Party Games by R. L. Stine Page B

were blasted by deafening guitar music that rang off the tile walls.
    â€œParty time!” Eric shouted, pumping his hands over his head and doing a little dance.
    Delores pushed open tall double doors, and we walked into an enormous room that looked like a movie set.
    I blinked several times as I stared into the pulsing light. We were standing in what had to be a ballroom, with a high cathedral ceiling, lighted entirely by candlelight. Candles were hung in dark sconces along the walls. Two chandeliers decked with long candles hung low over our heads. Three walls held floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A fire danced in a broad fireplace at the back wall.
    For some crazy reason, I thought of the ballroom in the Beast’s castle in that Disney movie Beth and I used to watch over and over, Beauty and the Beast.
    Half in shadow, half in flickering orange light, Brendan stood in the center of the enormous room beside a long food table. He stepped forward with a big smile on his face, watching everyone’s reaction to the incredible room. “Hey, guys,” he called. “Welcome.”
    He wore a black V-necked sweater over a white T-shirt, charcoal-colored jeans, and red Converse sneakers. It was kind of his uniform. I liked it.
    â€œI … uh … I just heard about the problem at the dock,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Well, I want you to know it’s been taken care of. Everything will be okay. And you’re not stranded here, if you’re worried about that. We’ve already sent for another pilot for the boat. And—”
    â€œIs Randy okay?” April interrupted, shouting over the wailing guitars. The music poured from enormous twin speakers on the wall.
    â€œOf course he is.” Brendan replied. “Randy is feeling good. A little shaken. He lost a little blood. He might have a slight concussion. But don’t worry about him. We’re here to party—right?”
    â€œRight!” The cry rang out over the music.
    â€œSome of you haven’t been to this house,” Brendan said. “It’s pretty awesome. You’ll see. My great-great-grandparents built the house like a million years ago. And as we all know, my ancestors were all way weird.”
    â€œSo are you!” Eric shouted.
    That got a big laugh.
    Brendan laughed, too. He scratched his head and squinted at Eric. “Did I invite you here? Really?”
    â€œI only came for the beer,” Eric shot back.
    That got a big cheer. Some guys shouted, “Me, too!”
    â€œNo worries,” Brendan said. “There’s plenty of beer. Hey, I’m eighteen today. I’m legal in this state.” He grinned. (Did I mention that I love the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles?) “The rest of you are all eighteen, too—right?”
    â€œRight!” everyone shouted. Kids pumped their fists in the air and cheered.
    Brendan’s expression changed. “I’ve always been blown away by the stories about my weird ancestors,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to have a party in this house they built. A party like back in the day, with all kinds of old-fashioned games.”
    â€œYou mean like the original Grand Theft Auto ?” one of the dark-haired boys called out. He was wearing a gray-and-white Benson School sweatshirt and black, straight-legged jeans.
    Brendan gestured toward him. “Hey, any of you guys know my cousins? They don’t go to Shadyside. They go to the Benson School.” He pointed. “Morgan and Kenny Fear.”
    I studied them. They had the same dark hair and dark eyes and serious expressions as Brendan. They totally looked like Fears.
    â€œMorgan is the tall skinny one,” Brendan said. “Kenny is the fat slob.”
    Kenny jumped to his feet. “Hey, thanks—!”
    â€œI had to invite them because they’re family,” Brendan said. “But I don’t like them at all.”
    â€œWe