James Joseph Jones.
A slightly naive high school senior with three first names. Seventeen, going on eighteen. Generally nondescript. Exactly the type of person you would describe as a face in the crowd and never remember what he looks like once you turn away. If you were to turn back immediately, it would be hard to identify him again. Even if it were to recognize him amongst a crowd of two.
---
"Good morning students, welcome back to Math class. I hope you had a good weekend and are prepared for the week ahead! Today, we will be learning about probability."
James sat at the very back of the classroom. The hood of his jacket was pulled up over his head, and his eyes were squinted almost half shut.
It had not been a good weekend.
In fact, it had been a very rough weekend, as had been most of the weekends before this in his life thus far. James shut his eyes fully, preparing to escape into a dream world all his own. It was hard for him for sleep at home. His parents argued almost every night about the usual suspects: money, his father finding a proper job, and why they moved to this godforsaken country with no relatives around them if his father did not even have a proper job.
James sighed with resignation; it had just been another weekend.
On the floor next to his very vandalized desk, sat a thin, bulging backpack. Made entirely out of black polyester, it was scuffed at the bottom, frayed around the zipper, and clearly on its last legs. Peeking out from a corner, where the zipper had just worn loose and was no longer up to the task of holding the bag closed, was a small yellow corner of a book. If you squinted hard enough, at just the right angle, you could make out the title in bright white font contrasting against the darkness.
"Texas Hold'em for Dummies"
It was a book that James had taken from his father's collection of books. It was the simplest looking title amongst all the books that littered the tables in his house. Books with inscrutable titles like "Super/System 2" and "Every Hand Revealed". The word "Dummies" in the title was what had called out to him, and how he had felt as he looked through the books. James hoped that by reading through the book and understanding the concepts within, he would be able to connect with his father.
"That's all for today folks. Don't forget, we will have a pop quiz tomorrow on the basic concepts. Since this is an important topic not just for your exams, but hopefully for the rest of your lives, I will give a prize to the highest scoring student. Go home and study hard, and review Chapters 1 – 12 of your textbook!"
James woke up from his trance, that hour had past without recollection and he did not even remember his dreams, if any. With the end of Math class, he was done for the day. It was time for him to head home.
As he swung his backpack around his body and stood up, the "Texas Hold'em for Dummies" book slipped out from its confines. Almost as if in slow motion, James saw it tumble through the air, flipping once, twice, before landing with a heavy thud on a pair of expensive looking sneakers.
"Ouch. What the hell?"
From above his bowed head came a very angry voice belonging to the owner of the sneakers.
"Texas Hold'em for Dummies? Hahaha! Jamie James, are you trying to be a cool kid and play some poker? Maybe you're finally becoming tired of being poor and want to make some money."
The owner of the sneakers was, of course, Phil. The resident chad of the class. Phil had been born into some serious money, and was not shy about flaunting it. He drove a late model BMW with a convertible roof, that his parents had bought him after he had purposely crashed the previous three cars because they were "too staid". A man of his means should not be driving around in an Acura, Infiniti, or Lexus. Only the best European brands would do. A BMW instead of a Porsche was already evidence of Phil settling, partly because he liked the open top, and partly because his parents had threatened to put him into a bright candy red Mini Cooper if he introduced his car to a lamp post for a fourth time.
There were numerous rumors floating around about Phil. Some said that Phil had slept with four of the hottest, youngest teachers. Others said he was part of an exclusive poker group with the high school principal and superintendent of the school district. Phil was also said to be a lock for Harvard, especially after the newly constructed school building was named after his father.
"Hey Jamie James, why don't you come play poker with me this weekend? I'll bring a couple of friends and lower the stakes for you. We always welcome new fish to the pond. We'll play a friendly game - no limit at one-two blinds. Bring your life savings, you may even be able to buy in twice."
James was speechless. He had never seen Phil lower himself to speak to someone of his level before. Phil hung out with the big shots. The sports jocks, the cheerleaders, the beautiful, and the rich second generations.
"What do you say Jamie James? Either you say yes, or you can compensate me for the scuff you've left on my brand new, limited edition, Air Jordans. They're only about fifteen K. Surely a budding professional poker player like you could afford it." Phil said tauntingly.
"Um. I'm sorry Phil. I don't have fifteen K. I don't even have a K. I'll come to the game. I just started reading this and haven't played before". James, cursing his luck, said in a conciliatory tone, hoping that just this once, Phil would show mercy where he had never done before.
"Good. My place. Saturday at three. We usually play with cash, but I might be willing to extend some credit to you at a fair rate." Phil shot back. "Don't think about running away, everyone has seen how you've damaged my shoes. You can't even buy these on the open market anymore."
Sighing to himself, James nodded before picking up the offending book and putting it back into the backpack. It had clearly been too much to hope to get away scot-free. Hopefully he would be able to break even or lose only a little on Saturday. He only had five hundred dollars to his name, and he was hoping to be able to buy a cheap running car to find a job over the summer once he turned eighteen, maybe doing deliveries for some of the food apps.
Trudging slowly out of school, James started walking back to the little house in a bad part of town that he called home.
---
An hour later, after a long climb up several flights of stairs to his apartment, James looked up at a small door hanging slightly askew, off its hinges.
"That's strange. The door was fine when I left this morning." James said to himself.
"Mom should be home from her job by now and Dad's always at home. It's awfully quiet for this time of the evening. They're usually bickering by now. What's going on?" James spoke to himself again. He had a habit of talking to himself when he was alone. Almost no one else would talk to him, if they even noticed he existed.
Wincing slightly as he pushed the door open, James poked his head in and was greeted by an incredible mess. Furniture, strewn all about. Couch cushions slashed. Curtains hanging off their rods and draping casually against the floor.
Most importantly, it was dead silent. There was no one home.