High Risk

The jockeys lined their snails along the starting line, and sprinkled little lanes of salt across the table. Henry wagered eight soft-chew sweets on number five, but he’d been doubling down for several rounds now. Everybody else was more conservative. “This one’s the one” he murmured, rolling two remaining cubes between his knuckles. Ryan said he’d better hope so. There was only half an hour left before his mother came back from the salon.

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