Burn it. I don’t care. But it’s got to leave our family.” She chews on her thumbnail, a bad habit she broke years ago. It’s only because of how off she looks, how shattered, that I’m willing to go along with the change of subject.
“You’re not there when the water’s turned off and Dadbrings in buckets of water from the pool to flush the toilets. Okay? You don’t have any right to tell me what to do with that money.”
“Yeah, I do.” Her knuckles turn nearly white as she clutches the edge of her desk. She almost looks frightened, except that makes no sense at all.
“Why are we even talking about this?” I ask, exasperated, trying not to raise my voice. “I don’t have a choice. Mom and Dad are expecting that money. Let me rephrase. They’re
counting
on that money. It’s not mine to keep.”
“Lenore,” my sister says harshly, letting go of the desk and lurching forward, clutching my arm and stepping so close that our bodies nearly touch. She has to look up to meet my eyes. She’s been wearing heels for so long, I never realized I’m taller. “That money is cursed.” Her voice is low and hoarse as she enunciates. Her breath is sour in my face. “Get. Rid. Of. It.”
First of all, I hate it when people call me Lenore. She knows that. Secondly, her sharp nails dig into the tender skin of my arm and the small hairs on my nape rise, that prehistoric response to danger.
“Natasha,” I say, as if to a child. “It’s just money. We can do whatever we want with it.” I try pulling her fingers off.
“Listen to me.” She tightens her grip. “It … it was rigged, okay? That’s all I can tell you. We never should have won that money in the first place.”
Okaaaay.
This argument, this fight, whatever this conversation is, has devolved into a farce.
“Excuse me?” I ask, as if checking she’s still there. My sister has never had troubles with reality, with sanity, but Mom has an aunt that was institutionalized. “Are you on something? You’re not making any sense. And you’re freaking me out.”
“Leni.” She takes a shaky breath, visibly fighting for calm. “I know this sounds insane. I know you don’t believe me. But I’m telling the truth. The only reason Dad won the lottery was because of me, because I made a deal.” She lets go of my arm and uses her hands to rub her face, like she’s trying to wake up. “A really, really bad deal.” She covers her face, hiding her naked emotions as she starts crying.
I let her cry for a bit as I follow the logic.
Logically, I don’t see how what my sister is saying could be true. It’s not possible to rig the lotto; they have insane safeguards to make sure of that. Even assuming that it was somehow true, who could Natasha have possibly known who would do that for her when she was in high school?
“Tasha,” I say, asking the third thing about this that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you even want to win the lottery badly enough to mess with some badass hacker people? Our life was fine.”
“I thought Emmett would stay if I was rich. So stupid.” Her voice cracks. Long black streaks of eyeliner and mascara have turned her face into a gruesome mask. “I was so stupid.”
Out of Natasha’s whole ridiculous story, that’s one thing that rings true. Natasha would have done
anything
to keep Emmett. She was never good with boundaries, and when she fell in love with him in high school and they started dating, nothinghe ever gave her was enough. She didn’t want him to spend a second without her. Emmett put up with Natasha’s craziness longer than a lot of guys would but when he graduated, he enlisted in the army. Natasha almost went insane. He was going to leave her, leave St. Pete, and who knew when or if he’d ever be back. I barely saw her during that period. I was a tomboyish ten-year-old, obsessed with marine biology, out on the beach every second I could be. It wasn’t until I was fifteen and in the midst of an
“You’re not there when the water’s turned off and Dadbrings in buckets of water from the pool to flush the toilets. Okay? You don’t have any right to tell me what to do with that money.”
“Yeah, I do.” Her knuckles turn nearly white as she clutches the edge of her desk. She almost looks frightened, except that makes no sense at all.
“Why are we even talking about this?” I ask, exasperated, trying not to raise my voice. “I don’t have a choice. Mom and Dad are expecting that money. Let me rephrase. They’re
counting
on that money. It’s not mine to keep.”
“Lenore,” my sister says harshly, letting go of the desk and lurching forward, clutching my arm and stepping so close that our bodies nearly touch. She has to look up to meet my eyes. She’s been wearing heels for so long, I never realized I’m taller. “That money is cursed.” Her voice is low and hoarse as she enunciates. Her breath is sour in my face. “Get. Rid. Of. It.”
First of all, I hate it when people call me Lenore. She knows that. Secondly, her sharp nails dig into the tender skin of my arm and the small hairs on my nape rise, that prehistoric response to danger.
“Natasha,” I say, as if to a child. “It’s just money. We can do whatever we want with it.” I try pulling her fingers off.
“Listen to me.” She tightens her grip. “It … it was rigged, okay? That’s all I can tell you. We never should have won that money in the first place.”
Okaaaay.
This argument, this fight, whatever this conversation is, has devolved into a farce.
“Excuse me?” I ask, as if checking she’s still there. My sister has never had troubles with reality, with sanity, but Mom has an aunt that was institutionalized. “Are you on something? You’re not making any sense. And you’re freaking me out.”
“Leni.” She takes a shaky breath, visibly fighting for calm. “I know this sounds insane. I know you don’t believe me. But I’m telling the truth. The only reason Dad won the lottery was because of me, because I made a deal.” She lets go of my arm and uses her hands to rub her face, like she’s trying to wake up. “A really, really bad deal.” She covers her face, hiding her naked emotions as she starts crying.
I let her cry for a bit as I follow the logic.
Logically, I don’t see how what my sister is saying could be true. It’s not possible to rig the lotto; they have insane safeguards to make sure of that. Even assuming that it was somehow true, who could Natasha have possibly known who would do that for her when she was in high school?
“Tasha,” I say, asking the third thing about this that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you even want to win the lottery badly enough to mess with some badass hacker people? Our life was fine.”
“I thought Emmett would stay if I was rich. So stupid.” Her voice cracks. Long black streaks of eyeliner and mascara have turned her face into a gruesome mask. “I was so stupid.”
Out of Natasha’s whole ridiculous story, that’s one thing that rings true. Natasha would have done
anything
to keep Emmett. She was never good with boundaries, and when she fell in love with him in high school and they started dating, nothinghe ever gave her was enough. She didn’t want him to spend a second without her. Emmett put up with Natasha’s craziness longer than a lot of guys would but when he graduated, he enlisted in the army. Natasha almost went insane. He was going to leave her, leave St. Pete, and who knew when or if he’d ever be back. I barely saw her during that period. I was a tomboyish ten-year-old, obsessed with marine biology, out on the beach every second I could be. It wasn’t until I was fifteen and in the midst of an
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