“Thanks, man.” There was a time when I’d been one of the store’s best customers, but those days were long gone, and now, even borrowing Jasper’s employee discount, I could barely afford to keep playing. I should have been too proud to accept the packs, but it was probably my only shot at updating my decks. I couldn’t afford to buy individual cards on the secondary market like Alden or Payton. No, I’d be limited to whatever came in the packs. And I supposed I could get lucky, score some rares, but luck and I were hardly on speaking terms lately.

“I’ve got some commons you can sift through too.” Alden reached for his deck bag—one of those custom deals that held a bunch of decks in their boxes securely, nothing jumbling around like my duffel, which was often where good cards went to die.

“Nah. I’m sure I’ll be okay with whatever Jasper can spare.” I might able to live with myself in accepting handouts from the professor and Jasper, but not Alden. I’d sooner stop playing than take his castoffs.

“Suit yourself.” Alden gave a shrug of his elegant shoulders. Not broad. Not bulky. Not even a swimmer’s lean build or the more technically accurate slight. No, the only word that worked for describing Alden’s body type was elegant. Or perhaps regal if one was feeling even more fanciful, which I decidedly was not. But it was undeniable that Alden had a presence to his posture, a way of holding himself that took up far more than his share of space, and that frequently made me forget that I was technically the taller, bigger one.

“Wait. Before you guys head out, I’ve got something to share.” Professor Tuttle sported a gray T-shirt that proudly proclaimed “Gamer Grandpa” with his Einsteinesque wild-hair logo beneath it. Like Alden, he had a professional-grade deck bag, along with assorted camera and laptop cases. Checking three different bags, he finally came up with a thick manila envelope. “Do you know what this is?” He waved the envelope in front of us before reaching inside. Practically vibrating with excitement, he didn’t wait for any of us to take a guess. “This, my friends, is the trip of a lifetime.”

He laid five white tickets out on the table. They looked expensive—large rectangles of thick, creamy card stock with gold lettering that proudly proclaimed, “Massive Odyssey Con West” on them.

The room went silent, the kind of eerie stillness that often preceded a summer storm back home, but in this case, it was anticipation, not a tornado, building, energy crackling as I waited to see who would speak first.