Aunt Naomi moved to charge at me again, but Mom grabbed her arm, choking out: "Tomorrow I'll go buy you the most expensive imported ones—"
"Don't bother." I turned and walked away. Passing the reporter, I muttered under my breath, "Got enough footage?"
Aunt Naomi's voice cut through the air behind me, dripping venom: "Just wait until your uncle gets here! We'll see how smug you are then! No father to keep her in line—no wonder she's out of control!"
Mom crouched on the ground, picking up the scattered pills. Her knuckles were swollen and rough, her graying hair trembling in the wind.
The crowd kept swelling. Their whispers buzzed around me like flies.
Mom was still making excuses. "It's my fault I couldn't give her better..."
I stood off to the side, arms crossed.
June. Sweltering. Everyone else wore short sleeves. I was still in my school jacket.
Sweat trickled down my back. The fabric clung to my skin like a damp cocoon.
Something inside me snapped.
"Where are the new clothes you promised?!"
I screamed at Mom. "I'm the only one dressed in rags!"
Someone in the crowd couldn't hold back: "How dare you talk to your mother like that! Look at her—does she ever buy anything new for herself?!"
Mom grabbed my arm frantically, pulling out a crumpled wad of cash.
One-yuan bills. Fifty-cent notes. A few coins.
She pressed them into my hand. "I sold some recyclables this morning—take this for now. Once your uncle gets here, I'll take you shopping."
I knocked the money out of her hand. "Cut the act! If you've got time for this performance, why don't you go beg Aunt Naomi for Evan's hand-me-downs!"
Aunt Naomi's face went white with rage. "What the hell did you just say?! My son wears designer! You think you deserve to wear his clothes?!"
The crowd erupted.
Someone held up their phone, livestreaming: Saintly Mother Attacked by Ungrateful Daughter.
Comments exploded across the screen:
[Top scorer in the city? Zero points for character!]
[She doesn't appreciate anything!]
[If you think the money's dirty, don't spend it!]
I stared straight into the camera, enunciating every word: "Yeah. I think it's filthy. You all love it so much? Strip down and wear it yourselves."
Crack!
A slap sent my head snapping to the side.
Uncle Albert Dickerson shouldered through the crowd, eyes blazing. "I'm going to teach you a lesson today, you ungrateful little—"