Chapter 2: The Things Nobody Counted
Malik did not sleep much that night.
The words stayed in his head.
You don't know what my mom has been doing with your money.
His money.
He kept staring at that phrase.
Because until that weekend, Malik had never thought of himself as having money.
He had thought of money as something adults controlled.
Something parents earned.
Something that disappeared into bills.
But that refund had been different.
It represented every morning he woke up at 5:30.
Every blister on his palms from carrying produce boxes.
Every customer who ignored him because he looked too young to be working.
It was not just $410.
It was proof.
On Sunday morning, Malik found Tiana sitting on the back porch.
She was wearing a gray hoodie even though the weather was already warming up.
When she saw him, she lowered her phone.
"You got my text.""
Malik nodded.
"What did you mean?""
Tiana looked toward the kitchen window.
Their mother was inside making coffee.
"I didn't want to say it yesterday because she was there.""
Malik sat across from her.
"Say what?""
Tiana took a breath.
"My mom has been borrowing your money.""
Malik frowned.
"My money?""
"Your paycheck money.""
He shook his head.
"No.""
Tiana looked surprised.
"You don't know?""
"Know what?""
She rubbed her hands together.
"After your second week at the produce stand, Mom asked Dad if he was proud you were working.""
"Okay.""
"Then she asked him if you should start helping around the house.""
Malik looked away.
"Everybody helps.""
"That's not what I mean.""
Tiana leaned forward.
"She started taking some of your cash from your room.""
The porch suddenly felt colder.
"What?""
"I saw her.""
"When?""
"Last month.""
Malik laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
"No. She wouldn't.""
Tiana looked down.
"I know she's my mom. I know that sounds bad.""
"Then why say it?""
"Because yesterday wasn't the first time.""
Malik stood up.
His chair scraped against the concrete.
He didn't know what feeling came first.
Anger.
Embarrassment.
Or disappointment.
"My paychecks were in my drawer.""
"I know.""
"You knew?""
"I told Dad.""
Malik stopped.
"What did he say?""
Tiana hesitated.
"That he'd talk to her.""
"And?""
She looked away.
"And nothing.""
That hurt more than Malik expected.
Because he could understand Yolanda making a bad decision.
Adults made mistakes.
But his father?
His father had known something was wrong.
And he had done nothing.
Later that afternoon, Malik walked into the kitchen while Reggie was fixing a loose cabinet hinge.
"Dad.""
Reggie looked up.
"What's wrong?""
Malik placed his phone on the counter.
The text messages were open.
Reggie's expression changed as he read.
"Who told you this?""
"Tiana.""
Reggie put the screwdriver down.
"Malik—"
"Is it true?""
The question hung there.
Reggie looked older suddenly.
Not physically.
Just tired.
"Some of it.""
Malik stared.
"Some of it?""
Reggie sighed.
"Your mother—"
He stopped.
Not mother.
Yolanda.
Even Malik noticed.
"Yolanda said the house needed help.""
"I worked for that money.""
"I know.""
"No, Dad. You don't.""
Malik's voice cracked.
"You don't know what it felt like when I got that first paycheck.""
Reggie looked at him.
"I know what it feels like to work.""
"That's not what I said.""
The words landed harder than Malik intended.
His father looked down.
For several seconds, the only sound was the refrigerator humming.
Finally, Reggie spoke.
"I should have handled it.""
Malik swallowed.
"Why didn't you?""
Reggie rubbed his forehead.
"Because every time I brought up money, it became a fight.""
"So you let me lose?""
"No.""
"But you did.""
That evening, the family sat at dinner.
The table was quiet.
Normally, Yolanda talked about neighbors.
Work.
Grocery prices.
Anything.
Tonight, she barely looked up.
Finally, she placed her fork down.
"So.""
Everyone looked at her.
"Are we going to act like I'm some criminal now?""
Reggie leaned back.
"No one said that.""
"You don't have to.""
She looked at Malik.
"He thinks I stole from him.""
Malik opened his mouth.
But she continued.
"I kept this house running.""
"You used my refund," Malik said.
"And I used it for family.""
"For Tiana.""
Tiana looked uncomfortable.
"Malik—"
"No.""
He looked at her.
"I don't blame you.""
Then he looked at Yolanda.
"But don't call it family money when my name was the only name on it.""
Yolanda's face hardened.
"You know what your problem is?""
Reggie immediately said:
"Yolanda.""
But she continued.
"You think because you got one little check, you're a grown man.""
Malik pushed his chair back.
"No.""
He stood.
"I think because I worked for something, I should get a say before someone takes it.""
Nobody answered.
He walked away.
That night, Malik opened his drawer.
His pay stubs were still there.
Except one was missing.
The first one.
The one he kept because it mattered.
He searched under clothes.
Behind books.
Inside his backpack.
Nothing.
Then he noticed something else.
His drawer wasn't closed the way he left it.
Someone had been inside.
The next morning, Malik came downstairs and found an envelope sitting beside his breakfast plate.
His name was written on it.
But the handwriting wasn't his.
Inside was his missing pay stub.
And a note.
May you like
Three words.
*Ask your father.*
