Without bothering to come to a complete stop, Jackson hopped off his bike and let it crash onto their small yard. Jumping up the steps on the front porch in one single hop, he threw open the screen door. His grandma was sitting at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. When she heard Jackson enter, she looked up, her eyebrows creased and her lips tight. Across the table, a man in an expensive grey suit had his hands folded over a tablet.

“Come in, Jackson,” Jane said in a small voice, nodding to a spot at the table. “I was just speaking to Mr. Meyers.”

Jackson scowled as the man in the suit offered him a broad, sickening smile. “Hey there, kiddo. I was just chatting with your grandma about some things.”

Kiddo? How old does he think I am? Jackson thought.

Still frowning, Jackson sat in the chair with the man on his left and his grandma on his right. It wasn’t the most comfortable he’d been in recent memory. Meyers wrinkled his nose at the smell of sweat and Djinn manure wafting from Jackson’s stained, damp cutoff t-shirt, but covered his reaction moments later with another large, toothy grin.

“What sort of things?” Jackson asked. “Are you from the bank?”

Before Mr. Meyers could answer, Jane stood and put a hand on her grandson’s shoulder. “Jackson, can I talk to you in the other room for a second?”

His stomach clenched, Jackson stood and followed his grandma into the living room. Once they were out of sight of Mr. Meyers, she turned and looked at him. Jackson could see the tears in the corner of his grandma’s eyes.

“We’re losing the house, Jackson,” she said, her voice soft and shaky.

The words hit Jackson like a charge from a Sudang. He felt rooted to the floor, unable to breathe or think beyond the dull pain constricting his chest.

“Losing the house?” he finally managed in a hoarse voice. He’d known things were tight but his grandma always made the impression they were making ends meet. “How…?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Jane said, a quiver rising in her voice. She gently squeezed Jackson’s arm just above the elbow. “We just weren’t making enough. We’ve done all we can but we’ve lost the battle. We’ve got four months before the bank forecloses on the house.”

Jackson tried to process what he was hearing. It had to be a dream. It must be. For the past few months, he’d visited a scenario just like this over and over in his sleep. That’s what it was, just another nightmare.

“It really won’t be that bad,” Jane continued, clearly reading Jackson’s worried expression. “We’ll be able to get a smaller apartment that we can afford and we'll get a fresh start — we can finally have a chance to get our heads above water for good. And you’ll still be able to go to advanced schooling, I promise.”

“No.”

Jackson was surprised to hear his own voice. He knew now this wasn’t a dream. “No, Grandma, listen! We can use the money I’ve been saving to get ahead — we don’t have to lose the house. We can’t!”

“Jackson…”

“Just trust me!” Jackson insisted. We can do this! Please — I can keep working at the breeders. I don’t need to go to school. Please.”

“Jackson, it’s just not worth it, honey,” his grandma said. “This house means as much to me as it does to you but I won’t let your future be ruined over it.”

Driven by desperation, Jackson heard the seeds of his plan tumble from his mouth almost before he knew what he was saying.

“There’s another way! I can use the funds to put a deposit down on a Djinn from Sato — I know if I sign a contract or a loan or something they’ll let me work the rest of it off in payments. And I can even buy a ring if I dip into my savings. I’ll enter some fights — I can make the money, I know I can! We don’t have to do this!”

Jane’s expression hardened and she shook her head. “Jackson, no. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Why won’t you listen to me for once?”

“No, Jackson, why don’t you listen to me? I’m the adult here,” Jane said, her voice now a harsh whisper. “If you won’t listen to me, then just think about the numbers. There was a program on the net just the other day talking about the failure rate among tamers even after they reach the Bronze League. And getting in the league isn’t exactly easy to begin with. In order to be accepted, you need to be selected by your town, and they only select one each year. And if you do happen to be selected, you are entered into a tournament among all the others around the region, and only a top number actually move on to the league proper. And if you make it that far, you can live in comfort knowing that more than half of the people go broke or fall out within the first season!”

“Then let me try a season.”

“Listen to logic! It’s not as easy as just signing on for a season. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“So what?” Jackson said. “Mom always told me you never do anything if you don't take a chance! What do we have to lose at this point? The house?” He let out a cold, laugh. “Mom would want me to do this, and you know it.”

“Your mom is gone,” Jane said loudly, no longer trying to keep Mr. Meyers from hearing. “She’s gone and nothing will bring her back! Not being a Djinn Tamer, not keeping this house — nothing. If there was some magic button I could push to bring her back, I would, Jackson, but we can’t!”

“I know!” Jackson shouted. “I’m not some dumb kid. I know she’s gone, but I don’t need you to throw that fact around every day as if it’ll somehow make me see something I don’t already! Yeah, I get it. She’s dead, okay? Are you happy?”

Jackson’s voice caught. He forced the words out as the tears welled in his eyes, but he didn’t blink. He knew if he did they would run down his face, and he didn’t want to give his grandma the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

“I don’t need you constantly reminding me that I could be doing what I love right now if she were here,” he said softly.

Before either of them could say anything else, Mr. Meyers poked his head in the room. “Ah, I’m sorry to interrupt but I’m done assessing the kitchen. Mind if I come in here and start?”

It took all of Jackson’s willpower not to throw himself at the smug assessor and punch his face in. Unable to stand the sight of the house, Mr. Meyers, or his grandma, Jackson shouldered past the assessor.

“Jackson Hunt, how dare you speak to me that way!”

Striding through the kitchen, Jackson grabbed hold of the screen door and slammed it shut behind him but the feeble knock of the wood against the doorframe did nothing to quench his rage. Rather than just walk away, he turned around, grabbed the handle again, and slammed it over and over until it buckled against the blows. With a shout, he punched a hole through the net — or at least that was what he intended to do. Instead, the netting held together, and the frame of the screen bent. The door popped off its track, falling backward toward Jackson. Jackson stumbled to get out its way, tripping over his feet in the process, but ultimately catching himself. The screen collapsed into the yard with an underwhelming rattle.

“Come tell me how much this is worth, asshole!” Jackson shouted into the living room.