The Candy Shop War, Vol. 2: Arcade Catastrophe (2 page)

“I will. Good night.”

“Night.”

The door closed, leaving the room dark aside from the soft light coming from the face of Roman’s digital clock and the diffused light seeping through the window. Roman waited quietly, letting the minutes pass.

How had Marisa escaped? How had she done it so quietly? He could only imagine that she had dived off the roof. Which meant that Marisa might currently be sprawled on his driveway with a broken neck.

If she had been willing to climb to his window in the middle of the night, the jet club must really be cool. Chris had insisted that earning the stamp was worth it, and apparently Risa agreed. Roman gripped his covers tightly. Risa had even offered to give him money so he could keep earning tickets.

So far Roman had spent all of his personal savings earning prize tickets—more than four hundred dollars. The money had come from the little safe on his dresser, the one with the words
PRIVATE FUND
printed across the back. The money belonged to him, but, except for minor purchases, he was only supposed to spend it with permission. For more than a week before he was grounded, Roman had turned twenties into tokens until he had nothing left. When his parents had caught him, Arcadeland had been forbidden, and his week as an inmate had begun.

Could he really go back there? Chris had promised that the jet stamp would change his life, and Risa was backing him up.

The house remained quiet. After retrieving his flashlight, Roman crept to the window and opened it. He stepped out onto the roof, the shingles creaking noisily. Again he wondered how Marisa had stayed so silent.

Clicking on the flashlight, he scanned the empty driveway, finding no paralyzed bodies. “Marisa?” he whispered loudly. “Risa? You out there?”

There came no reply.

Roman climbed back into his room, stashed the flashlight, put his drawing pad and pencils away, and then returned to bed. With his mind so full of worries and questions, there was no longer any need to draw.

He had blown his savings at an arcade. No huge deal, right? He was only a kid. There would be plenty of time to earn more.

Still, it was all the money he had saved for his entire life, and he had made his parents angry by sneakily spending it. All to earn a cheesy stamp. The jet stamp had to include amazing perks, or else why would it be worth so many tickets?

Chris was a smart kid, and he had remained adamant. He had insisted that the rewards of the stamp were way cooler than a free lifetime supply of Arcadeland tokens, tons better than free lifetime Arcadeland food and drinks. Chris had promised that Roman would thank him forever. Now Risa too.

Roman pressed his cheek into his pillow. He had no savings left. He had gotten grounded for a week of his precious summer vacation. But if Marisa and Chris would put up the money for him to keep earning tickets, Roman knew he had to go back to Arcadeland.

Chapter One

Dead Man’s Run

Straddling his bike, Nate stared down the long slope. He had heard older kids call it Dead Man’s Run. The name seemed appropriate. Rutted by tires and rainfall, the dirt track wound down a steep hillside, skirting sheer edges much of the way. From his current vantage point, some stretches of the path seemed to drop almost vertically. The idea of walking down Dead Man’s Run made him uncomfortable, let alone riding a bike.

“Look at her go,” Pigeon murmured. Hair buzzed to a uniform bristle, he stood beside Nate, clutching the handlebars of a shabby bike.

Protected by a helmet, elbow pads, knee pads, and gloves, Summer raced fearlessly down the trail on a rusty mountain bike. She reached a long, straight, steep portion of the trail that swooped directly into a banked turn. They had scouted the path beforehand, and Nate knew that a fairly high cliff was hidden just beyond the bend.

Crouching forward, Summer pedaled hard down the slope, gaining way too much speed. There was no chance of making the turn. Instead, Summer used the angled bank as a ramp, hitting it straight on at full speed and then launching into the air.

Once airborne, she kicked away from her bike, sailing higher and farther than the laws of physics should have allowed as the bike tumbled out of view. Her gliding trajectory was possible only thanks to the Moon Rock in her mouth. The candy reduced the effect of gravity on her, although it did not entirely erase the pull, as was proved when Summer gradually curved out of view.

“Think she’ll be okay?” Lindy asked.

“We’ll know in a minute,” Pigeon said, holding up his walkie-talkie. He pressed the talk button. “How does she look?”

“She won’t make it all the way to me,” Trevor replied. “She’ll clear most of the slope. What a jump! She’s waiting to bite, cutting it close. Okay, she froze just in time. She did it perfectly, just before hitting the ground. Still frozen. Still frozen. Now she’s down. She’s fine. Over.”

“Let us know when she reaches you.”

“Will do.”

Nate was glad to hear that Summer had timed her bite right. Earlier in the summer, through accidental experimentation, they had discovered that biting a Moon Rock temporarily froze you in space, no matter how fast or slow you were moving at the time. The knowledge came in handy. Even with reduced gravity, if you fell a long way, you could eventually build up enough speed to really hurt yourself.

The experience of biting a Moon Rock was not comfortable—it felt like a jolt of electricity, made your ears ring, and left you temporarily dizzy. But your body suffered no lasting damage from the sudden stop, and the results were very reliable. The knowledge that biting a Moon Rock served as instant brakes had allowed them to attempt some risky stunts with the candy. You had to make sure to bite only when close to the ground, because after you unfroze, all the antigravity effects of the Moon Rock would be gone and you would fall like normal.

“She’ll probably win,” Lindy said.

Nate stared at the redhead. Less than a year ago, Lindy had been an aging magician named Belinda White. She had originated the formula for Moon Rocks and several other magical treats. Mr. Stott had raided her notes and learned to replicate many of her creations, adding them to his growing menu of supernatural candy.

But Lindy retained no memory of her previous life. At the same time as she had sipped water from the Fountain of Youth, she had also unknowingly consumed a Clean Slate—a potent confection of her own design that had completely erased her identity. She currently lived with Mr. Stott, who had adopted her after John Dart had provided the necessary paperwork. She had joined Nate and his friends for most of their fifth-grade year and now routinely spent time with them during the summer. They called themselves the Blue Falcons, and they regularly experimented with magical candy.

“Don’t count us out,” Pigeon said. “Ironhides might still prove to be the best candy for downhill racing. Summer fell a long way, but I’ll fall faster.”

“Hopefully I won’t fall at all,” Nate added.

The walkie-talkie crackled. “She made it to me. Just over one minute.”

“That’ll be hard to beat,” Pigeon conceded.

“We’ll see.” Nate pulled out a stick of Peak Performance gum. Unlike Pigeon and Summer, who had bought junky secondhand bikes for this contest, he was riding his own bike. To be safe, he had on elbow pads and a helmet, but he expected that the heightened state of awareness and coordination provided by Peak Performance would allow him to make it down without any mishaps.

He put the gum in his mouth and started chewing. It was hard to feel the effects of Peak Performance unless you were in motion. He had used the gum on many occasions, and it had never failed him. “Tell Trevor to start the stopwatch,” Nate said.

“Ready with the time?” Pigeon asked into the walkie-talkie.

“Just a second,” came the reply. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“On your mark,” Pigeon said into the walkie-talkie. “Get set. Go!”

Nate started down Dead Man’s Run. It still looked freaky, but now that he was moving, he had an instinctive sense for where to guide his bike. Subtleties of balance and momentum that he had never perceived suddenly felt like second nature. He pedaled hard but resisted going as fast as he could. He could sense the limits of what he could handle without losing control.

With the wind in his face, Nate rode as he had never imagined possible. He let his rear wheel slide as he rounded tight corners. He took jumps to avoid rocky patches. When the way was straight, he tucked forward, zooming with suicidal confidence, only to hit the brakes and fishtail around a hairpin corner. Dirt sprayed. Rocks tumbled. His stomach lurched as he jumped to a lower portion of the trail, shortening a switchback.

He knew he should be terrified. Without Peak Performance, he would have wrecked his bike a dozen times. Yet somehow he managed to enjoy the exhilaration rather than fear the danger.

The exertion did not tire him. Chewing Peak Performance meant you could run at a full sprint without ever feeling winded. Maximum effort seemed like no big deal for as long as the magic lasted.

Trevor and Summer came into view. Trevor was quite a bit taller than her now, having gained a few inches during the school year. The way was getting less steep, so Nate pedaled with everything he had, skidding to a stop after he passed Trevor.

“A minute twenty-one,” Trevor reported.

“What did Summer get?” Nate asked.

“A minute six,” Trevor replied. “You looked awesome coming down, though. I wish I had it on video!”

“It felt pretty awesome,” Nate admitted, disappointed that he had come in second. Still, coming in fifteen seconds behind somebody who had glided most of the way down the mountain wasn’t too bad. And unlike Summer, he hadn’t trashed his bike in the process. Now the only question was whether Pigeon would put him in last place.

Trevor relayed the exact time through the walkie-talkie.

“Pretty quick,” Lindy replied. “Pigeon is ready to go. Is the timer set?”

“Ready when you are,” Trevor responded.

“Great. Ready, set, go!”

Trevor tapped his stopwatch.

Nate looked up the hill. The contours of the landscape currently hid the top of the trail from sight. The brush on the hill was golden brown in response to the dry summer weather, interrupted by jutting rocks, patches of dirt, and an occasional oak tree. Evening was fading. They had timed their contest carefully, hoping the hillside would be deserted by sunset, since most bystanders would have had questions about a girl flying hundreds of yards through the air. So far, nobody had disturbed them.

Pigeon was sucking on an Ironhide as he came down the hill. The jawbreaker would prevent his skin from tearing and his bones from breaking. It made him no stronger or faster, but while the candy lasted, it would be just about impossible for him to get injured.

When Pigeon first came into view, he had clearly already fallen. The Ironhide did not prevent him from getting dirty, nor did it prevent his clothes from ripping and accumulating prickers from the weeds.

Of the five friends, Pigeon was the least confident on a bike. It showed. He took a corner too fast and plowed into a small boulder, catapulting over the handlebars and landing in a cloud of dust and sliding rocks. He was on his feet instantly, scrambling up the trail to retrieve his bike.

Back astride the bike, he reached the steep run where Summer had left the trail by jumping off the banked turn. Pigeon hit the same ramp at a high velocity, but instead of floating a ridiculous distance through the air, he demonstrated what gravity was supposed to do when somebody rode a bike off a cliff.

Losing his forward momentum, he fell with increasing speed before slamming into a cluster of jagged rocks, his husky body tumbling and cartwheeling, arms and legs flailing loosely. The rusty bike crumpled on impact and bounced along beside him. It was the kind of spine-crushing accident that should have been fatal. Even knowing that Pigeon was sucking on an Ironhide, Nate found himself wringing his hands.

Once Pigeon stopped somersaulting and sliding, he got up. He hustled to the bike, but the front tire was shaped like a taco and the frame was bent or maybe broken. Turning, Pigeon raced recklessly toward them on foot, falling twice as he jumped off small ledges.

Panting and sweaty, his clothes torn and dusty, Pigeon reached Trevor and flopped to the ground. Although he seemed exhausted, there was no blood on him.

“One minute, fifty-three seconds,” Trevor reported.

“Last place?” Pigeon wheezed.

“You had the best crash,” Summer consoled.

“Did it hurt?” Nate wondered.

Pigeon sat up. “No. It freaked me out, though. I thought I was dead for a second there.”

“Here comes Lindy,” Trevor announced.

Nate turned to watch. She was using Peak Performance and riding her own bike, just as he had. He wondered if her magic eye would give her an advantage.

Lindy had been missing an eye when Mr. Stott took over as her guardian, but a powerful magician named Mozag had provided a replacement. The glass eye looked perfectly real but could see better than a normal human eye. With her replacement eye, Lindy could see in the dark, zoom in on distant objects like a telescope, and even recognize different temperatures.