Not Your Bet to Make Chapter 12

Not Your Bet to Make Chapter 12

The commotion got loud enough someone called the RA.

She sized up the situation. Stepped in front of me. Talked to

my parents.

After some persistent effort, their emotions slowly leveled

out.

Dad asked me:

“Why did you change the application? Why didn’t you discuss

it with us first?”

My brows pulled tight.

“I didn’t change it. Asher and Tiffany did. They made a bet on how long it’d take me to notice.”

“Then why didn’t you switch it back?” Mom jumped in. Eyes full of that familiar disappointment. “Your father’s health has been getting worse. He needs care. Stanford is close

to home. If you went to Stanford you could come back

whenever we needed you.”

I knew it. That was their calculation all along.

I answered flatly.

“Because UCLA was the school I actually wanted.”

I’d said it before. I wanted to go to California. See the West

Coast. The life there.

They didn’t care. On application day they forced it to

Stanford.

My parents didn’t expect my stance to be this hard. Didn’t expect zero guilt. They wanted to lecture me.

But the RA was there. They couldn’t explode. They left.

Fuming.

The RA patted my shoulder. Sympathetic.

She kept it.