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Racing back to my room, I shut and lock the door and look around for a weapon, but all I have are clothes and shoes. I don’t have anything I could use to defend myself.
The person’s inside the apartment now. I hear footsteps, loud clomping, like a guy wearing heavy shoes. A deep voice is talking, but it’s not loud enough for me to make out the words. Is someone else here or is he talking to himself?
I’m sitting on the floor, my back against the door, shaking from a fear of what the guy might do to me when he finds me. I don’t want to die this way. I have to find a way out of this. Maybe if I’m super quiet, he’ll leave me alone. Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. He’s here to steal stuff. He’s going to check every room.
I freeze as I hear footsteps coming down the hall, pausing outside my room. I hold my breath and hear the footsteps start up again, going into Ted’s room. I exhale the breath I was holding and try not to move or make a sound.
“Where the fuck is it, old man?” I hear the guy say.
Old man?That’s what my dad called Ted. It isn’t him, is it? Could it be?
I slowly stand up.
“I knew it,” the guy says, laughing. “Thought you were being clever, didn’t ya, old man?”
It’s him. It’s my dad. What is he doing here?
I open my door and go to Ted’s room, standing at the door. My dad’s sitting on the bed, his back to me.
“Dad?”
He jumps up, startled, money falling out of his hands.
“Nova, what the fuck?” He doesn’t look happy to see me. He looks angry and surprised that I’m here. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I could say the same for you. I thought you were a burglar.”
He looks different than the last time I saw him. That was almost eight years ago. His dark brown hair now has some gray mixed in it and his face looks thinner and more wrinkled around the eyes and mouth. He’s wearing jeans and a faded red sweatshirt with bleach stains on it.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I ask.
“I didn’t think you’d be here. I thought you’d be out with a guy. Don’t you got a boyfriend? You gotta be like 16 now? 17?”
Ignoring his question, I walk over to him. “Why are you here?”
“I’m not staying. I just came to pick up some of the old man’s stuff before it was hauled away. You gotta be out of this place next week, right?”
“Yeah.” I look at all the money in his hands and on the floor. It’s a mix of $20, $50, and $100 bills. “Where’d you get that?”
“Ain’t none of your business, kid. Get out of here.” His voice is shaky and so are his hands. He’s on something.
“Is that Ted’s?” I look down at the bed and see money falling out from under the blanket. I lift it up and see money sticking out of a tear in the mattress. Ted was hiding money. He was stashing it away, hiding it in his mattress so I couldn’t find it. I reach my hand into the mattress.
“Hey!” My dad yanks my hand back. “Stay out of there! That ain’t yours!”
“Where do you think it came from?” I glare at him. “Part of it’s the money he got from me living here and the rest is from me working my ass off at the job he forced me to get.”
“This ain’t your money.” He holds up a wad of bills. “The money you’re talking about went to pay for you. You think raising a kid don’t cost nothing?”
“It didn’t for Ted. He ate most of our food, and go look at my closet. All my clothes are old and too small. I had to fight with him just to buy a new pair of jeans.”
“And now he’s dead so none of that matters, now does it?” He leans down to me. “It ain’t your money. It’s mine. It’s my inheritance. Now get the hell out of here.”
“No.” I stand there, my arms crossed over my chest.
“What was that?” His brows rise. “Are you sassing me, kid?”
“I’m not leaving. I need to talk to you.”
