He lisped his s’s and his pronunciation was indistinct.
“Are you okay?” Neela asked.
“Fine.” Shaun sounded like he had a mouthful of cotton balls. “I highly doubt the platform would have moved if it wasn’t meant to be used.” At least that’s what Persey thought he said. He was getting difficult to understand.
Maybe that’s how androids react to fear? Mush mouth.
Regardless, Shaun had a point, though Persey didn’t relish the idea of testing his theory with her life. As she stared at the wooden disc painted to look like a stone paver, another piece of the floor gave way, crashing to the inferno below. This time it was right behind Persey, and the roar of the fire as it consumed more food made her mind up for her. She took a deep breath and leaped onto the new platform.
“Be careful!” Neela cried.
The stone wiggled a little, bouncing with the force of her arrival in the same way the entire floor had jolted when Persey landed at the bottom of the fire pole, but it felt steady. Firm.
“I’m okay!” she said, surprised. She looked around and saw that there were two platforms within jumping distance of her own: one toward the altar, the other toward an empty wall. The choice was easy.
“I’m going to try to make it to the altar,” she said, pointing toward it. “The exit’s got to be up—”
But whoever was controlling the room wasn’t about to make it that easy. Before Persey even finished speaking, both of the platforms within leaping distance shuddered, dropped a few inches, then crashed down into the fire.
So much for that.
“Confess something else,” Kevin suggested. He was the closest to the altar but hadn’t attempted to jump onto it. “See if another one moves.”
Easy for you to say. “I’m glad you think I have so many sins at my disposal,” she said, glaring at him.
Mackenzie rolled her eyes. “Little Miss Perfect doesn’t do anything wrong, huh? Except she’s a cheater. I bet that’s how you passed the Hidden Library.”
“Is it possible to cheat on an escape room?” Kevin asked, head tilted to the side.
Mackenzie smiled at him wickedly. “Ab-so-fucking-lute-ly.”
“Perhaps…” Neela started tentatively. “Perhaps if you had something, um, bigger.”
“What do you mean?” Persey asked.
“Well, if cheating on a test moved one platform, maybe a bigger confession would move more of them?”
“Don’t say anything else,” Riot said, holding up his hands as if to prevent Persey from making any further confessions. “I’ll do it.”
He was trying to protect her, which was sweet. But Persey felt a sense of responsibility for this mess, for not being strong enough to stand her ground in Boyz Distrikt after she found B.J.’s body. If she’d let the clock drop to zero, Arlo might still be alive. She’d let herself be persuaded away from doing what she knew was the right thing, and now it was her job to fix it.
Persey squared her shoulders, faced the altar, and thought of the actual worst thing she’d ever done.
“Wait!” Riot cried. But Persey ignored him.
“I told my father I hated him and wanted him dead,” she said in a strong clear voice. “And I meant it.” So much.
This time there was no hesitation. Four slabs slid into place, creating a straight line from Persey to the altar.
“HONEY, WE’RE NOT ATTACKING YOU. I DON’T WANT YOU TO feel attacked.”
Persey’s mom held a stemmed, half-full glass of chardonnay, which she brought to her lips between the sentences. Maybe she was hoping her husband would pick up the thread and save her the effort of having to voice the second one, or maybe she needed the liquid courage to so openly defy him. Because saying “I don’t want you to feel attacked” when Persey was having a come-to-Jesus conversation with her dad was sort of like telling a postal service employee that you don’t want them to feel wet while they’re delivering your mail in the middle of a rainstorm. It doesn’t matter what you want: someone’s getting drenched to the bone.
Which is what every conversation with her dad had been like lately. This was just more of the same, but Persey’s mom was trying her best to play mediator between the two parties, even if she was probably (definitely) too drunk to be of any significant help.
She wanted to say all of this, or at least half of it, but if there was one thing Persey had learned in her sixteen years in this family, it was that when her dad was on