Page 5 of Slots & Sticks
I shift my weight, feel the silence between us stretch like a string. “You’ve been coming here every day.”
Another nod.
“You don’t talk much.”
He shrugs one shoulder. But there’s the hint of a smile, barely there.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a folded scrap of paper. It’s the last lemonade punch card we made—Vanessa laminated it, of course—and all the circles are filled in with glitter stickers.
I hand it to him. “For loyalty.”
When I hand him the glittery punch card, he actually looks at me. Not past me. Not through me. At me. Like I matter. Then he tucks it into his pocket without a word.
We start walking, side by side, down the cracked sidewalk toward my front steps. My backpack’s on the porch, already packed for school tomorrow. My mom’s guitar is propped inside the screen door, like it always is when she’s working on a new song.
We reach the bottom step.
I turn toward him. “What’s your name?”
He hesitates for a second.
Then he says, “Camden.”
I stare. “Camden Beck? You’re my neighbor. You’ve been gone for years. Last time I saw you, we were little.”
He nods. “Yup. We’re back for good. At least me and my dad are. My mom wanted me to go to private school in Vegas, and my dad wants me to play hockey.”
These are the first words he’s spoken to me.
I smile. It feels like a sunrise behind my ribs. “I’m Dot.”
He nods like he already knew.
“I’m glad you came,” I say softly. “Even if I don’t know why”
He just stands there, quiet and steady.
And that’s enough.
I watch him walk down the street, hands in his pockets, that same slow, grounded pace. No hurry. No apology.
I don’t know why he’s dressed like that when his parents are rich. Maybe because he’s been living in other countries.
I don’t know if he’ll come back tomorrow.
I don’t know what school will be like or how bad the year’s going to suck.
But I know this: that summer, a stranger sat on my curb and made the world less cruel. Even if he never comes back, I’ll save him a cup. Just in case. Because he’s already given me the bravest thing he has.
His silence.
Chapter One
Camden
“Duuuuuuude.” Viktor Abbott grabs my shoulder and shakes me until my head bobbles like a Funko Pop. “Your contract just got renewed. Why do you look like someone pissed in your Lucky Charms?”
“This is just my face,” I argue.
