Rolling the First Die

Oliver Grant had the kind of entrance that would’ve made anyone else want to crawl under a table and never resurface. He rushed into the community center room, backpack bouncing off his shoulder, hoodie half-zipped, a stack of dice tins clattering in his hands. His sneaker caught on the edge of the doorframe—of course it did—and he stumbled forward with an undignified yelp, dropping everything in a spectacular cascade of plastic and metal dice across the hardwood floor.

The room went quiet for a beat.

Oliver straightened, glasses askew, cheeks flushed. He gave a sheepish grin, the kind of grin that seemed to apologize for existing and yet somehow asked you to laugh with him.

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