looked enormous, and incredibly close. He began shooting rapidly, never bobbling when he grabbed a new ball, never waiting for the previous shot to drop before grabbing another. He realized he could do it faster if he alternated shots between his left and right hand, but decided that his unending string of swishes was conspicuous enough.

  As the hoop retracted to the three-point distance, Nate kept making shots while it was in motion. He continued to drain one af
ter another for three points each. When the buzzer sounded, he had not missed a single shot. He hadn’t even touched the rim. Chris had scored 92. Roman had earned 109. Nate had 140.

  A siren went off as tickets unspooled from all three basketball machines. After the tickets stopped for Chris and Roman, Nate’s kept coming.

  “I don’t believe it,” Roman said in awe. “Were you scamming me?”

  “How’d you do that?” Chris accused.

  “Didn’t seem hard, daddy,” Nate said, suppressing a smile. “The hoop is close. How’d you miss so many?”

  Chris scowled.

  “I’m not sure ‘daddy’ suits you,” Nate went on. “Maybe granddaddy?”

  “What’s your best all-time score?” Chris asked Roman.

  “A hundred and seventeen. Yours?”

  “One-ten. How’d this joker shoot 140?”

  “Maybe grandmommy?” Nate tried.

  “I was watching,” the girl said. “He was really fast, and he never missed. Not once.”

  “Let me see your hand,” Chris said, stepping close and grabbing Nate by the wrist. He apparently didn’t find what he was looking for, so he checked the other hand. Nate didn’t resist the inspection.

  “Anything?” the girl asked.

  “Nothing,” Chris replied, peering at Nate intently. “Where are you from, Nate?”

  Nate grinned. “My dad owns the company that makes these.”

  “Really?” Roman asked.

  “No,” Nate said. “I was just in the zone at the right time. I live over in Colson.”

  The tickets had stopped unreeling.

  Nate glanced down. “How many tickets were supposed to pay out for breaking the record?”

  “Three hundred,” Roman said.

  “It stopped around 230,” Nate said. He hadn’t been paying direct attention, but his instincts told him he was right. He had learned to trust his instincts while chewing Peak Performance.

  “They’ll refill it,” Chris said. “Risa, see if you can find Todd.”

  “Yes, master,” the girl replied, rolling her eyes.

  “Are you guys going to pay up?” Trevor asked.

  Chris looked reluctant, his lips pressed together. “That’s only fair, I guess. You might have been conning us, Nate, but you definitely won.” Chris handed over his token card.

  “Bad luck for me,” Roman said. “My tickets are yours. More than a thousand. That was incredible.”

  Glancing off to one side, Nate saw Summer and Pigeon approaching. They walked up to Trevor. Pigeon seemed to pay abnormal attention to Chris.

  “Hey, guys,” Summer said brightly. “What are you up to?”

  “Scamming us out of buckets of tokens,” Chris said. “Tell you what, Nate, how about you give me a chance to win my card back, double or nothing. We use the bigger machines with the full-sized balls. I like those better. If I lose, I’ll give you a card with exactly $100 in tokens on it.”

  “What are you, a millionaire?” Nate asked.

  “I made some pretty good money recently,” Chris replied. “What do you say?”

  “My shooting wasn’t a fluke,” Nate said.

  “One-forty can’t be a fluke,” Chris acknowledged. “It’s too high. It’s ridiculous. Still, give me a chance to win my card back on the bigger machines. I want to try.”

  Nate knew the Peak Performance gum would last at least another ten minutes. “Sure, why not?”

  Risa returned with a man who was presumably Todd. In his thirties, he wore black jeans and a dark T-shirt promoting a band Nate had never heard of. He had a wiry build and smelled faintly of cheese puffs. His green hair was styled into a faux hawk. One forearm sported a tattoo of a dark angel holding a pair of swords rendered in blue, purple, and black. Under his other arm he clutched a large wheel of tickets.

  “Whoa!” Todd said. “A hundred and forty? Nobody has put up a score like that since we opened.” He focused on Nate, who still stood in front of the machine. “You did this?”

  “I was in the zone,” Nate said simply.

  “You should be in the newspaper,” Todd said. “That is just a killer score. You should see if there’s a pro league for these things. Seriously, you’d be a superstar.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Nate replied, hoping he wasn’t blushing. He felt a little guilty since his performance was due to magic gum rather than his own skill.

  “I hear it didn’t pay out all 300,” Todd said.

  “Yeah,” Nate replied. “I think it stopped short.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Todd said, crouching in front of the machine. Using some sort of key, he opened it up. “Yep, empty as my girlfriend’s head.”

  “How’s it going, Todd?” Chris asked.

  “Good, Chris,” Todd replied. He loaded the wheel of tickets into the machine and closed it. More tickets began streaming out. “Did this guy take you to school?”

  “He destroyed us,” Chris said.

  “I was wondering when somebody would toast one of you,” Todd said. “Goes to show you, can’t get too cocky. There’s always somebody better.” Placing his hands on his hips, Todd stared at the score. “One-forty. They should pay out a thousand for a score like that. Party on.”

  Todd strolled away.

  Chris nodded toward the bigger machines.

  “We’re just playing for you to get your card back,” Nate clarified. “I keep these tickets.”

  “It’s Roman who cares about tickets,” Chris said. “But there’s only two of the big machines. Just you and me, playing for cards.”

  “I’ll gather your tickets, Nate,” Trevor offered.

  “We’ll help,” Summer said, giving Nate a funny look. He wasn’t sure how to read her expression. Did she think it was wrong for him to scam Chris again using Peak Performance?

  Summer, Trevor, and Pigeon had been engaged in a huddled conversation while Todd resupplied the ticket dispenser. Nate wondered what had lured Summer and Pigeon out of hiding. There didn’t seem to be any emergency.

  Nate went and stood next to Chris. These bigger machines required two tokens. Nate pushed them in, Chris swiped his card, they hit the start buttons, and Nate started shooting. The balls were bigger, the hoop farther away, but it seemed just as easy as the other game. Working quickly, Nate hit swish after swish, the ball touching nothing but net. Hoping to avoid looking supernatural, he forced himself to miss three shots. When the buzzer sounded, he had beaten Chris by almost fifty points.

  “Another new record,” Chris said, glancing from the scoreboard to Nate. He looked stunned and frustrated. “I practice a lot, and I shot fairly well just now. You scored way higher than I’ve ever shot. I guess I owe you another card.”

  “It’s okay,” Nate said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, Nate, I can afford it,” Chris said. “I asked for a rematch, and you owned me. How many times did he miss?”

  “Three,” Risa said. “He was shooting fast.”

  “These pay 500 when you break the record,” Chris said. “You’re well on your way.”

  “To what?” Nate asked.

  Chris studied him curiously. “You’re an interesting guy.” He bent over and tore off the ribbon of tickets dangling from his machine. “My tickets weren’t part of the deal. I’ll donate them to Roman.” He handed the tickets to his friend. “I’ll be right back.”

  Tickets continued to flow from Nate’s basketball game. “How do I manage all of these tickets?” Nate asked Roman.

  “You feed them into machines that count them,” Roman said. “They print out a receipt. Or the ticket counters can store them on a card.”

  “You really have over forty thousand?” Nate asked.

  “Pretty much,” Roman said, avoiding eye contact. “I may have slipped back to just under forty.”

  Was he hiding something? “Do any of the prizes cost that much?” Nate wondered.

  “Not many,” Roman said. “I mostly earn the tickets for fun.”
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  “I can’t believe you shot like that twice in a row,” Risa said to Nate. “Can you do it every time?”

  “Depends,” Nate said. “On a good day I could probably keep repeating. It’s weird. I’m either really coordinated or pretty average. Not a lot of middle ground.”

  “But you were messing with me when we first played,” Roman said. “Setting us up.”

  “Maybe a little,” Nate replied.

  Chris came back and handed Nate a card. “You earned it. And no offense, but I’m never playing basketball against you again. Roman, we should talk.”

  “Later,” Roman said to Nate.

  Nate nodded at him, feeling a little bad for taking his tickets.

  Chris, Roman, and Risa walked away together.

  Summer, Pigeon, and Trevor approached carrying a bunch of tickets. Trevor and Summer had theirs bundled neatly. Pigeon’s were in tangled disarray, with several loose ribbons dragging.

  “You just met some very interesting people,” Summer said. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Five

  Tickets

  Nate, Summer, Trevor, and Pigeon found an empty room clearly used for private parties. A pair of long, orange tables with adjacent benches filled much of the space. A discarded cake box sat on a counter, full of crumpled napkins and plastic cups. Small, colorful shapes flecked the white wallpaper, giving the impression of confetti.

  Trevor closed the door, and they gathered at the end of one of the tables, two on each side. They knelt on the benches and hunched over the table so they could keep their heads together and talk low.

  “What’s the story?” Nate asked.

  “That guy you beat both times at basketball,” Summer began.

  “Chris,” Nate supplied.

  “He can jump like he’s sucking on Moon Rocks. Same with the girl.”

  “Risa,” Trevor offered.

  “We saw them arrive,” Pigeon said. “They came into Arcadeland by jumping the fence when they thought nobody was looking. And I mean jumping it. One leap.”

  “We came to warn you,” Summer said. “We thought they would be good people to watch.”

  “We figure they must be getting magic candy from here,” Pigeon said.

  “Chris was acting strange,” Nate said. “Like he had a secret. Or like he suspected I had one. He was tough to read.”