Jackpot

by Nic Stone

  He doesn’t respond.

  “God, what am I saying? Of course you don’t get it.”

  “What are you talking about, Rico?”

  “Need, Zan. You’ve never lacked anything, so you don’t know what it’s like to be in NEED.”

  His lips pinch shut.

  “Is it that hard to understand?” I say. “My family NEEDS that money.”

  “Okay, bu—”

  “Jax’s hospital bill was over three hundred thousand dollars. Yeah, there are programs to help, but my mom will still have to file for bankruptcy. We were struggling to make ends meet before, so there’s no way we can work out of a hole that deep.”

  “What about your insurance?”

  “We don’t have insurance, Zan.”

  All the color drains from his face.

  “I get that this whole thing’s been a game for you, but for me, it’s the difference between having somewhere to live and being homeless.”

  “That’s a little extreme, Rico.”

  I sigh. “It’s not, Macklin. We’re behind on the rent. Totally missed it last month with Jax in the hospital, four days late and going to miss it this month too. Mama missed March too.” She was short because she took us on that stupid trip. “We got an eviction notice two days ago. My mom lost one of her jobs because she was spending so much time at the hospital.”

  Also lost fifteen pounds, some of her hair, and a decent portion of her will to go on.

  When he finally opens his mouth to speak again, I’m expecting him to ask why I didn’t tell him. Righteous indignation of Alexander Gustavo Macklin, prince rescuer of the damsel in distress.

  But he doesn’t. “Is that what this has been about since the beginning?”

  “What?”

  “Helping your mom.” He looks at me. “You pulled me into this under the guise of doing a good deed for an old lady. Has it always been about getting what you need?”

  Not sure what to say to that. I guess in the beginning, it was about Ethel, but if I said I never thought about what could be in it for me, I’d be lying. How would I have felt if we’d found her, and she’d thanked us, collected her winnings, and ridden off into the sunset without looking back?

  Does it even matter now?

  “A lot has changed since we started this. Whatever my initial motives were or weren’t, Ethel Streeter is gone. That ticket can’t do her any good now, but it can help me and my family. I’ve lived in a shelter before, and I’m not going back. If you don’t want to help, you’re free to go.” I roll the hairpin between my fingertips and stare down at the lock.

  In my peripheral, I see him reach into his pocket, and I can’t resist looking to see what he’s taking out.

  His wallet.

  Unbelievable.

  “I’m not taking your money, Zan. That’s not how this works. Don’t insult me by offering.”

  He ignores me, opens it, and reaches into the slot that holds cash.

  I look away. “I’m serious. I swear if you offer, I’ll never speak to you again.”

  What he sticks into my line of sight, though, isn’t green.

  It’s white.

  It’s got watermarks of peaches, and a peach-colored strip running down its left side. There are words and numbers—slightly faded—printed on it in black ink.

  Six numbers to be exact.

  17

  06

  46

  01

  29

  07

  Same ones I memorized months ago.

  I can’t move.

  “Take it,” he says.

  There is absolutely no way.

  “Zan, why do you have that?”

  “I’m really asking myself the same question.”

  Smartass.

  “How did you get it?”

  He doesn’t answer so I look up. (Old habits die hard.)

  “I bought it,” he says.

  He’s still holding it out, so I zoom in on it again. “I don’t understand.”

  “As I mentioned when we were house-hunting, I turned eighteen on Christmas Eve. I’m actually surprised you didn’t pick up on it then. That I could have it.”

  No words.

  “I wanted to commemorate my birthday by buying something I couldn’t have gotten the day before. Couldn’t bring myself to purchase cigarettes or get a tattoo. So I bought a lottery ticket.”

  No. Words.

  “Mr. Z sold it to me while you were hiding in the bathroom. Honestly forgot about the thing until that day you pulled me aside in the cafeteria. I went home and checked the numbers before I met you at the park.”

  Can’t breathe now.

  “Are you gonna take it?”

  “You’ve had it this whole time?”

  He sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I have.”

  Stay calm, Rico. “What were you gonna do if we found Ethel Streeter?”

  “I was gonna give it to her,” he says. “If she was really in need and seemed like she could handle it—”

  “Excuse me?”

  There’s that confused face again. “You’re excused?”

  ASS. HOLE. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Huh?”

  “If she ‘seemed like she could handle it’? What gives you the right to decide what somebody else can handle?”

  “Last I checked, I’m the rightful owner of this ticket,” he says. “Pretty sure I can do whatever the hell I want with it.”

  I look him in the eye. “You lied to me.”

  “What?”

  “You lied,” I say. “I asked what you’d do if you had it, and you said you’d throw it away. You lied.”

  He doesn’t respond, but his jaw flexes and his eyes narrow….

  “As a matter of fact, why do you still have it, Zan? We’ve known Ethel’s dead for weeks. Why didn’t you ‘throw it away’ as soon as we found out?”

  His bottom lip disappears between his teeth. Which makes me that much more furious.

  “You weren’t even gonna tell me, were you? Were you planning to just hold on to it as a hundred-and-six-million-dollar keepsake? Maybe use it as a bookmark to remind yourself of the luck you have but don’t need? Would you frame it eventually? Hang it in that CEO’s office you’ll eventually occup—”

  “Did it occur to you that I could use this money?”

  And there it is. My suspicions made real. “Anyone could ‘use’ the money, Zan.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I’ll admit it: no. I don’t know what it’s like to be poor or to ‘lack’ what I need, as you put it. But I do know what it’s like to not have choices. To have someone else decide the course of your whole life.”

  I’m shaking my head. “That’s not true, Zan.”

  “What do you mean, it’s ‘not true’? I don’t see anyone telling you that you have to take over the family business.”

  “You can say no.”

  “What?”

  “NO, Zan. The word NO. You can say it. You can go to college. Get a regular job like the rest of us. No one’s making you stay with your parents’ company. No one’s making you ‘climb the ranks’ until you can take it over. YOU are making those decisions. If anybody on earth has ‘choices,’ it’s YOU.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “That’s the problem with you rich people. You think the way you live is normal. Like, great, you worked at Daddy’s company and made enough money to buy yourself a nice car, but you have no idea what it’s like to have to work to keep a roof over your head or clothes on your back or food in your stomach. My family is on the brink of losing all of those things, and this whole time, you’ve had that ticket. Were you gonna cash it in behind my back? Get yourself some choices? Som
e financial freedom? A way off a path you don’t wanna take, but are anyway because you’re too used to your lavish life to really start from the bottom?”

  “Gimme a break, Rico. It’s not exactly like you were honest this whole time. You were hiding stuff too. What were you gonna do if we found Ethel? Steal the ticket from her like you’re about to break into her storage unit?”

  It takes everything in me not to punch him in the face. I turn around and start walking in the opposite direction from where we parked.

  “Where are you going?” he calls out after me.

  “I’m going home. Well…what’s ‘home’ for now. Don’t follow me.”

  “Rico, wait. I didn’t mean that stuff, I was ju—”

  “Don’t even worry about it, Zan,” I call over my shoulder. “Not like you would’ve before!”

  I hate him.

  I hate him I hate him I hate him. I hate his stupid cologne and fancy clothes and ridiculous car and absurdly large house. All his money and privilege and stuff.

  “At least take the ticket,” he shouts. “We both know you need it—”

  “Don’t need it from you.”

  “You’re gonna get kicked out of your place—”

  “None of your concern, Zan!”

  “I’ll give it to your mom, then.”

  “Yeah, she certainly ‘can’t handle it.’ Throw it away like you said you would.”

  “You’re really gonna let your family wind up on the street over this?”

  That son-of-a-bitch. What was I thinking getting involved with him? “Enjoy your winnings, mighty millionaire! Maybe they’ll give you a TV show too!”

  I exit the pedestrian gate and walk to the bus stop. Getting out of the storage area requires the same code as getting in, and since I doubt he was paying attention when I gave it to him, I should be safe until the bus comes—

  But then he pulls up.

  Knowing him, I expect some version of This is all very silly and not worth the destruction of our relationship; please get in the car so I can drive you home.

  But that’s not what he says at all.

  “You know what your problem is, Danger? You’re too proud. Everything you need—everything you were searching for—was right in front of you. All you had to do was take it.”

  I can’t even blink, let alone speak.

  “Just wait,” he says, rubbing the organic pink Himalayan sea salt from his fancy-ass dining room table into the wound. “It’s gonna bite you in the ass.” The window rolls up, and he speeds off and out of sight.

  I sit. Stare at the lines in the road. His words land on my skin and seep in. As the truth of them fills me, I break.

  At least he’s not around to see it.

  I wanted to tell her. I really did.

  But the more time went by, the more I liked her, and the more I realized that if I told her, she’d be pissed at me for keeping it from her for so long.

  Did I ever think about just cashing it in? Of course. Numerous times. But I knew the search would be over then, and I didn’t know how to like…keep her. As awful as she’d say that sounds.

  She’s so different from other girls, Rico is. At no point did it seem like she actually wanted anything from me. Which was confusing. Because while I thought that’s what I was looking for—a girl who wasn’t after anything—it was also frustrating. A girl who doesn’t want or need anything is a girl who can walk away.

  It’s what I both love(d) and hate(d) about her. Her independence. Every time I brushed up against it, I was reminded of my dependence. Because everything she said was true. My options are endless, even without Dad’s money. I’ve just been scared to face them.

  Which means Rico Danger and I have something in common. Because no matter what she says or what kind of *responsibility* she tries to hide behind, she also has more options than she wants to admit and is afraid to step out too.

  She also has no idea what she wants. We’re two peas in a snuggly little pod, her and me.

  At least we were….

  Anyway, guess it’s time to make some of those *choices* she and I talked about.

  First up: what to do with this ticket.

  I graduate from high school.

  School, work, home becomes work, work, home because I get a second job at Belle’s Basics.

  Ness and Jess move to Athens a week and a half before my birthday, but I don’t go to their farewell party because I’ve successfully avoided Zan-the-Man for a month and eleven days. The happy lovebirds stop by the Gas ’n’ Go on their way out, thankfully. I keep my composure, but I’m sad to see them go.

  I take over the payments for a larger storage unit, and Mama manages to get everything moved before apartment management can toss it all on the street. We don’t wind up in a shelter, thanks to Señora Alvarez, who insists that we move in with her. (Mama agreed.)

  Time rolls.

  I call out of both jobs on the lotto ticket redemption deadline day and spend the entire thing curled up in bed, mulling over stuff I usually avoid thinking about. As I look around the bedroom I share with Mama and Jax, there’s a part of me that regrets not taking the ticket from Zan. Where would we be now if I had? Certainly not living on the charity of a neighbor, who knows how many tens (hundreds?) of thousands of dollars in debt. Probably in a nice new house, not too big. Not too small. Nice backyard. Maybe a swing set for Jax. Maybe a pool if we’d splurged.

  Things that’ll never be.

  On my eighteenth birthday, I have to be at the Gas ’n’ Go at six in the morning, and when I get off, I go straight to Belle’s Basics. Fourteen-hour workday. I maybe lied to Mama about what time I had to be in so she and Jax wouldn’t wake up early to make me breakfast.

  Goal is to forget it’s my birthday at all.

  And it’s working for the most part. A few hours into my shift, I’ve restocked the cooler and aligned all the labels on the cold beverages; I’ve rearranged the candy bar section so that the Mars products are on the left and the Hershey on the right; I’ve shifted the chips in the chip endcap around so they make a rainbow from top to bottom; I’ve moved the chewing gum so the center six read, 5 EXTRA ECLIPSE ORBIT JUICY FRUIT TRIDENT.

  I’m in the middle of cleaning the bathrooms (though I refuse to refill the Macklin toilet paper and moist towelette dispensers) when there’s a knock on the door and Mr. Zoughbi sticks his head in.

  “Rico Danger.”

  But why does he look mad? “Hi, Mr. Z.”

  “I am very upset with you, young lady.”

  Uhhh…“Come again, sir?”

  “Why did you not tell me today is your birthday?”

  Oh.

  “And you are here cleaning toilets? No, no. This will not do.” He shakes his finger at me.

  “Sorry, sir.” (What else can I say?)

  “You come out this instant,” he says. “There is a visitor for you, and you must leave at once.”

  A visitor? Couldn’t be Zan…Mr. Z would’ve definitely said his name.

  Maybe it’s Mama? I don’t think Mr. Z knows what she looks like, so it could totally be her. I anticipated getting reamed out this evening, but if she’s here to see me now, she’s definitely late to work. Which means she’ll be double pissed.

  I’d really rather scrub the toilet.

  “You know, I’m almost finished in—”

  “Out! This instant! You are taking the day off! With pay!”

  I sigh and drop the scrub brush in the bucket. Peel off my rubber gloves and hang my head as I exit the bathroom. This is going to be tortur—

  “Ricoooooo!”

  My head lifts. “Mr. Dover?”

  “In the flesh! Happy birthday, honey!” He presses something into my palm and closes my fingers around it.

  I force a smile. “Thanks—”


  Wait…

  “How’d you know it’s my birthday?”

  His whole face lights up. “We got a lot to talk about, kid. Your wonderful boss says you’re free to go, right? Care to join me for breakfast?”

  What the hell? “Umm…sure?”

  “Flying Biscuit okay?”

  I stare at the green pocket square in his suit jacket. “I guess…”

  “Great! Grab your stuff and let’s roll. I’ll meet you outside.”

  “Okay.”

  “Blue Mercedes!” The door chimes as he walks out.

  For a minute I just stand there. Trying to…well, I don’t know. I go to untie my apron, and the thing in my hand crinkles.

  I open my palm to see what it is.

  And I smile for the first time all morning.

  Of course.

  It’s a fifty-dollar bill.

  * * *

  —

  During the seven-minute drive over, Mr. Dover won’t stop grinning. It freaks me out a little.

  Once we’re inside and seated, he says, “Order whatever you like, but I suggest the shrimp and grits. They’re to die for.” Like us being at breakfast together is the most natural thing on earth.

  What is happening?

  I’ve never been inside this restaurant before, and the server appears before I get a chance to look at the other food options, so I take his advice. As she takes my menu and walks away, Mr. Dover sips his coffee. I can’t help but watch his every move.

  “So,” he says, setting the cup down. “Did you catch me on television the other night?”

  “You were on television?”

  “You mean you missed it? Awww, come on, Rico! A guy only gets one TV debut!”

  “Sorry.”

  He laughs.

  “Makes sense, though. If you’d seen me on TV, you’d probably guess why we’re sitting here.”

  “I would?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  We lapse into silence. Another sip of coffee.

  “Soooo…are you gonna tell me?” I ask.

  He laughs. “I like you, kid. Straight to business. I can appreciate that.”

  “Thanks, I guess?”

  He opens his briefcase and pulls out a small stack of papers.