clearly hadn’t used her SAT score to defeat the challenge, so what code had opened her door? She’d been screaming about something when Persey and Neela were trying to use the microphone…a password. That must have been it. But a password to what?
Persey’s politeness backfired as Arlo whirled on her. “You’re supposed to be some problem-solving savant, so you tell me. Do I look okay?”
“No.”
“Good eyes, Sherlock.” Then she turned to the camera. “What the hell are you trying to prove, huh? I had nothing to do with it, okay? NOTHING.”
Girl was losing her shit. “Arlo, what are you talking about?”
“It wasn’t my fucking SAT score, okay? That wasn’t my challenge.”
Duh. “What was it?”
Arlo shook her head. “Something isn’t right here. The competition, the prize. It’s all wrong.”
“We got different challenges. So what?” Wes leaned back in his chair, his eyes half-closed and sleepy. “Doesn’t mean the check for the prize money won’t clear the bank.”
“Don’t you have a trust fund?” Kevin asked.
“I never said that.” Wes’s voice was instantly serious, despite the weed.
“This is just part of the game,” Mackenzie said, giggling. “Like that fake-suffocation thing. So clever!”
She sounded calmer now, like the weed had helped her to fully accept her own theory about their experience in the ATM booth being nothing but an illusion. Not that Persey blamed her. Because if it wasn’t all an illusion, then what were they supposed to believe? As much as she hated to admit it even to herself, Mackenzie was right. The whole near-suffocation thing was just a fancy hoax.
“I think you need to reevaluate your definition of the word ‘fake,’” Riot said. “The lack of oxygen in that room was real.”
“You think someone tried to kill us?” Persey asked. Her voice sounded small and frail, despite her efforts to present a strong façade.
“I think…” Riot paused, lips pressed together as if deep in thought. He was choosing his words carefully. “I think Arlo’s right: something about this competition feels off.”
“Look,” Kevin said, his arms thrown wide in supplication, “we got through the challenge, right? We’re all still here. No one’s dead. Let’s just assume that everything that’s happened so far is just part of the competition.”
Persey pictured the whiteboard in Office Drones. If it was accurate—and so far it had proven so—that meant they had seven more escape rooms, including the one that they were in. If the Individual Challenge had proved nearly fatal, what the hell did that say for Boyz Distrikt? Or the rest? Would the challenges escalate in both complexity and danger?
That was a terrifying thought.
“Guys!”
Persey looked up at Neela, who was pointing to the clock on the wall. It had been frozen at thirty-three seconds since Shaun, Riot, Mackenzie, and Kevin had escaped from their ATM booths, but now the red digital numbers had reset themselves to thirty minutes. As Persey watched, the seconds began to count down.
“Another puzzle!” Mackenzie squealed, clapping her hands together like an elated five-year-old watching a magic show. Her dramatic exit from the Individual Challenge was all but forgotten. “I’m so excited!”
Without a word, everyone jumped into action. Shaun strode over to the closest wall and began examining the mounted records while Riot got up close and personal with the collection of posters. Mackenzie strolled aimlessly around the room, gazing here and there like a Realtor assessing the loft for the marketplace, and Neela focused on the computer, clicking through folders and files. Even Wes wheeled his desk chair back up behind Neela, peering somewhat aimlessly at the mixing board beside the desktop.
But Arlo just continued to stare at the backside of the door that had released her—the same Spice Girls poster that Persey had in her bedroom once upon a time—and didn’t move.
Kevin watched her for a moment as if trying to puzzle something out, then got bored. “Any idea what we’re supposed to be looking for?”
No one answered.
Shaun picked the nearest record off the shelf and checked its label, front and back, then turned coldly to Mackenzie, as if she was invading his personal space. “Do you mind?”
“So ‘people person’ isn’t on your dating profile, huh, Shaun-bot?” Kevin said.
Shaun continued to examine the records. “I don’t date.”
“Shocking,” Kevin muttered as he sat down on one of the sofas and picked up a video game controller. “Nintendo 64? Sweet! I haven’t seen one of these since I was a kid.”
Persey crouched down beside him, reading the label of the game cartridge in the machine. “Mortal Kombat Trilogy.”