The Price of Fortune

They call it the Finch Effect. Like gravity. Like déjà vu. Something you can’t see, can’t touch, but you know it’s there, screwing with reality, twisting everything just so.

Tyler Finch is the guy who can’t lose. Cards. Dice. Girls. Tests he didn’t study for. He coasts through high school on a river of four-leaf clovers, horseshoes, and invisible rabbit feet, nodding along when people talk about hard work and effort and paying your dues. He doesn’t need dues. He’s already paid up.

So, he’s the one who aces the chemistry exam without cracking the textbook. The one who sits back while everyone else crams and crams and chews their nails down to bloody little nubs, sweating bullets over formulas and valences and the difference between an isotope and an ion. Tyler just strolls in, lazy smile, pencil dangling from his lips like a cigarette, and click-click-click, fills in the answers. Easy.

C, B, C, A. C, C, D. Multiple choice is a joke.

Hands it in. Walks out. Seventy-eight questions and not a single wrong answer. The teacher sighs, shakes his head—another A+ for the slacker kid. “You should really try harder,” he says.

But Tyler’s already gone.

The girl he likes? Redhead, tall, big eyes. Cassie Winslow. She’s the kind who wears Doc Martens and ripped jeans and a t-shirt with the Misfits logo stretched tight across her chest. One of those girls who makes you feel like every step she takes is a decision to disappoint you. Like just looking at you is the worst part of her day.

But then Tyler winks, maybe gives her that lopsided smile, and her eyes go all soft and unfocused, and it’s like—poof—he’s her favorite guy in the world. One minute, she’s rolling her eyes at his lame jokes; the next, she’s leaning against his locker, fiddling with the strap of her backpack, biting her lip, because she gets him. He’s different. She just knows.

“Want to hang out after school?” she asks. Asks him.

The universe shifts.

“Sure,” Tyler says, like he hasn’t just bent space-time into a pretzel.

The guys in the locker room laugh, call him “lucky bastard,” shake their heads. But it’s more than luck. It’s a rigged coin flip, a game of loaded dice. Tyler’s just flipping the right switches, pressing the right buttons, turning every probability into a sure thing.

But here’s the thing: luck’s a mirror. A reflection. For every smile, a frown. For every high, a low.

Action. Reaction. Physics 101.

Today he gets the girl. Tomorrow he’ll lose his phone down a storm drain, slip in the shower, get his ankle caught in a broken stair.

Always something. Always the universe, balancing the scales.

But that’s okay. He’s careful. Just small favors. Little tweaks. The universe lets him get away with it because he keeps it even. The price is never too high. Never more than a stubbed toe, a missed bus.

But then, one day, everything changes.

It’s raining. One of those cold, miserable afternoons that clings to your skin like wet cement. The clouds hang low, heavy with the promise of more misery, and the whole world feels like it’s rotting from the inside out. Tyler’s trudging home, hoodie pulled tight, head down, trying to pretend he’s not late again. Trying to pretend the gray doesn’t bother him. Trying to pretend—

And then he sees her.

Yellow umbrella. Blonde hair plastered to her face, like gold caught in a spider’s web. She’s standing at the corner, one foot tapping impatiently, waiting for the light to change. A car whooshes by, splashing a puddle up to her knees, and she just rolls her eyes. Like it’s nothing. Like she’s invincible.

Something in Tyler’s chest tightens.

He shouldn’t notice her. He shouldn’t care. But he’s staring. She’s like a drop of color in a gray-scale painting. The way she stands, shoulders squared, defiant against the rain—like she’s daring the world to knock her down.

For a second, he wonders what it’d be like to meet her. To say hi. Maybe use a sliver of his luck to make her look his way, to smile—

And that’s when he sees it.

It comes out of nowhere. A dark blur of metal and shrieking tires. Barreling down the slick street like it’s got something to prove. The driver’s face is a shadow behind the windshield, his hands clenched on the wheel.

Heading straight for her.

Tyler’s already moving. He doesn’t think. Doesn’t breathe. Just pushes—one desperate shove of luck, bending the universe, twisting it, the air itself warping—

And she’s falling back, a look of shock and confusion flickering across her face as his hands slam into her shoulders. She stumbles. Topples.

And the car misses. An inch. Less. The driver jerks the wheel, swerves, and the whole street shudders as it skids past, scraping metal against concrete. The sound is wrong. Too loud. Too sharp.

The car slams into a lamppost. Crunches. A scream of tortured steel, glass shattering, the whole world tilting. And then… silence.

Just the rain, drumming against the asphalt. Just the hiss of steam curling up from the crumpled hood.

And her.

She’s staring at him, breathless, eyes wide and alive. Alive because he made it so. Because he pushed the world, hard and fast and desperate, and saved her.

“Did you—” she gasps, blinking at him. “Did you just…?”

Tyler opens his mouth. Closes it. His chest is heaving, adrenaline burning through his veins like liquid fire.

“I—yeah,” he manages. “I guess.”

She laughs. A wild, incredulous sound, bubbling up from somewhere deep. “Holy shit. You—You just saved my life.”

She’s grinning, teeth flashing, water dripping from her hair. She looks—happy. Like she can’t quite believe it. And Tyler wants to say something, wants to ask if she’s okay, if—

But then it hits him.

Oh God.

The world stutters. The air shudders. And suddenly he feels it—like a wire pulled too tight, humming, vibrating. A wave of something dark and heavy building at the base of his spine, coiling through his gut.

Because that wasn’t a little push. That wasn’t some nudge of a dice roll, or the flicker of a quiz answer changing from wrong to right.

That was life and death.

And the universe wants its balance back.