The Pearl Wars by Nick James

groan. He’s perched up on the balcony, watching our every move. Worse yet, he’s pitted us against Year Sevens. Thirteen-year-olds. And it’s a testament to our supreme suckability that we’re still losing.
    One of the Year Sevens slumps over to the bench at the border of the training field. We’re finally even.
    Manjeet and Paulina, two kids in my year, sit beside him. I’m happy not to be the first one out today, but those two are pretty much super-geniuses, so it’s not like they’ve gotta be good at this combat stuff. Besides, I’m only alive because I’m a good hider. The whole “battlefield” of sand dunes, brick walls, and bushy trees they’ve constructed is supposed to make things more challenging. I just use it to hide. I’m not completely without my merits.
    I pass behind a massive boulder, drawing my arms inward to become less of a target. The training landscape changes each time we’re in here. Sometimes it’s a dense f orest, other days a demolished cityscape. Today it’s something in between. I think they were going for a desert theme, but there’s also random walls and trees and stuff. Kind of impractical. I’m not exactly sure what this is supposed to be teaching us.
    Skandar rushes past me, grabbing my arm and half-yanking me to the ground before I regain my balance and run alongside him.
    “Wilson told you to move, mate,” he says through labored breaths. “Gotta get your head in the game.”
    Before I can respond, he climbs up onto a sand dune, gives a mass ridiculous battle cry, and chucks a detonator at Asha Mutombo. She dives out of the way. The detonator sails past her shoulder, landing somewhere in the sand.
    “Frag it.” Skandar frowns before retreating behind the dune.
    I unhook one of the seven remaining detonators from my belt and cradle it in my hand, wondering if I should go after someone or just let myself get hit. Only the fear of pain stops me from surrendering altogether. The plastic feels cold in my hand. I roll the thing along my fingers, a wicked, silver baseball of death.
    “Hey, Fisher.” Skandar breaks from his mad pursuit. “Mind if I borrow one of your detonators? I’ve only got two left.”
    “Knock yourself out.” I toss him mine and pull another from my belt.
    “I saw that, boys!” Wilson’s voice rains down on us.
    Skandar cups his hand around his mouth and shouts up to the balcony. “It’s teamwork, sir!”
    Wilson doesn’t respond. We’re each supposed to register a certain amount of “kills” today. Skandar’s good at this sort of thing. I’m the one who needs the practice.
    “Follow me,” Skandar whispers as we sneak around the dune.
    “Where’s Eva?” I whisper back.
    “On the other side of the field. Asha and Chan are somewhere in the middle. If we all sneak up and surround them, it’ll be three against two.”
    “What about Alexis?
    “To hell with Alexis.” He leads us farther around the dune, out toward the open. “She’s no threat to us.”
    I’m about to argue when a detonation nearly deafens me. For a second, I’m convinced that I’ve been hit. But there’s no pain. I glance over at Skandar. The expression on his face says it all.
    “What the hell?” He spins around. “Who hit me?”
    I turn to see Alexis White standing behind us, a Cheshire Cat grin on her face. The smallest girl in their year and she managed to knock Skandar Harris out of the game.
    “Jesse, don’t just stand there! Hit her!” Skandar shouts.
    I hurry up and throw the detonator. It strikes Alexis’s right leg just above the knee. Her face winces with pain as the shell explodes, but it’s not enough to completely wipe away her smile.
    “It was worth it,” she says.
    “You cheated,” Skandar mutters.
    Alexis shakes her head. “It’s not my fault you two were having a little tea party back here. Watch your backs next time.”
    Skandar holds up his last detonator to hit her again, but remembers the rules and stops himself before doing