SIX.
Not seven.
My seventh token is lost.
“LAST CALL!” the announcer shouts.
My lips move, but no words come out. I’m numb.
Joon swats Dylan on the back of the head. “Why’d you knock into him?” he says.
Dylan shrugs. “I was just goofing around! I didn’t know what he was holding!”
“Well,” I say, my voice more of a croak, “I was holding seven tokens. Now I have six. Six tokens won’t get a VIP pass.”
Joon and Dylan stare at me, speechless, eyes wide.
“Where’s Liberty, by the way?” Joon asks.
“She had to leave early.”
“So you’ve been competing alone?”
I nod. “Just at the end, though.”
The loudspeakers boom once more: “Attention, Questers! The booths will be closing in just a few minutes! Redeem your tokens NOW.”
I look sadly at the six coins in my hand. It figures that stupid Dylan would ruin this, because stupid Dylan ruins everything.
That’s pretty much the story of my life. One minute it’s a piece of cake; the next, I’m trapped in a dog crate. One minute, Dad’s right there; the next, he’s left us. One minute, I’m in elementary school, and I have a best friend. The next minute, I’m at Peavey, silent and alone.
I think of John Lockdown, and the stories on the sketchpad. How he said my superpowers would kick in someday.
And all this time, I’ve been dumb enough to believe it.
Joon and Dylan have moved off a bit, and they’re arguing. Joon says something I can’t make out. Dylan says, “Chill out already!”
“LAST CALL!” shouts the loudspeaker.
Then, all of a sudden, Joon plants himself in front of me, scratching his head and frowning. “Stan,” he says. “Sorry Dylan bumped you.”
“Yeah,” Dylan calls weakly from where he’s hovering behind Joon. “Sorry.”
Joon opens his hand. A single gold token sits in the center of his sweaty palm.
“We only got this one,” he says. “Then we got stumped, and spent the rest of the time goofing around. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It was fun. Maybe not as much fun as it would have been with you there with us.”
I look up to meet his eyes. But he’s still staring at his gold coin. Then, quickly, he grabs my hand and presses it into my palm.
I look from Joon to the coin and back again. Dylan, hovering behind Joon, nods and says “Take it, dude.”
“Seriously? Are you sure?”
Joon puts up his hands and backs away. He won’t take it back.
“LAST CALL!” comes the voice from the overhead speakers.
I’m frozen, until Joon starts shoving me toward the winners’ booth. I look at him, and I can see the old Joon, there, for a change. (That is, once I look past the Dragon Ball Z hair.)
“You gotta tell me everything about Comic Fest next weekend.” Joon punches my arm. “And check for Green Lama stuff.”
I nod.
“Now get your scrawny VIP butt up there. They’re closing,” Joon says.
So I do.