Page 71 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

I shot him a look. “Did Joy finally shatter the karaoke machine?”

“No, but she did break my will to live.” He clapped his hands together. “Shooting game. Maze. Neon lights. Absolute carnage.”

Shun’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Sounds like the perfect time for a little revenge.”

I raised a brow. “On who?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she mused. “Maybe… anyone who’s been screwing up the documentary?”

I snorted, taking a breath. Max could use a fake bullet, if not a real one, for being such a jock. Then, with a sigh. “Alright. I’m in.”

We walked back in, being navigated by Max.

The shooting arena looked like a fantasy dungeon swallowed by a cyberpunk nightmare—glowing walls, pulsing symbols, and a fog machine going way too hard.

Our team: Me, Joy, Shun, Mia, and Fred.

The enemy: Max, Ethan, and the rest of the jocks.

We were totally screwed even before we began.

A robotic voice boomed overhead: “GAME START!”

The maze lit up.

We ran.

Shun took the lead, darting behind neon pillars like a creature forged for mayhem. “Clark, stick close,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because if you wander off, you’re going to get destroyed.”

She had a point.

Meanwhile, Joy had gone feral. I caught a glimpse of her tackling Fred—her own teammate—just because she could.

Mia, ever the documentarian, was dodging shots while filming.

And me?

I was terrible.

Every time I tried to aim, I got hit.

Every. Single. Time.

Guess what? Physics had abandoned me in this one.

Shun sighed. “Clark, aim first, then shoot.”

“I am aiming!”

“No, you’re panicking and flailing.”

I turned to argue—

Pew!

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