Page 6 of You Had Me at Hello World
Sunshine-yellow scrambled eggs sizzle on the skillet. She’s an amazing cook. She should have her own restaurant. Her food is utterly wasted on my stepdad.
“Remember when you used to make those with tomatoes?” I ask. A classic Chinese dish. But Mom hasn’t made it in years. Michael has the palate of someone who thinks Applebee’s is fine dining.
She smiles. “The most important ingredient is soy sauce.”
When’s the last time we even had soy sauce in the house?
Anyway, she seems to be in a good mood, so I decideto ask. “Um, so, did Michael mention anything about my money?” Maybe this isn’t a total L. Maybe she can talk to him for me.
Her spatula freezes mid-scrape. “What money?”
I swallow hard. “I had this envelope with cash. He took it yesterday. He stole it.”
“How much was in there?”
“About two grand.”
Now she looks at me, lips parting in surprise. “Where did you get all that?”
“I have a job at school.” Maybe I should’ve told her. I guess it was just easier not to. I don’t know when I stopped talking to her about my life.
She turns back to the stove. “Money is hard lately. Some of Michael’s sales didn’t go how he wanted.”
“Mom.” My voice cracks a little. I can’t believe she’s making excuses for him. Well, no, I can, but I don’twantto believe it. “It’smymoney. I earned it.”
“I know,baobei.”Precious baby.But I don’t feel like much of her precious anything.
She slides the eggs onto a plate. “But right now we can’t cause trouble. Your stepfather is very stressed. Just until—”
Just until what? Until Michael hits it big at blackjack? Because given how bad he is at gambling, we might as well start buying Bitcoin.
But I don’t get the chance to ask before my stepsistertraipses into the kitchen. “Hi, Quinn! Oooh, eggs.” She doesn’t acknowledge me.
Imagine you’re using a public bathroom and then a stranger slides into the stall right next to yours. All you can see are their Converse high-tops, but you’re getting a full symphony of toilet-related awkwardness. And after the flush, as they use the sink, you sit and wait for them to dip because you absolutely don’t want to put a face to the sounds you just endured.
Yep. That’s Olive and me. Two people who happen to be using the bathroom at the same time.
I don’t hate Olive or anything. It’s more that I don’t trust her anymore. When our parents first got hitched, we were total besties. I’d vent to her about how Michael was making Mom cook greasy crap I didn’t like or whatever. Then my complaints would magically trickle their way to Michael, and he’d get wasted and take it out on us.
So I learned to stop talking to Olive.
Anyway, if she’s up, Michael’s probably not far behind, and it’s better for everyone if I’m not around by the time he drags himself into the kitchen like a swamp monster. And enlisting Mom’s help is a lost cause. So I disappear out the front door.
I get to homeroom early, which means I hear way more tea than normal. Everyone’s buzzing about a sophomore named Thayer who got busted for dealing, but nobody is sure about the specific drug. I hear three different versions of this same story beforefirst period. By the time the bell rings, Thayer is apparently a peddler for pot, ecstasy, and something so illegal nobody even knows the name.
Anyway, I have to tell Lola about the money, even though I’d rather step on a Lego. Thank God my morning is AP Chemistry and AP English Language, since she’s not in either. Life’s looking grim if molecular orbital diagrams are the fun choice.
But I can’t procrastinate this convo forever. At lunch, I spot Lola at our usual table.
Quick backstory: Lola Garcia and I became friends in sixth grade, after I walloped her in the face.
My family had just moved to Chinook Shore. Olive and I enrolled in school here, but we had different lunch periods, so I was doomed to the double-whammy friendlessness of being the new kid and the only Asian kid.
In the cafeteria, there was this boy; his name was John or James or something. He moved away years ago. So let’s call him John, because who cares.
John’s dream was to be like the president. Not to get elected president someday. But to be exactly like the current president, even though he had more in common with a garden slug than with a New York real-estate billionaire.
So John was squawking that Lola’s mom, who worked at the school as a custodian, was gonna get deported.
