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My older sister, Charlotte Grace—who everyone calls Grace—handles operations in the London office. Mike runs the Silicon Valley office. Dad is still holding onto the hope I will take his place at the corporate office in downtown Philly.
I’m torn between two legacies. No matter which one I choose, I let someone down. My dad wants me to follow in his footsteps whereas my grandfather wants me to chase the dream of professional hockey. No matter what I decide, I’ll never live up to either of their legacies. The paths they both forged are too narrow for me, leaving no room for me to grow.
In the NHL, I’ll be compared to my grandfather. He holds the records for most career points, season points, and playoff points. How could I ever compare to that? And then, there’s my dad. He blew the gaming world away when he developed the artificial intelligence that controls his Universe. His face is on every magazine, his tech mentioned in every newspaper around the world.
I doubt I’ll ever be on the cover of Wired or have my games featured in PC Mag. It’s not that I lack confidence in my coding or hockey skills. I have that in spades. But I would be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling an immense amount of pressure. I have it on both sides of the family, where most of my friends only have their father’s former hockey careers to compete with.
Mike, my older brother, climbs the staircase leading up to our raised platform, smiling like the Cheshire cat. He has the same brown hair as my dad and me, except he wears his longer on the sides.
“They’re having issues over at the 10X booth,” Mike informs us. “Someone hacked their server.”
And now I’m the one who’s grinning like an idiot. Cece made me look like a fool two months ago when I allowed her back into my life. We reconnected in a gaming chat room that led to private messages and eventually late night texts and calls. I couldn’t even tell my friends I was talking to her again because they all hate her. My family does too. They have every reason to. Cece is a horrible person. So, why does my heart still pound when I see her? I hate that it does.
She had the audacity to use my vulnerability—more like stupidity—to steal my code and reverse engineer my game. Her dad loved it and decided to add it to his current platform. Now, I have nothing more than a half-formed idea and no real proof she stole from me.
Some part of me will always love her, and I hate that I do. We met when we were ten years old at a gaming convention like this one. She schooled every guy on the floor. Hell, she even beat me in one of my father’s games. It was embarrassing, and for me, it was love at first sight.
But I’m done being her doormat. I can’t allow her to win again. That’s why I corrupted her father’s system with a virus.
I glance over at the 10X Games booth and watch as Cece and the technical team scramble to stop the blinking spider web flashing across the screen. Everyone in the room can see my signature, and yet only Cece and my dad will know it was me. Embedded inside the web is my screen name—Jamer. My dad called me that when I was a kid. It’s a combination of Jamie and gamer, a nickname that has stuck.
If Cece looks close enough, she’ll see it, though it’s hard right now with how rapidly the web blinks. Cece is no idiot. Her eyes find mine for a split second. She deserves this, and she knows it. For once, I can place a check in the win column. Except, when it comes to Cece, it always feels like a loss… no matter how big the victory.
Chapter Two
Three Months Later
Shannon
I’ll never fit in. At least it feels that way as I walk through the Delta Sigma Phi chapter house, pushing my way through the crowd. Even after three years of being a Kappa Delta sister, I still feel out of place. Everyone on campus comes from money. I only pretend to have it all.
A girl from Zeta Beta, who I can’t remember her name, grabs my arm and yells over the music. “I love your dress. Where did you get it?”
I force a smile. “Umm… Nordstrom, I think.”
I assume that’s where Jordan Walcott, the vice president of my sorority, bought it. She takes pity on me and loans her clothes to me for parties and sorority functions.
Shaking the girl off, I move through the crowd, taking a sip from the red plastic cup in my hand. I can’t even afford to shop from the clearance rack at Nordstrom. It’s not easy attending a school like Strickland University. The prestigious college in Center City, Philadelphia oozes generations of wealth and success, where the rest of us have to kill ourselves to be part of their world.
