I clicked the link. It took me to this flashy website. I remembered the name Mark had mentioned. I found the sign-in button and stared at it. I had no account. I’d never made one. I must have clicked through something when he first sent the link weeks ago. Now I had to actually create a login. I sighed. This was already more effort than I wanted to expend. I used my standard username and a password I use for stuff that doesn’t matter. I completed the vavada login process, feeling a little silly. Me, signing up for an online casino. What was my life coming to?

The site greeted me with a shower of virtual confetti. “Welcome! 50 Free Spins on Dolphin’s Pearl!” it screamed. Okay, Mark wasn’t kidding. I found the game. It was exactly as cheesy as it sounded—cartoon dolphins, treasure chests, the whole deal. I started the free spins. The reels spun with a satisfying click-click-click sound. I wasn’t winning anything. A few tiny coins here and there. I was down to my last five free spins when it happened. The screen lit up. Three bonus symbols. I was suddenly taken to a new screen where a dolphin was jumping over waves, and a counter started ticking up. Free spins, within my free spins. It was meta.

The reels started spinning automatically. I wasn’t even doing anything, just watching. And then they started winning. Over and over. The wins weren’t huge, but they were constant. The little credit counter at the bottom of the screen, which had started at zero since I was using free spins, began to climb. Ten dollars. Twenty. Fifty. The free spin round ended, and my balance was sitting at a cool $87. From free spins. I actually laughed out loud. This was real money. I could cash this out.

But then I thought, it’s not my money. It’s house money. I can play a little. I moved over to a blackjack table. I played carefully, betting five dollars a hand. I’d win some, lose some. I got my balance up to a hundred even and decided that was a sign. I was going to quit while I was ahead. I clicked the cashier button. I had to verify my email again to withdraw, which was a minor pain, but I did it. I requested a withdrawal of my hundred dollars, fully expecting some complicated catch.

The next day, I got a notification from my payment app. A deposit for one hundred dollars from some company name I didn’t recognize. It took me a second to remember. The casino. It had actually worked. I texted Mark: “Okay, you were right. About the dolphin thing.” He immediately called me, triumphant. “I told you! What did you win?” I told him the story, and we had a good laugh about it.

I still remember my vavada login info. I don’t use it much, but every once in a while, on a particularly dull Thursday, I’ll log in. I’ll play with twenty bucks, just for the fun of it. I’ve never hit big like that again, and that’s fine. For me, it’s not about becoming a high roller. It’s about that one time my cousin’s dumb scheme wasn’t so dumb after all. It’s a reminder that sometimes, a little mindless fun can actually pay off. And I’ll always have a soft spot for those cartoon dolphins.

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