Page 17 of With a Little Luck

“Oh, man, don’t!” a voice cries the moment the machine sucks in my second dollar. I turn to see César groaning and shaking his head at me. “Sorry, dude. This machine’s busted. It’s been eating people’s money all morning.”

“Really?” I turn back to the keypad. The blue screen is blinking at me, asking for my selection.

“I mean, give it a shot,” says César, thumping his fist on the door, right in front of a bag of Funyuns. “But it took four dollars from me before I wised up, and didn’t give them back.”

“Sorry,” I say, not sure what I’m apologizing for. Still, I punch in the code for the Cool Ranch Doritos.

For a second, nothing happens. But then the bar holding back the chips starts to rotate.

“Oh, comeon,” says César, thumping the door again as my Doritos drop down into the lower bin. “This thing hates me.”

I start to apologize again, when I realize that the bar is still spinning.43

We both go still, watching as a second bag of Doritos is released. Then a third.

“Whoa,score.” As the bags keep falling, César reaches through the flap and gathers up the first three. The machine doesn’t stop until the whole row of Doritos have dropped down into the bin—all eleven of them. “Guess that makes up for stealing my money,” he says.

Our arms are full with crinkling, crunching bags as we head through the cafeteria. We dump the chips onto the table where both Matt and Russell are waiting for us, their trays full of pizza slices and milk cartons.

“Craving Doritos?” Matt asks speculatively.

“Machine’s broken,” says César. “It hates me, but Jude lucked out.”

I slide into the table and pop open a bag. “You guys won’t believe what I found at the store last night.” I pull the twenty-sided dice from my pocket and hold it out on my open palm.

“Whoa,” says Matt, plucking it out of my hand. For some reason, my gut twists, and I feel a Gollum-like urge to snatch it back from him, but I resist. I’ve been dying to show the dice to them all day, after all, knowing that my D&D group will appreciate it way more than my family did.

“It looks like it could be from one of those limited-edition sets they were giving out at Comic-Con a few years ago,” Matt says, holding it up to the sunshine pouring in through the cafeteria windows. The refracted crimson light sparkles across our table. “What do you think it’s made out of?”

He passes the dice to Russell, who frowns deeply as he studies it.

“No idea,” I say. “Glass maybe?”

“Too heavy for glass,” says Russell, handing it to César. “Feels like some sort of stone.”

“Maybe it’s a real ruby,” says César. “Picture this. Some D&D group planned an elaborate heist to steal this from the crown jewels and then had it cut into a D20 as, like, a big FU to the monarchy.” He excitedly slaps his free hand on the table, then points at Russell. “Now, that’s a good story. You need to write that.”44

Russell looks less impressed. “Why does this mystery group hate the monarchy?”

“Dude, how should I know? You’re the writer.”

The dice makes its way back to me, with no more answers than before. I return it to my pocket. “We’re still on for Saturday, right? Or are you all going to spend the rest of the semester drinking ale in Bork’s Tavern?”

“That,” says César. “Definitely that. Goren the Gruesome votes to hang out in the pub and get smashed.”

“Please,” says Russell. “Goren is always the first one to run off and get us all into trouble.”

“Which is even more fun to do when Goren is drunk,” says César.

“True as that may be,” I say, “I’m going to have lightning strike the pub and burn everything down if you all won’t leave on your own.”

Russell grunts. “Deus ex machina. Shoddy craftsmanship, Dungeon Master.”

“I’m just saying. Last time you all spent an entire session betting on that illegal dragon fight. I’m not putting up with that again.”

Matt sets down his half-eaten slice of pizza, looking uncomfortable, and I realize he hasn’t said much since I sat down. “Actually,” he says, picking off a green pepper. “I’ve got some bad news.”

We all fall quiet.

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