Summer crickets buzz in my ears as I slide across the East-Clan camp, stealthy as a shadow with my light paws and slinking gait—even if I’m limping. Nightfall’s sent most cats out hunting, or training their seekers. I’d give my tail go with them! But since I’m the unluckiest cat in the clan, I’m stuck here.

Thanks to that stupid race against Dawntail and Shadefoot! I know that fox-hearted molly made me twist my paw, running into me like that…

And Applepelt insists I stay in camp. So here I am with the hollow’s walls closing in, the reek of my clanmates suffocating me. Restless boredom eats me inside, and my only company is my jealousy for freedom.

           I want to do something—and the bicolor lump at the camp entrance is perfect. Stupid Brightface—always reminding me that I don’t fit here, being bony and scrawny with overlarge ears, too-rich eyes, brown fur with brown stripes, and a pointed muzzle—like a rat’s, she said—all kittypet traits.

           Still, I can always sneak up on her. Slipping past Brokenfoot and Firenose, asleep in their nest-hallows, I sidle up behind my foster-sister.

           She’s alert as a heap of cow-dung. Always too busy watching the stars, but quick to pretend she’s guarding if anyone approaches.

           “I’d have thought you’d be “chasing rabbits” with Redclaw, showing him that perfect “hunter’s crouch” you have.”

           Her head snaps around. Her green eyes narrow and her ears flatten. But her voice rolls out as sticky-warm as the wet smack of a summer storm’s heat. “Mudnose! Shouldn’t you be resting your paw? It looked awful yesterday.”

           As if you care? You’re the most insincere ball of fluff ever to lie.

           “I’m relieving Firenose. It should have been Dawntail, but that hairball twisted her paw training Cloudpaw.”

I dart a glance to the sulky figure sprawled beside Applepelt.

Justice.

           “A pity.” I settle into a crouch, taking the weight off my paw. Half-closing my eyes, I look at Brightface. She always makes me think of an overturned beetle, struggling to right itself, but only ever squirming in circles.

           “You know, I think Shadownose has been eying Redclaw…”         

Brightface snorts, but her claws flex into the ground and the muscles of her shoulders tense. “No way—she’s shadowing Stormclaw. It’s all Icepaw goes on about.”

“But our dear brother doesn’t shadow her back.” I keep my voice smooth, my posture lazy as I sprawl out next to her. Nothing’s funnier than working my claws into a crack and picking at the wounds until they bleed—but you have to play the game right. “If she’s so desperate for kits, she’ll start looking elsewhere…”

“Plenty of barn-cats around,” huffs Brightface. “And kittypets.” She gives me a hard stare.

I want to rake my claws over her ginger face.

But I lick my sore paw instead. Claws can’t do what words can. “I’m surprised you haven’t looked elsewhere… Redclaw seems to like substantial cats. Like Kestrelpelt of West-Clan. You know… Big, strong, clever. Maybe try Shadefoot? He’s not hard to impress. ‘Course, he’s always tailing Dawntail around…”

Her lip twitches back just slightly, showing her teeth. “Watch it.” New tension seizes her. She thrusts her face towards me, ears pinned.

“I just don’t want you to be led-on,” I say, blinking slowly and rolling onto my back.

“Sure. No one’s leading me on.”

I sigh and drag myself to my paws, shaking my head slightly. “No. But you’re leading on poor Dustwhisker…”

“What?” Her voice sharpens. “There was never anything with me and Dustwhisker!”

“Oh, no? Well, what about that handsome furball at the barn, huh?” I cozy up to her, enjoying how she flinches at my touch, pelt bristling. “Sheep? Or was it Cow? Good taste, either way—“

“Shut. It.” Her voice grates even lower than mine.

Watching her fur bristle, her ears flatten, her eyes slit—it’s as juicy as a fresh mouse. Ooh, I can see every nasty thought running through her mind. They spark behind her eyes, like clouds backlit with lightning.

She won’t do anything though. She can’t do anything. The obtuse lump doesn’t do stinging retorts. She doesn’t work that way.

She’s not mad about Redclaw. She doesn’t care for him, not really. She just wants to be the first of us to have kits. No one’s caught Stormclaw’s fancy, no one looks at me, and Duskfur could care less. But Brightface has to have kits. It’s her little way of trying to be the best. But this is the fourth tom she’s gone with, and still nothing.

Everyone knows what that means, but no one wants to say it.

I do, but then she might really claw my face off. And the Game isn’t fun if I really get hurt.

“Stormclaw on patrol?” I ask, switching the subject and scooting back just far enough she won’t be able to swat me without moving away from her post.

“Weren’t you here for Brokenfoot’s patrol announcements?” She licks her chest furiously, like all cats do to self-soothe ruffled fur and feelings. “Of course he is. He’s checking the Central-Clan border, to make sure those thieving city-rats aren’t trespassing.”

“Surely they wouldn’t keep pushing it…”

“I hope they do! Finally we’d have an excuse to raid them. I’d love to tear off some city-rat fur!”

“Not going to be any fur left if Stormclaw’s there first. Best fighter in the whole clan, the blue-eyed wonder without any white. Destined for greatness.”

She licks her chest again. “If it’s true what Applepelt says…”

I snort. “Oh, please! Destiny only exists in tales for kits. I thought you, of all cats, would know better.”

She cocks an ear to me, disbelief smacking over her face in her wide-eyes and averted stare. “You don’t believe the clan Healer?”

“Why should I? All Stormclaw’s great at is boasting.”

“And fighting. You said it yourself—best fighter in the whole clan.”

“What’s that worth, against clans who are filled with ‘best fighters’?”

           She gives me a long, hard stare, tail lashing, ears pinned. She wants to spit something, but she can’t find any words. She settles for huffing and whipping away, glaring into the night in stony silence.

           And I slink away happy. Because I’ve won the Game.