Chapter 4

I went back home after school on Friday. Dad was cooking in the kitchen.

Daryl's new iPhone was on the table, its sleek black casing shining brightly under the lights.

When Mom saw me, she pointed at the couch and said, "Sit down. We need to talk."

I didn't sit.

Dad came out of the kitchen with a dark look on his face.

"What kind of bullshit have you been telling your teachers? Your homeroom teacher just called and asked me if I was starving you."

"I was just telling the truth," I said.

"What truth? Did we not give you your weekly allowance as usual?" Mom demanded, her voice a whole pitch higher. "Where there's a will, there's a way. It doesn't matter how much money you have to survive on! We're just training you to cope with unexpected events!"

"Then why doesn't Daryl ever run into any unexpected events?"

Mom choked, and Dad slammed his plates on the table.

"Daryl has had a weak body ever since he was born, and he's also more sensitive than you. If he keeps scratching zero dollars, he'll get very upset. You're more resilient than he is. What's wrong with enduring a little hardship?"

I smiled.

"So, you also know that I'm facing hardships without any money, but you just don't have the heart to let Daryl experience it simply because you can't bear to see him upset."

Dad's face twitched in anger.

"Stop picking technicalities like this. Your teacher called today and told us off. For that you must apologize to us!"

"I refuse."

"Dustin Gray!" Mom screeched, slamming her hand down hard on the couch armrest.

I shuddered slightly, but I refused to lower my head like I used to. The two stacks of fake scratch-off tickets in the cabinet had long shattered the last shred of illusion I still had about my family.

"You said that the rules were fair, and I believed you for two years," I said. "Every time I didn't win any money, I would blame it on my bad luck. I never dared to buy any new stationery or afford to join any class gatherings, and I even starved, thinking that it was all my fault for not knowing how to plan my finances properly."

I then looked at Dad.

"You could have just told me that you didn't want to give me any pocket money. Why did you have to make me think that I just wasn't good enough?"

Dad averted his eyes.

"Ultimately, you're just mad because you don't have enough money, aren't you?" he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone before transferring 100 dollars to me.

"Take this. I don't ever want to see you running to your teacher whining about being starving ever again."

My phone buzzed with a notification from the bank, but I didn't even look.

"I don't want your compensation. I just want a fixed allowance every week moving forward," I said.

"In your dreams," Dad immediately replied without a second thought. "Rules are rules. They cannot simply be changed just because you threw a fit about it. You have arms and legs. Did you think you'd starve to death?"

Dad's words reminded me that I could indeed try to make some money of my own.

From the next week onward, I began offering my services to my classmates to earn a living. I offered to help them with their notes and homework, charging 10 dollars a subject or 40 dollars for five.

I had neat handwriting, and my notes and summaries were clear and concise. Soon, many other students from other classes also began coming to me.

After completing my own revisions every day, I even offered to help the juniors revise their essays and homework at night.

There were 31 essays to go through.

I earned a total of 130 dollars that week.

The night the number finally reflected in my account, I stared at it for a long time. That was the first time I'd even known that I could finally have a proper hot meal at school without relying on my parents' scratch-off tickets from home.

I went to the school cafeteria and ordered the full fried chicken and taco meal set for eight dollars. When I picked up my tray of hot food at the counter, my palms were clammy, and my hands were shaking slightly.

The fried chicken tasted amazing. I ate every single bit of food on my tray and even finished every drop of the sauce.

Leroy sat opposite me and asked with a grin, "Does it taste good?"

I nodded profusely. "It's so good."

This wasn't a meal I'd won from the lottery; I had earned it all by myself.

For the next month, I stopped asking Mom and Dad for more money. If they gave me 15 dollars, I'd just take the 15 dollars. If they gave me 30 dollars, I'd just take the 30 dollars.

I split the money I earned from my classmates into three portions. The first portion was for food, the second for books and stationery, and the third for savings in my newly opened bank account. And only I knew the password to that card.

At the end of the month, I'd managed to put away 1,150 dollars in my savings account.

However, when I went home that Friday, Mom suddenly called out to me.

"I heard that you've been running a business at school."

I felt my heart sink. Daryl explained quietly next to me and said, "I didn't mean to tell Mom and Dad. Dad just asked me why you kept buying hot food at the school cafeteria. I had no choice but to tell him the truth."

Dad held his hand out.

"Give me your card."

"I earned this money myself," I said.

"You eat our food and live under our roof, and you still think you have the right to think that your money belongs to you?" Dad asked, glaring at me.

"Well then, since you can earn your own pocket money, you won't be getting any more allowances from us via the scratch-off ticket system."

I had only just heaved a sigh of relief when he continued, "Instead, you will be paying us 400 dollars every month for food and lodging."