The Tragedy Script

Even the toughest girl, when blindsided by a sudden confession from a boy she hates, will hesitate. Or at least, that was the theory. A confession isn't always about getting a date; sometimes, it's just about getting out of a jam.

Still worried about your terrible relationship with a girl? You just need to channel your inner audacity. Confess! Confess! Confess!

—From the Book of Shane.

Max's face felt like it was on fire. He was pretty sure he had just hit the ceiling of human embarrassment. But Hazel's reaction wasn't quite matching Shane's playbook.

After listening to Max's "heartfelt" speech, Hazel had looked stunned, sure. But now her expression was shifting into something weird. She stared at him blankly until Max couldn't hold eye contact anymore.

Then, suddenly, she smiled.

"You say you like me?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah!" Max nodded stiffly.

"And you're willing to stand by those words?"

"Er..." This wasn't following the script. In his head, Hazel was supposed to reject him. Violently. Maybe with a slap.

Stand by my words? Max's heart did a traitorous little skip. No way. Did he just accidentally win? Was this the "unintended consequence" the universe warned him about?

"Of... Of course!" Max gulped.

"Great." Hazel's smile was terrifyingly gentle. She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and shoved it in Max's face.

Max stared at the QR code on the screen, his brain short-circuiting. Ms. Lane, you never wrote this kind of plot twist in my journal.

"Scan it," Hazel ordered when Max didn't move. Her voice sounded impatient, but to Max's delusional ears, it carried a hint of shy flirtation.

With a mix of ninety percent terror and ten percent inexplicable hope, Max scanned her FlashMsg code and sent a friend request.

Hazel. Her username popped up instantly. Request accepted.

Ding!

Max looked down at the first message Hazel sent him. It was an audio file.

...Who exactly are you? A seemingly ordinary insurance agent... I find it hard to believe he discovered a stalker, or where he got confidential intel on the Schuster-Gould Divorce Case...

Max froze. The voice coming from his phone was Hazel's, recorded just minutes ago. He looked up in horror. Hazel was dangling her phone, grinning like a shark.

"Yep. I recorded everything."

She tapped the screen again.

...I like you. That's why I approached Lily first. It was a strategy... I like you, which is why I just 'happen' to be on your subway car... I like you...

And then, the kicker: Can you stand by those words?

Max silently locked his phone screen. For the first time in his life, he hated how crisp and clear the speakers were on his Pineapple phone.

Absolute. Social. Death.

Saying it in the heat of the moment was one thing. Hearing his own voice whine about it in high definition? He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"I was recording from the start," Hazel said, her voice dropping an octave. "If you had admitted you were a spy for the Schuster Corporation, everything you said would have been evidence. You didn't admit that, but..."

Hazel narrowed her eyes, stepping toward him. Her aura was so intense that Max instinctively backed away until his shoulders hit the corner.

Wham!

She slammed her hand against the wall next to his head.

Thanks to her heels, Hazel was almost eye-to-eye with him. She stared him down with lethal intensity, while Max tried to look anywhere else.

"I'm warning you," she hissed. "If I catch you trying anything shady with Lily, I won't hesitate. I'll take this recording, attach your business card, and blast it all over social media. I'll tag everyone."

She tapped the corner of her phone against Max's chest. From a distance, they might have looked like a couple flirting. But up close, Hazel radiated pure menace.

"Do we have an understanding?"

Max gulped, his throat dry.

"I... yes!"

As it turned out, a half-baked insurance agent trying to play mind games with a lawyer was like trying to teach Machiavelli how to lie. It was suicide.

Hazel was smart. She was also terrifyingly intense and opinionated. She wasn't about to blindly trust a "neighbor" she'd only known for two days, especially one who suspiciously knew way too much about everything. It didn't matter if he seemed to be on her side. Hazel was the type of person who needed to control the board.

And lawyers? Their superpower was finding cracks in your armor and squeezing until you popped.

"Ugh, why did I try to outsmart a lawyer?" Max groaned, clutching his head. He had been completely maneuvered into a corner.

Fortunately, Lily arrived with a gourmet dinner that evening, which went a long way toward soothing Max's bruised ego. The silver lining was that Hazel seemed to relax around him. It was like an ancient peace treaty: Max had basically handed himself over as a hostage. Now that she had leverage, the alliance was secure. Hooray for diplomacy.

The next day, the world was still on fire.

The stock market opened and immediately face-planted, smashing right into the circuit breaker. Trading halted. Panic ensued.

The online forums were screaming.

"Run! It's toxic!"

"I'm out! Diamond hands are for losers!"

"Does the market have no conscience? I surrender! Can I keep half my money?"

"Biggest manipulation in history! 404—[Censored Expletive]!"

"Don't panic, guys, it's just a... technical adjustment!"

While the retail investors were losing their minds, one particular office was having a meltdown.

"Tony! You moron! Do you have any idea how much money this branch is bleeding because of your client?!"

Tony looked like he was at a funeral. "But... Manager, I asked you about this order two days ago! You signed off on it!"

"That was then, this is now!" The manager was a bald man with eyes that bulged like a raging bull. "Fix this! Get that client to exercise his options and close the contract immediately! We need to stop the bleeding!"

"But the contract is for a month," Tony stammered. "It's only been two days. With the market crashing like this, why would he want to bail out early?"

"I don't care! You dug this pit, you fill it! If you can't fill the hole, I'm throwing you in it!" The manager was practically spitting. "Tony, I'm telling you, if this stock keeps tanking, our branch's profits for the entire year are gone!"

"No... it can't be that bad, right?"

The manager's bull eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull. "Can't be? The stock has tanked twice in a row. It's down nearly two bucks. On three million shares, even after deducting his five-hundred-thousand-dollar premium, that guy is sitting on a net profit of over five million dollars! Do you think our Sutton branch makes ten million a year? If this slide continues for a few more days, we're all going to be eating dirt for Christmas!"

Tony's face twisted into a mask of misery. The math was simple, but the client wasn't stupid. The guy had bet heavily on a crash when the market looked great. Now that the market actually was crashing, why would he leave? Who hates money that much?

Tony had thought Max was just a reckless amateur. Turns out, he was a reckless amateur with luck granted by the gods. Five million dollars... In two days, the guy had increased his wealth tenfold. That was instant retirement money. Tony felt a toxic mix of envy and nausea.

"What if it bounces back?" Tony grasped at straws. "It's only been two days. Maybe there's good news coming..."

"Ugh!" The manager slumped, defeated. "HQ says the forecast is bleak. This storm isn't passing anytime soon. That's why we need to stop the loss now. The risk is too high. Headquarters told me to get the client to take his winnings and go home."

"I... okay, I'll try. But this guy... he's got a serious gambling problem." Tony remembered Max admitting he couldn't even swipe a stick of gum on his credit card. Dealing with a lunatic like that?

There's an old saying in the industry: It's not hard to let a gambler lose. The hard part is getting them to the table. And getting them off the table when they're winning? That's impossible.

"Just try! Call him now!"

Tony sighed and pulled out his phone, dialing Max's number.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end sounded bored. Sleepy, even. Definitely not the voice of someone who had just made five million dollars.

"Mr. Mason? It's Tony from Stellar Capital. Have you... uh... seen the market today?"

"No. Why?"

Tony froze. Are you kidding me?

Five hundred grand invested, millions in profit, the financial world is burning down, and this guy isn't even watching the ticker? Could you be a little more professional? If you aren't going to stare at candlestick charts eighteen hours a day, at least show up for the opening bell!

Max's casual "No" completely short-circuited Tony's brain. The speech he had rehearsed died in his throat. It took him a long, awkward moment to force out a dry, nervous laugh.

"Well, I gotta say, congratulations are in order, Mr. Mason. You are absolutely killing it right now. We're talking major profit."

"Cool," Max said. "And?"

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. To the broker, it sounded like they were discussing the weather, not a life-changing amount of cash.

Tony "The Barber"—Max's broker—figured Max must be clueless. The kid clearly didn't understand the magnitude of the win. He took a deep breath, preparing to drop the bomb.

"Mr. Mason, listen. If you choose to exercise your options right now, your net profit is going to clear five million dollars!"

"Oh. Five mil? Is that why you called me?"

Tony choked. What happened to the drama? What happened to the earth-shattering shock? That was five million bucks, not five hundred! Could the kid at least pretend to be excited? Maybe raise his voice an octave?

"Mr. Mason, look," Tony stammered, trying to regain control. "As your advisor, I have to warn you—the market is swinging like crazy. I'm calling to see if you want to take the money and run. I mean, ten times your initial investment? That's unheard of..."

Tony was hinting as hard as he legally could. Brokers weren't supposed to give explicit commands, so he was dancing on the edge of the rules, practically begging Max to cash out.

"Oh, leave the market?" Max mused. "Nah. Not yet. Tell you what—don't call me for little updates. When the profit hits thirteen million, then you can buzz me."

Thirteen... million?!

Tony and his bald manager, who was listening in, dropped their jaws. The market was a dumpster fire. To hit thirteen million, the stock would have to tank repeatedly for days.

Tony opened his mouth to argue, but the line went dead. Max had hung up.

The bald manager stared at the phone, his face cycling from red to a sickly green. Finally, he slammed his fist on the desk. "He's lost his mind! The kid's money-crazed!"