Page 2 of Personal Foul
I figured graduating would’ve been my ticket out of ever seeing anyone from Skyline again. Imagine my horror when, a couple weeks ago, I bumped into him at a game night Isabelle dragged me to at another football player’s apartment.
I kept waiting for him to say something about us going to the same high school—I was the salutatorian after all. Even if he didn’t remember the “clothing drive” day, I’d think he’d remember the fact that I gave a speech at graduation—but he didn’t seem to recognize me at all.
Which is fine. Really. Because if hehadrecognized me, he might want to talk to me or reminisce about high school, and at least this way he’s content to ignore me and let me ignore him.
Even if his presence looms large, and despite my best attempts to pretend he doesn’t exist, my eyes keep getting drawn back to him.
Honestly, it’s a relief that he doesn’t recognize me. Because if he did, I’d have to explain to Isabelle how we know each other. When I got to Marycliff, I’d glossed over the fact that my dad owns a tech startup that creates mobile games. He worked like crazy while I was a little kid—balancing a nine to five job as an accountant and developing games on the side until he could do it full time. When I was in middle school, he took the company public, and that’s when it really took off. The summer between eighth and ninth grade, we moved into a giant house in a fancy neighborhood in Seattle proper, and I started going to Skyline Academy.
I missed my life in the suburbs, though, and all the friends who ditched me when I moved to Seattle. So when I came to Marycliff, I decided to just be a normal student. I applied for scholarships like everyone else—though, yes, my parents do pick up the slack for what those don’t cover. I went potluck for a roommate in the dorms. I still wear what Mia Ellis refers to as ‘discount store fits,’ and none of my friends know that my parents are loaded.
I might’ve relented on that except the first week of classes, my parents decided to throw a party for my dorm to try to help me get to know more people since I was so lonely all through high school. It was so over the top, though, and while people enjoyed the catered food and the DJ, it was obviously weird. Which was driven home even more when I heard people wondering whose parents threw the party and if they really thought they could buy their kid friends. How sad it was for a college student to need that kind of help.
In fact, that’s how I met Isabelle. She was standing with two other girls—Andrea and Kayla—saying just those things. Unsure what else to do, I joined in, mocking the poor, sad girl who needed her parents to buy her friends in college without letting on that the girl in question was me. As far as they’re concerned, I’m just like them, shopping sales and living off student loans and whatever our parents can spare to help out.
The fact that I babysit for my older sister Hope, who also lives in Spokane, helps with the normal college student routine, too. She’s seven years older than me, so she missed out on the craziness of Dad’s company going public and the ensuing move to Seattle. She was already out of the house and attending Marycliff by then. My ideal life is really based on hers—fun college experience, good friends, good job, married to the love of her life with an adorable three-year-old in the mix, living like a normal person without the baggage that comes with the kind of money my parents have.
Sighing, I pull out my phone. This is ridiculous. I should just leave, but I know if I did, Isabelle would freak about me ‘abandoning’ her with three guys. There’s not enough room to get out the homework I’d planned on doing because everyone’s coffees are on the table, and I tend to spread out when I’m researching and organizing my notes. I have a paper due in my literary criticism class next week, and I need to start writing soon.
That’s definitely not happening here. So I might as well just read a book.
But when I glance at my phone, it starts ringing, my mom’s name lighting up. “Sorry. I have to take this,” I say to no one in particular, standing and answering as I walk toward the door.
My relief at having an excuse to get away from the group is short-lived, though. Because my mom answers my greeting with a sob.
“Mom? What’s wrong?” My mind is racing, assuming the worst. Did Dad get in a car accident? Have a heart attack? Or maybe it’s one of my grandparents?
Or worse—could something have happened to my niece, Grace?
My breath freezes in my chest as I step into the cool spring night waiting for Mom’s answer.
She sniffs loudly, clearly trying to compose herself, but the suspense is killing me. “Is someone hurt, Mom? Sick? Dead?” My voice cracks on the last word.
“No, no,” she gasps. “Nothing like that. Um.” There’s a long pause. “Honey. Your father is being investigated by the SEC for insider trading.”
I blink quickly, my mind unable to fully process the words. “What?”
Another sniff. “I’m so sorry to tell you like this, honey, but since you were just home for spring break, I knew I had to tell you right away. I couldn’t wait for you to come home in May. I know this is a shock—no one is more shocked than me—but it’ll be okay, okay? We’ll figure this out and get through it.”
“Wait, I don’t understand. Dad’s being investigated? Why? What does insider trading even mean?” Nothing she’s saying makes sense, and I know she’s trying to be reassuring, but I just don’t understand at all.
Mom sighs. “It’s … they say he was participating in trading stocks using insider information. I don’t know all the details yet. I’ll let you know when I do, okay?”
“Um, okay?”
“I have to go now, honey. There’s an attorney coming over in a few minutes to discuss Dad’s options and our best steps moving forward.”
“Wait, but—”
“I love you, sweetie. Talk soon, okay?”
And with that, she’s gone. I stare at my phone for a long moment, trying to figure out what just happened.
A throat clears behind me. Whirling around, I find Dylan there, blond hair falling into his twinkling blue eyes, looking like he’s fighting to keep a smirk off his full lips. “Insider trading, huh? Your dad? That sucks. Was he trading his company’s stock or someone else’s?”
My mouth hangs open as he expectantly waits for my answer, but no words come out.
“Your dad owns JL Games, right?”
