Deadly Design (9780698173613) Read Online Free PDF

ripe.”
    â€œRipe?”
    â€œYou know. You look like you need a little more time on the vine. Need to mature a bit. Maybe start appreciating what you see when you look in the mirror.”
    I almost laugh. I mean, people never appreciate what they see in the mirror. We barely even acknowledge to ourselves that it’s us reflected back. We just look to make sure our hair isn’t too much of a mess or there isn’t something stuck in our teeth or poking out of our nose, but we don’t really look at ourselves. At least, I don’t.
    â€œHow is everyone?” a booming voice asks. Luigi himself is standing beside the table where Mom, Dad, Connor, and Emma sit, and he’s giving them his best Disney-inspired Italian accent. Lou’s from Kansas City, not Rome, but he’s sort of Italian. His great-grandfather came over in the early 1900s. He taught his daughter how to cook, and she taught her daughter, and her daughter refused to teach her son because, in America, men should be doctors or lawyers and shouldn’t obsess about countries they’ve never been to. So Lou took an extended trip to Italy to learn how to cook, and he came back as Luigi. “Do you know what you’d like this evening?”
    Actually, he sounds a little like an Italian version of Dracula.
    â€œWait,” Luigi cries just as my father starts to order. “I know what you want. I know what you all want. You want . . .” His eyes dart from side to side like he’s waiting for something. “To celebrate!”
    And then it comes. People rush out from the hallway leading to the kitchen and the bathrooms; others pop up from behind the long wooden bar where Luigi lets adult patrons sample different wines. Within seconds, the scarcely occupied restaurant is packed with people throwing balloons and holding signs that say HAPPY BIRTHDAY and CONGRATULATIONS and STATE CHAMPION .
    I slouch in my seat and seriously think about slipping under the table. Cami reaches over and takes my silverware. She unrolls the white cloth napkin, removes the knife, and hands me back the fork and spoon.
    â€œI wouldn’t want you to . . .” She takes the knife and does a slicing motion across her wrist.
    â€œI appreciate that,” I say and hand her my fork too.
    â€œWow. That bad? I can’t even trust you with a fork?”
    I pick up the spoon. “Looks like I’ll be having soup.” Truth is, I don’t want anything. Not minestrone, not lasagna or “b’sghetti.” I want to get away from the fans who have crammed themselves into the restaurant. I should slip off to the bathroom and call the fire department. I’m sure the fire marshal would have something to say about the hundred plus people crammed into a room that shouldn’t hold more than fifty.
    I feel a hand against mine. Cami’s looking at me. She’s the only person who is. Everyone is staring at Connor, talking to Connor, praising Connor. Dad’s beaming, enthralled by the magnificence of his eldest son, while Mom dabs at her eyes with her napkin. She’s touched, no doubt, by the idea that all these people would go through all this trouble to surprise them—to surprise Connor.
    â€œHe’ll be going off to college soon,” Cami says.
    I nod. “But the legend will go on.” I try to smile at her. Try to show that I appreciate that she’s talking to me, acknowledging me. But I just want all of this to be over.

5
    K illing zombies is stupid. I mean, really. They’re already dead; that’s why they’re zombies. So why does shooting them over and over again, or exploding a bomb next to them, kill them? I know they’re undead. Like they were dead, then they became “undead” and now I have to make them dead again, so that I can move on to the next level and get better guns and scarier zombies. It’s so stupid, but I’m so good at it. Like