The Candy Shop War, Vol. 2: Arcade Catastrophe by Brandon Mull Page A

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.”
    “I can’t believe you shot like that twice in a row,” Risa said to Nate. “Can you do it every time?”
    “Depends,” Nate