Deadly Design (9780698173613) Read Online Free PDF Page B

really, really good. I actually got invited to a tournament last month in Ohio. Only two hundred people in the entire United States got invited, and I was one of them. It’s crazy to think they actually have scouts watching online players. Sometimes players even get sponsored; they get paid to play Xbox and go to tournaments.
    What I really can’t imagine is Mom or Dad missing one of Connor’s sporting events or forensic tournaments to take me to Ohio so that I can play in a Call of Duty tournament. I never told them about the invite to play. I didn’t want them to feel bad when they chose Connor over me.
    I imagine that every zombie on the screen was at Connor’s surprise party. I imagine them dragging their rotted limbs between the tables at Luigi’s. I imagine them singing “Happy Birthday” out of rotted mouths, their words nothing more than mumbled, melodic moans. And I shoot them. I shoot them over and over and over. I let some of them morph into crawlers, so that they are dragging their legless bodies across the wooden floors and cracked sidewalks as I finish them off.
    What would Dr. Phil say?
    A monkey slapping those eerie little cymbals sits at the top of the stairs. It’s just about to explode when someone knocks on my bedroom door. I pause the game. “What?”
    The door opens. It’s Connor. He’s changed since we got home. He’s wearing an old T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. He hesitates, unsure if it’s okay to come in. Like I’ve got landmines buried under piles of dirty clothes, just in case someone dares to enter my inner sanctum without my permission. I used to have a DO NOT ENTER sign taped to the door. The tape hardened like thin glass over the years and finally shattered. I’m not sure what happened to the sign, but by then I knew everyone had gotten the message, especially Connor. I can’t remember the last time he came into my room. It’s been a few years at least.
    Connor’s holding a package wrapped in balloon-covered paper.
    â€œNice place you got here,” he says and then he laughs. “How do you know when you’re going to run out of clean clothes to wear?” He glances at the assortment of soiled socks, shorts, and underwear strewn around the room.
    â€œIt’s easy. When seventy-five percent of the floor is covered, I know I’m down to two days’ worth of clean clothes. That’s when I gather it all up and head for the laundry room.”
    Connor nods and smiles like he admires my organizational skills. He comes toward me and sits on the edge of my unmade bed. “I, um . . . got you something.” He holds out the package.
    â€œIt’s your birthday, not mine.”
    â€œI’ve been thinking—you should get presents on my birthday, and I should get presents on yours, or maybe we should pick a date right between our birthdays and celebrate then. We’re not just brothers, right? We’re twins. It just seems jacked up that we don’t celebrate together.” He puts the present in my hand. “It’s really more for me than you, anyway. Open it.”
    I can already tell what it is from its odd shape. I don’t want to unwrap the present, but I do.
    â€œI thought maybe we could play together.”
    I hand the new controller back to him. “No.” I nearly choke on the word, but I’m going to get this out. I’m going to say this, even if he doesn’t like it, because I have to. “I don’t want to play with you. You have everything. Everything out there belongs to you. I’m good at this. ” I lift my own controller. “ This is all I have. Can’t you just—”
    â€œI understand,” Connor says, cutting me off. “I just thought . . .” He takes the controller in both of his hands and stares at it like it’s much more than a video game controller. And it is.
    Connor’s eyes