Page 1 of You Had Me at Hello World
Chapter One
Lola swears this is legit and not like her TikTok “side hustle” that turned out to be a pyramid scheme. She just needs me to float her a hundred bucks.
Even though I’m still sussed out by any scholarship contest with an entry fee, I say yes because, well, she’s Lola. And I have enough cash. That’s not the problem.
The problem is getting past my stepdad.
Cue theMission: Impossiblesoundtrack. As soon as the final bell goes off, I rush home. I figure that’s my best shot, since both Mom and Michael will be at work.
All my money is squirreled away in the shared bedroom. I kneel down and lift my mattress up with one hand. The manila envelope sits on the bedframe, all innocuous.
I grab the envelope and let the mattress fall back down. I try to shake out only a few bills, but my entire net worth comes clattering onto the floor. Coins spill everywhere. “Jesus fu—”
I cut myself off when I hear footsteps.
My heart drops.
I shove everything back into the envelope, but there’s no time to stash the envelope itself before my stepdad, Michael, barges in.
So I’m an idiot, and now I’m trapped with an even bigger idiot. Maybe I could jump out the window. I bet he’d love that.
Michael’s still in his pajamas, and his eyes are all bloodshot. He skipped the gel today, so his comb-over is basically a cry for help. I have no idea how Mom finds him attractive. Maybe she makes out with his bald spot.
Nope. Nope. Not devoting any more brain cells to that topic.
Anyway, maybe he’s too out of it to notice anything weird.
Okay, here’s the new plan: Act normal until he goes away.
“Hi, Michael,” I say, but my voice comes out all neon-bright. I want to smack myself. Acting nice is decidedly not acting normal.
He narrows his eyes. “Char, you’re home early.”
Most afternoons I do homework at the Lucky Panda, the restaurant where my mom works. I get free pot stickers and we haven’t had to call the cops on a customer in months, so it’s kind of awesome. I shrug. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
Michael has some office job selling overpriced beachfront timeshares. Our town, Chinook Shore, is one of those places that is pleasant to visit for a single week every year and not a day longer.
“Called in sick.”
“You don’t look that sick.”
He scowls. “Phantom pain.”
From what I know, phantom pain is like your limb finding new ways to torment you from beyond the grave. Michael lost his left leg in Iraq. There are days when he can’t get out of bed. Once, I found him scrunched on the floor, hands groping for flesh and bone that was no longer there.
I’m all caught up in guilt about Michael’s bleak existence. Major mistake. Never drop your guard around the enemy.
He snatches the envelope out of my lap before I can even react. “What’s this?”
“Nothing.” I make a grab for the envelope, but he holds it high. Freaking tall person privilege. We really don’t acknowledge it enough.
He peers inside. “Where did you get this? You been stealing from me?”
Nah, the casino’s already got that on lock, I want to say, but don’t. Instead: “I have a job.”
“What job?”
“Just some clerical stuff at school.” Okay, this isn’t really true—I run the school website—but I don’t want to get into it.
