“Quinn,” Elliott’s boss barked their last name in the abrupt manner they had of approaching employees. Elliott froze, fingers hovering over their keyboard.

“Uh… yes, sir?” they asked. 

“I was just looking over the fasteners line sheet you edited last week. MSRP looks good, but you’ve got the MAP and wholesale pricing all wrong. Maybe you got on the wrong line or something, but you’re gonna need to redo it, pronto.” Mr. Price liked to speak with the rapid cadence of a newspaperman from a 1940’s movie, which had the effect of making Elliott very nervous. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll get right on it,” they answered. 

“I don’t know where your head’s been at lately, but I need it here, in the game. You understand me?”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ve been a bit unfocused, but I’ll make sure to get it right this time.”

“Do that. You’re a valuable member of this team, Elliott, but I need you to be fully present when you’re here.”

“Yes sir, absolutely. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, just do your best,” said Mr. Price, and departed as abruptly as he’d arrived. 

Elliott pulled up the line sheet for the fasteners catalog. They’d taken a job doing data entry at the offices of a local hardware company shortly after graduating, and while it paid for their studio, the work was mind numbing, and the company culture left something to be desired. 

It was true that Elliott had been preoccupied recently. It was hard to be vigilant about which prices they were entering on each row when they had Puck to worry about. They’d been prepared to adopt a stray dog, but now they seemed to be on the precipice of adopting an entire teenager, and this was, understandably, distracting. 

They did their best to reign in their attention and focus on correcting the line sheet, which they managed to accomplish by the end of their shift. When work was done, they went home, ate breakfast for dinner, and prepared a sandwich for Puck. Then they layered up for their trip up the hill. 

Puck was waiting for them when they arrived at the park. He had a determined glint in his eye which immediately set Elliott on edge.

“Hey, what’s up?” they asked, wondering why Puck was waiting at the entrance to the park instead of on the hilltop, as usual.

“Come on, I want to show you something,” he answered, grabbing Elliott by the arm and pulling them away from the park and down the street. He was surprisingly strong.

“Wait, where are we going?” Elliott asked in alarm.

“You’ll see. Just come with me.”

Elliott could see that the kid wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Puck let go of their arm as soon as they stopped resisting, and Elliott followed along willingly. They wound their way through the neighborhood for a few blocks before Puck led them to a convenience store.

“This is what you wanted me to see?” they asked, annoyance creeping into their tone.

“Just come on,” Puck urged and led the way inside, where he got into the checkout line. Elliott lined up behind him.

“What are we doing here?” they asked under their breath. 

“Shh,” Puck hissed, lowering his head. He now appeared to be in pain.

“Are you okay?” Elliott asked.

Puck didn’t answer. The man in front of him finished his transaction and left, leaving Elliott in an awkward position.

“Are you ready?” asked the clerk, with an annoyed glance.

“Um…” Elliott stalled.

“Buy a lottery ticket,” Puck growled, not raising his head.

“Are you serious?!” Elliott demanded.

“Just do it,” the boy repeated, bracing himself against the counter with one hand.

Elliott sighed in resignation. “One powerball ticket, please,” they muttered. 

“Sure,” said the clerk and slipped them a playslip and a pen. 

“What numbers?” Elliott asked Puck.

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered through gritted teeth. 

Elliott selected the “Quick Pick” option and slid the play slip back over the counter.

“That’ll be two dollars,” said the clerk. Elliott fished the money out of their wallet and handed it to her, in exchange for which she gave them a ticket. 

“Thank you,” they told her before turning to Puck, who appeared to be feeling much better now. Elliott raised an eyebrow. “Alright, let’s go.” Puck followed them outside without argument.

“Are you angry?” the kid asked once they were in the parking lot. 

“I’m,” Elliott paused as the phrase “I’m not angry I’m disappointed” came to mind. “I’m just annoyed,” they concluded. “I would have bought you a ticket if you’d just asked. You don’t have to manipulate me.” They held the ticket out to Puck.

“No, it’s not for me,” he objected, holding his hands up in a demonstration of innocence. “Anything you win, you keep.” 

Elliott really was exasperated now. “Well then why did you have me buy it? If I was interested in the lottery I’d just buy a ticket on my own.”

“Because I want you to believe in me,” Puck implored. 

Oh god, thought Elliott, who had somehow managed to put Puck’s assertation that he was a god out of their mind for the moment. “Puck,” they began, their tone softening. Unfortunately they weren’t sure of how to finish that sentence, and so they allowed it to hang there in the evening air.

“I know you think I’m delusional,” the kid explained in a patient tone, “and honestly I don’t know if this will work, but if my timing was right, you should win. And when that happens, all I ask is that you believe me.” 

Elliott, who was still attempting to regain their grasp of the English language, stared at Puck, mouth agape. 

“I’m sorry for manipulating you,” the boy added. “You’re right, I should have just asked.” 

“It’s alright,” Elliott finally answered. Everything in the kid’s demeanor seemed to indicate that he was perfectly lucid, and indeed, surprisingly mature for his age, and their attempts to reconcile this with the fact that he also believed he was a god had temporarily created a log jam in Elliott’s mind. 

Puck gave them an appraising look. “Well,” he ventured, a bit sheepishly, “make sure you don’t lose it.”

“Right,” agreed Elliott, and tucked the ticket into their wallet. “I won’t.” 

“Good. Alright then,” he cleared his throat. “See you around?”

“Yeah… see you,” Elliott agreed, and the two parted ways. 

***

Elliott met Puck at the usual place on the hilltop the next night. The two didn’t speak of what had transpired the previous evening, instead returning to their ritual of lighting candles under the tree. 

In fact, Elliott forgot all about the lottery ticket until a few days later, when they met Ian at the bar near campus, which they’d frequented when they were in school. As they were getting money out to pay for their drink, the ticket slipped out onto the counter.

“What’s this?” Ian asked, eagerly grabbing it. “You playing powerball these days?”

“Oh, uh,” Elliott fumbled, momentarily embarrassed. “Yeah, just this once.”

Ian looked at the ticket, then checked the time on his phone. “I take it you didn’t win anything?”

“Oh, did they already draw it?” Elliott asked.

“Seriously? Why did you even buy a ticket if you’re not going to check?” He unlocked his phone and searched the Washington powerball numbers. Elliott watched as his eyebrows shot up, then immediately furrowed as he held the phone and ticket closer to his face, his eyes darting back and forth between the two. 

“What?” Elliott asked, already preparing to be annoyed at whatever Ian was plotting. 

“Elliott,” Ian whispered, “you won the fucking lottery.” 

“Bullshit,” they said, lightly punching Ian on the shoulder.

“I mean it… look for yourself.” Ian did sound serious, which was unusual, as he was typically hopeless at deadpan humor. 

Elliott looked at Ian’s phone and back at the ticket. They did this again and again, unable to believe what they were seeing.

They had won the fucking lottery.