Eli.

It was quite possibly the dumbest idea Eli Moskowitz had ever had. All he needed was one hundred dollars from the reserve fund his parents had set up. As the online poker king, he expected to multiply that dollar value well into the hundred thousands.

It was supposed to be enough to bail Miguel out of jail. Or so he had planned.

Three bad Texas Hold 'Em hands later, and he was five hundred dollars down, with no signs of stopping. It turns out that using real money in a real Vegas casino was nothing like using PokerStars on his computer for free.

The man across from Eli was wearing a cowboy hat, dressed up in a pristine white suit. He spoke with a Georgian accent. "Now listen to me boy, you sure you don't wanna stop before you lose your life savings and end up on the street?"

Eli glared, downing another sip of whatever was in the scotch glasses at the poker table. "Fat chance, old man. I just need to find my groove."

The woman sitting next to him smirked. Her dress was made of green sequins, and her breath smelled like Jack Daniels. For a while, his karate sensei had smelled the same way. "You;ve been saying that for the last three hands, little one.Are you sure you're ready to gamble in the big leagues?"

Eli turned to the dealer, desperate to prove himself. "Count me in. Whatever these guys are betting."

It was a long game. The casino had no windows, and everything that happened inside the casino seemed to get sucked into a void. He had no idea how long he had been sitting at the table, but was very pleased to find that he lasted more hands than White Suit and Green Dress combined.

When he laid down his cards, he was shocked. So shocked for a second, that he thought he had lost it all. Everybody at the table turned and stared at the frat boy, the stunned expression on his porcelain face.

"I think I just won."

Robby.

Robby and Lennon's night on the town was off to a far less dramatic start as the two young adults picked up cocktails and wandered the brightly-lit Vegas streets, hand-in-hand and giddy on sugar. Lennon was a sightseer, stopping repeatedly to take pictures in front of the miniature pyramid of Giza, the small replicas of the Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower. Her laugh was like a drug for Robby Keene, and he would do whatever it took to be able to hear Lennon laugh like that. Lennon's black leather jacket was slipping off her shoulders, her blue eyes wide.

Her first night in Las Vegas was better than she thought it would be. Originally, she had hated the idea of taking the trip with her friends, she would rather have gone somewhere like Oahu or Havana. But the Marks girl was realizing now that she might owe Elanora a thank-you.

"Cheers!" The teenagers proclaimed, clinking two delicate glass shot glasses filled with something sour, pungent and electric blue before downing it all in one sip.

"Las Vegas sounds fake." Lennon declared. "I mean, come on! This giant metropolis in the middle of the Nevada desert where you can lose your life savings, see a concert, get lost in the nightlife, and get married by Elvis! It doesn't sound real, man."

Robby chuckled. "Sounds like somebody has a Vegas bucket list."

Lennon hit him playfully in the shoulder, for the third time that night. "You think I want to lose my college tuition? Getting a bachelor's degree isn't cheap, Karate Boy."

"Well, already we've done the concert, and we've gotten lost in the nightlife." The Keene boy said thoughtfully. "So all that's left is the shotgun wedding."

Lennon stared at the shaggy-haired boy. There was no way he was serious, she thought wildly. Nobody actually got married in Las Vegas. At least, not at an Elvis chapel. It was something out of a John Hughes movie, something outrageous.

So why did Lennon Marks think that it was a good idea when Robby Keene kissed her, and gave her his class ring?

Thirteen Hours Later

Robby.

Robby found Lennon in the hallway, sitting on the dirty hotel carpet with her scraped news pulled up to her chest. She wasn't wearing her glasses, and her smudged mascara gleamed with tears.

"Lennon, are you okay?"

The dark-haired girl shook her head. "This doesn't feel real. My parents would be so disappointed with me, you know. They don't even know I came to Vegas, but I guessed I'd have to tell them eventually. I just didn't realize I'd also be introducing them to my new husband when I did."

Robby frowned, moving to sit next to Lennon on the carpet. "I'm sorry you feel like that." He said sincerely. "I can't exactly say that getting married to the prettiest girl I'd ever met was on my Sin City checklist either."

Lennon cracked a small smile. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do." Robby reassured, staring down at his class ring. The very ring that had been on Lennon's finger fourteen hours earlier. "You're smart, and funny and brilliant. Not to mention you have great taste in music. I'm not sure if you remember drunken Def Leppard karaoke after the fake wedding, but I seem to recall it in the vast darkness of my subconscious thought."

Lennon snorted. "Alright, Mr. I-major-in-human-psychology. But no, I do seem to remember that, too. You were trying to sing "Pour Some Sugar On Me" but you weren't any good. And then you walked into a wall."

Robby scrunched up his face. "I don't remember that bit."

"Well, I do."

Tentatively, Lennon reached for his hand, gently placing hers on top. "Are we going to be okay?"

"I think so." Robby nodded definitively. "I think that once we're done being hungover, we can decide if we want to go down to the courts and end it now, or if we want to give this being married thing a go."

"Well, I guess now I have a plus one for when my dad takes me to Bulgaria to watch Formula One racing."

Robby's eyes shot open. "The Bulgarian Grand Prix?"

Lennon laughed. "He knows a guy who knows a guy. But none of my friends are interested in racing."

"Okay, maybe we can hold off on an annulment until then, I'll come up with some kind of excuse."

Miguel.

Miguel was getting kind of tired of sitting in jail. Officer Fitzpatrick was pretty, and she made nice company, but Miguel wanted out. He wanted to see his idiot frat brothers again.

So when Saffron got to her feet and reached for the keys on her belt, he shot up like a jet.

"You're letting me out?" He almost couldn't believe it. Eli had come through. "Is Eli here, can I see him? If he paid my bail already, why did you keep me waiting?"

Saffron frowned. "Sunshine, I'm sorry, but nobody paid the bail. There wasn't any to begin with, my partner was just messing with you. I'm sorry he didn't show, but it would be a waste of taxpayer dollars to charge you for the most entertaining night the department had ever had. Shockingly, we don't get many calls about zoo animals in Vegas."

The metal door swung open, and Miguel stepped out in a daze. Though he'd only been inside for a few hours, all he wanted was wide open space.

"Oh, and sunshine?"

Miguel turned around, spying Saffron locking the holding cell.

"You're barred from The Beltoro. Sorry, not my call. They want you and your buddies out of there by the end of the day, I suspect they've already been contacted."

"But we still have six days left on our stay?"

Saffron chuckled. "They're putting you guys up somewhere else, but it's only got two and three quarters worth of stars on Yelp. No casino, no auditorium. Just a conference room where the resident psychic medium sets up shop. Enjoy yourself, I've heard the medium is a little bit crazy."

Saffron stopped at her desk. They were walking through the precinct now, and every so often, a beat cop or a petrol officer would look at Miguel Diaz and they would laugh. Miguel turned red, ashamed that he was this recognizable by so many people. Even back in Reseda, as the All Valley Karate Champion, he had never gotten too much attention outside of high school. Officer Fitpztrick scribbled something on a sticky note, and then passed Miguel the yellow square.

"Call me." She grinned widely.