The Westing Game Novels & Stories

Brandon straddled her thighs. "You little chipmunk, give me my cap." "Your glasses went off the map, but your cap stayed. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?" She panted, following her question up with narrowed eyes. "No. Hand it over." "This is a crime against the laws of the caps and sunglasses community! It has to go!" "Elizabeth Francesca West," Brandon warned. "Make me," she dared, sticking out her tongue at him.

"It's about the resilience. I want people to know that we didn't just inherit a dynasty. We fought for it. And we won." Silas smiled. "I think that's the title, Mr. West. The Fortress." "No," Noah said. "Aria used that for the game." He looked at his wife. "The West Family," Noah said. "Just that. Because that's what we are." Silas closed his briefcase. "I'll send you the galleys." He left. Noah walked back out onto the balcony. He sat down next to Aria again. He put his arm around her.

The former Pakhan planted a car bomb six years ago, as she and my father were coming home from a gathering in Chicago. They didn’t make it. I don’t blame Roman. He wasn’t even in the country at the time. But Irina was. She would have been around seventeen then. She probably didn’t know much about operations but she might. I want to know what happened that day. That doesn’t mean I mean her any harm. My lawyer is a shark and he squeezes as much as he can out of this deal. “The wedding will take place on Saturday. We will arrange everything. Details will be sent to you.” Roman said, getting to his feet. He has a hint of a Russian accent despite the fact that I know his family has been in Americ

She didn't have any close friends either and slowly as time passed she became a 27 years old who stayed at home most of the time playing on the computer or reading in her library at home. Like any other day, Su Lan was lying in bed watching her favorite drama until she received a phone call. She picked up her phone and answered only to get hollered at by her mother once again with a bunch of questions like: "when are you going to get a job", "why don't you head out", and etc. After an hour of the same routine everyday she finally managed to get off the phone call. Getting in a grumpy mood she grabbed the bag of chips next to her and saw an ad on her computer. The title of the ad was "the mys

Right across the street, a massive digital billboard was broadcasting a live feed of Tom’s birthday. He stood there like a prince surrounded by stars, accepting luxurious gifts from everyone. Aria, blushing beautifully, presented him with a South Chesterford diamond worth hundreds of millions. Absolute despair consumed me. My lips twitched into a final, hollow smile, and I slowly closed my eyes. Suddenly, a gunshot shattered the air. Warm blood instantly splattered across my face, and a heavy coat was gently draped over my shoulders. My eyes snapped open, locking onto a stunningly beautiful face. "It’s you... You really came for me..."

He said Adam like it was nothing, but inside I was screaming that my husband was good friends with Adam Devonshire! I thought back to the list of Weston’s movies and remembered at least one he did with him. The event began, and I stared in awe at all the cameras that were flying around. It was quite an event. My eyes scanned around the room, trying to keep in my squeals. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass Weston. The opening began, and soon they were running down categories and announcing winners. When one of Weston’s films category came up, his hand clamped down onto mine. The best picture category had some pretty damn good competition, but even without my bias, Westwood Lane knock

I pasued, I couldn’t reveal that I knew that he was cheating, now was not the right time, “You ignore my grievances and let your mother and everyone maltreat me, in your eyes I am nothing more than a cash-cow, see you in court.” The moment I said all this I hung up. The woman next to me stared at me in pity, I simply glanced at her with a small smile. I didn’t need her pity. “Are you okay Mrs. Mauve,” a voice asked. I looked up only to see Dr. Dante staring at me with those chestnut eyes of his. I shook my head, I was not okay. “You should come in, let’s start the consultation,” he said with a small smile, I nodded. Dr. Dante Yu is the physician in charge of monitoring my health.

My friends may have thought that they were being clever by tricking West into teaming up with me, but I was having a very hard time concentrating on the game with his tense arms and shoulders constantly bumping against mine. Nevertheless, with Troy and Lee already knocked out from the two teams, our duo still had the best odds of winning. We'd been hiding behind a decent trio of bushes that our rental suits perfectly blended into, but West decided that it'd be a good idea to shift behind the two stacks of vibrant tires. "What makes you think that you're better than me at this?" I said, extremely annoyed, desperately trying to crouch to a smaller height to avoid being spotted while West reloa

I feel pity for the big guy. Right now, Roman and I are in a stand-off against his cousins Menandro and Lara in a game called Sapo. It meant Choke the Frog, but without an actual frog. A figurine frog sat on top of an erected log in the middle of the garden. Each team has ten gold coins and all we have to do is aim for the frog’s mouth, choke the figurine. It was easier said than done. Each team hasn’t been able to choke the freaking open-mouthed frog yet. We only have four coins left for each team. Menandro missed another shoot. Lara’s aim was no good as well.

Shane’s voice was steady, though his hands clenched tightly. “She looked out the window when the voice said not to. They don’t like it when you disobey.” “The what?” Shane didn’t answer her question right away. His eyes lingered on the girl with the rose blooming from her mouth, then slowly turned back to Farrah. “The ones who run this… whatever it is… they call it a game,” he said quietly. “But it’s not a game anyone wants to play.” Farrah’s hands clenched into a fist… “She’s dead, isn’t she?”