Read Online Deadly Pink by Vivian Vande Velde - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vivian Vande Velde
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regarding pain hadn't been written in yet, or maybe the technicians assumed this world was too safe for its very young players to get hurt.
Gingerly, I touched my fingertips to my head. No great gaping wound, but definitely a nasty scrape—and that on top of a huge bump. I'd heard people refer to such a bump as a goose egg, but I'd never truly appreciated that term before.
Still, it was good news that the bump had had the time to grow to that prodigious size: time had obviously passed, and that gave a happier explanation for the darkness of my surroundings. It had been dusk when I'd been ejected from the dance, and I'd been worried that I'd hit myself so hard I'd started to go blind.
The candles were still flickering in the windows of Emily's house, excepting only the one with the drawn curtain, but there was no more music drifting out into the night. The musicians—and, I could only suppose, the beautiful women and the silent men—had gone home. Whatever home meant for game characters.
I couldn't tell how much time had passed. The sky was totally dark. Well, there were stars and a full moon, but no remnant of the setting sun or hint of a rising sun.
What had they made of my unconsciousness at Rasmussem? I suspected Mom would have demanded my return, yet again, if she'd realized what had happened, regardless of the official assurances of my safety. I could just imagine the scene back there: the secret glance that passed between Ms. Bennett and Adam when they realized what the flattened readouts meant, the silent mutual acknowledgment that they shouldn't say anything to Mom. They must have figured it would take less time for me to revive on my own than for them to fetch me back, hear me tell them that no, yet again I had nothing significant to report, and then have to return me to the game. Though Adam probably had made a note about it.
I sat up, and almost fell over sideways from the dizziness. So I sat there a few more minutes, listening to the chirp of the world's loudest nighttime peepers, my arms stretched out on either side, until I didn't feel so badly off balance. Fighting the urge to throw up, I struggled to my knees, then finally hauled myself to my feet.
My head still ached as though it might split open, but I staggered back up onto the porch and once again rapped my knuckles against the window.
Tap.
The sound went right through me, though I was fairly certain I wasn't being as forceful as when I'd tried it earlier.
I went with one knuckle.
tap. tap. tap.
Each tap was like a smack across the top of my head. A smack with a piece of lumber.
But I didn't rouse anybody in the house.
Holding on to the rail because there was the very real danger of my tipping over, I made my way around the porch to the next window.
Tap, tap, tap, nothing.
Then the next: Tap, tap, tap, nothing.
Then I was at the French doors that opened from the kitchen. I'd forgotten about them.
Boy, I told myself, I’ll feel like a real pinhead if those turn out to be unlocked.
My self-esteem remained intact in that regard: the doors were, in fact, Grace-proofed.
I sat down on the steps that led to the water, too dizzy to know if I was upset that I still couldn't get in or relieved that I hadn't inflicted my breaking-and-entering injury on myself pointlessly.
The water lapped against the dock, a noise that under normal circumstances would have been soothing. With my head aching the way it did, the sound felt more like metal garbage can lids clanging together.
Maybe I should go back to Rasmussem, I thought. Sure, I'd lose some time, but I could come back in a sound body. And I could tell Ms. Bennett she needed to fix the pain filters of this game. And I needed to tell her about the voiceless guys. Unquestionably they were some sort of clue. About something. Probably. Though, with my head throbbing, figuring things out was just too difficult. Besides, Emily was most likely asleep now. In Rasmussem games, you need to sleep just as
Gingerly, I touched my fingertips to my head. No great gaping wound, but definitely a nasty scrape—and that on top of a huge bump. I'd heard people refer to such a bump as a goose egg, but I'd never truly appreciated that term before.
Still, it was good news that the bump had had the time to grow to that prodigious size: time had obviously passed, and that gave a happier explanation for the darkness of my surroundings. It had been dusk when I'd been ejected from the dance, and I'd been worried that I'd hit myself so hard I'd started to go blind.
The candles were still flickering in the windows of Emily's house, excepting only the one with the drawn curtain, but there was no more music drifting out into the night. The musicians—and, I could only suppose, the beautiful women and the silent men—had gone home. Whatever home meant for game characters.
I couldn't tell how much time had passed. The sky was totally dark. Well, there were stars and a full moon, but no remnant of the setting sun or hint of a rising sun.
What had they made of my unconsciousness at Rasmussem? I suspected Mom would have demanded my return, yet again, if she'd realized what had happened, regardless of the official assurances of my safety. I could just imagine the scene back there: the secret glance that passed between Ms. Bennett and Adam when they realized what the flattened readouts meant, the silent mutual acknowledgment that they shouldn't say anything to Mom. They must have figured it would take less time for me to revive on my own than for them to fetch me back, hear me tell them that no, yet again I had nothing significant to report, and then have to return me to the game. Though Adam probably had made a note about it.
I sat up, and almost fell over sideways from the dizziness. So I sat there a few more minutes, listening to the chirp of the world's loudest nighttime peepers, my arms stretched out on either side, until I didn't feel so badly off balance. Fighting the urge to throw up, I struggled to my knees, then finally hauled myself to my feet.
My head still ached as though it might split open, but I staggered back up onto the porch and once again rapped my knuckles against the window.
Tap.
The sound went right through me, though I was fairly certain I wasn't being as forceful as when I'd tried it earlier.
I went with one knuckle.
tap. tap. tap.
Each tap was like a smack across the top of my head. A smack with a piece of lumber.
But I didn't rouse anybody in the house.
Holding on to the rail because there was the very real danger of my tipping over, I made my way around the porch to the next window.
Tap, tap, tap, nothing.
Then the next: Tap, tap, tap, nothing.
Then I was at the French doors that opened from the kitchen. I'd forgotten about them.
Boy, I told myself, I’ll feel like a real pinhead if those turn out to be unlocked.
My self-esteem remained intact in that regard: the doors were, in fact, Grace-proofed.
I sat down on the steps that led to the water, too dizzy to know if I was upset that I still couldn't get in or relieved that I hadn't inflicted my breaking-and-entering injury on myself pointlessly.
The water lapped against the dock, a noise that under normal circumstances would have been soothing. With my head aching the way it did, the sound felt more like metal garbage can lids clanging together.
Maybe I should go back to Rasmussem, I thought. Sure, I'd lose some time, but I could come back in a sound body. And I could tell Ms. Bennett she needed to fix the pain filters of this game. And I needed to tell her about the voiceless guys. Unquestionably they were some sort of clue. About something. Probably. Though, with my head throbbing, figuring things out was just too difficult. Besides, Emily was most likely asleep now. In Rasmussem games, you need to sleep just as
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