Chapter 2
Nobody answered Nia.
That was the worst part.
My nine-year-old sister stood barefoot in the hallway wearing an oversized purple T-shirt, staring at the three adults in the room as if one of us had to know the answer.
Mom's mouth opened.
Then closed.
Curtis looked down at his controller.
I felt something twist in my chest.
Nia wasn't trying to embarrass anyone.
She was genuinely scared.
I crouched in front of her.
“Hey,” I said softly. “You're going to eat.”
Her eyes filled.
“But you're leaving.”
“I am.”
“Tomorrow?”
I nodded.
She looked past me at Mom.
“Then who buys cereal?”
Mom finally snapped out of it.
“Enough, Nia. Go back to your room.”
Nia flinched.
I stood immediately.
“Don't talk to her like that.”
Mom turned on me.
“This is exactly what you do, Malik. You make everything dramatic.”
I almost laughed.
“I make everything dramatic?”
“You could've told me about Chicago.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Three nights ago. You were busy arguing with the cable company because Curtis ordered some sports package.”
Curtis frowned.
“That was one time.”
I ignored him.
“I tried again yesterday morning. Mom said she had to get to work.”
Mom folded her arms.
“So now you're punishing us?”
There it was.
Not congratulations.
Not I'm proud of you.
Not You've worked hard.
Punishing us.
I stared at her.
“I'm taking a job.”
“You already have a job.”
“I make thirteen dollars an hour closing a grocery store.”
“It pays.”
“It doesn't give me a future.”
Curtis laughed under his breath.
I turned toward him.
“You got something to say?”
He shrugged.
“Chicago ain't gonna turn you into some millionaire.”
“No. But maybe getting up every morning will turn me into a licensed electrician.”
His smile disappeared.
Mom stepped between us again.
“I don't like this attitude.”
“My attitude?”
“Yes. This whole thing where you think you're better than us.”
I stared at her.
I couldn't understand how wanting more had become an insult.
“I don't think I'm better than anybody.”
“You sure act like it.”
Nia was still standing behind me.
I looked at her and forced my voice to soften.
“Go pack your lunchbox for tomorrow, okay? I'll help you before bed.”
She hesitated.
Then walked slowly down the hallway.
The second her bedroom door closed, Mom lowered her voice.
“You can't just walk out and leave me with everything.”
I blinked.
“You told me to leave.”
“I was angry.”
“And I already had a job waiting.”
“Then why didn't you say something?”
“I just told you. I tried.”
Curtis dropped back onto the couch.
“This is stupid. He'll probably be back in two weeks.”
I looked at him.
“Maybe.”
But we both knew I didn't believe that.
I went to my bedroom.
Calling it my bedroom was generous.
It was a converted storage room at the back of the apartment, barely wide enough for a twin mattress, plastic dresser, and cheap folding desk.
I had already packed most of my clothes.
Two duffel bags sat beneath the window.
Mom appeared in the doorway.
She stared at them.
“You were really going to leave without telling me.”
“No.”
“Looks like it.”
“I was going to tell you tonight.”
“When? After humiliating me?”
I closed my eyes.
“I didn't humiliate you.”
“Nia thinks we're going to starve.”
“Why would she think that?”
Mom went silent.
I looked at her.
“Why would a nine-year-old know I'm the person buying the groceries?”
Her face hardened.
“Children notice things.”
“They shouldn't have to notice that.”
She walked away.
I sat on the mattress and rubbed my face.
Five minutes later, Nia slipped into my room.
She closed the door behind her.
“Are you mad at Mom?”
“I'm tired.”
“That means yes.”
I smiled despite myself.
She sat beside me.
“Can I come to Chicago?”
My smile disappeared.
“Nia…”
“I can sleep on the floor.”
“You have school here.”
“I can go to school there.”
“It doesn't work like that.”
Her chin trembled.
“You always make breakfast.”
My throat tightened.
“Mom can make breakfast.”
“She sleeps.”
I looked away.
“You wake me up for school.”
“I know.”
“You help with homework.”
“I know.”
“And when Mom works late, you stay with me.”
I swallowed.
That was when I realized Nia wasn't afraid of losing groceries.
She was afraid of losing me.
I put my arm around her.
“You can call me every day.”
“Every day?”
“Every single day.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She leaned against me.
Then whispered, “Curtis said you're leaving because you hate us.”
I went still.
“He said that?”
She nodded.
“I don't hate you.”
“Mom too?”
I hesitated.
“No.”
It wasn't a lie.
I loved Mom.
That was what made it hurt.
If I hadn't loved her, none of this would've mattered.
At eleven, I walked into the kitchen.
Mom had gone to bed.
Curtis was still gaming.
I opened the cabinet and pulled out a notebook.
“What are you doing?” Curtis asked.
“Writing down the bills.”
He snorted.
“For who?”
“For Mom.”
“She knows the bills.”
“No, she knows when they're due. She doesn't know what I've been paying.”
He paused his game.
“Man, you really gonna leave her hanging?”
I slowly turned.
“Her?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. Explain it.”
He sighed.
“Rent's expensive. Food's expensive. Nia needs stuff.”
“So get a job.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You always think you're better than me because you got some little grocery store job.”
I stared at him.
“This isn't about being better.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You haven't filled out an application in four months.”
“You don't know what I'm doing.”
“Then tell me.”
Silence.
I nodded.
“Exactly.”
Curtis stood.
“You think Mom wants me sitting around?”
“I think Mom lets you.”
His jaw tightened.
“She knows I'm figuring things out.”
“She's been giving you time to figure things out since May.”
“Watch yourself.”
I stepped closer.
“No.”
He looked surprised.
I had spent years backing down because Mom hated conflict.
But I was leaving in nine hours.
“What are you going to do when the internet shuts off?”
He stared at me.
“What are you going to do when Mom needs fifty dollars for groceries?”
“That's none of your business.”
“It becomes my business when you call me in Chicago asking for money.”
“I won't.”
“Good.”
“You think I need you?”
“No.”
I pointed toward Nia's room.
“She does.”
Something flickered across his face.
I lowered my voice.
“She needs somebody to wake her up. Somebody to make sure there's food. Somebody to check her homework. Somebody to notice when she's scared.”
Curtis looked away.
“You live here too.”
“I know.”
The next morning, my alarm rang at 4:45.
Nia was already awake.
She stood in my doorway holding an envelope.
“What is that?”
“For Chicago.”
I opened it.
Inside was a picture she'd drawn.
There were three stick figures.
Me.
Her.
And a giant building labeled CHICAGO HOUSE.
At the bottom she'd written:
DON'T FORGET ME.
I turned away before she could see my face.
“Malik?”
I hugged her.
Hard.
“Never.”
Mom drove me to the bus station.
Curtis stayed home.
Nia came with us.
Nobody spoke much.
When we reached the terminal, Mom remained in the driver's seat.
I pulled my bags from the trunk.
Nia grabbed my arm.
“Call me.”
“I will.”
“Tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Not tomorrow.”
“Tonight.”
She hugged me again.
Mom finally stepped out.
For a second, I thought she might apologize.
Instead she handed me a folded piece of paper.
“What is this?”
“The electric bill.”
I stared at her.
“It came yesterday.”
I almost couldn't believe it.
“Mom.”
“I know you're leaving, but it's past due.”
“How much?”
“One eighty-seven.”
I looked at the paper.
Then at her.
“You want me to pay it?”
“I wouldn't ask if I had another option.”
I thought about the six hundred dollars in my checking account.
It was everything I had saved.
I needed transportation.
Work boots.
Food until my first paycheck.
Emergency money.
Then Nia coughed quietly beside us.
Mom noticed me looking at her.
“You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.”
I pulled out my phone.
I paid the bill.
Right there.
One hundred eighty-seven dollars.
Then I turned the automatic payment off.
Mom saw me do it.
Her expression changed.
“Why'd you remove the account?”
“Because I don't live there anymore.”
“Malik…”
“I paid this one.”
“What about next month?”
I looked toward the station doors.
“That's something you and Curtis need to figure out.”
Her face tightened.
“So that's it?”
“No.”
I bent down and kissed Nia's forehead.
“This is it.”
I walked through the doors.
I didn't look back until I reached security.
Mom was standing beside Nia.
Nia waved both hands.
Mom didn't wave.
Six hours later, I arrived in Chicago.
My apprenticeship coordinator, Mr. Harris, met five of us at the station.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his fifties with a gray beard and the kind of voice that made everybody stop talking.
“You're not here because this is easy,” he told us on the ride to the training center.
“You're here because difficult work pays people who learn how to do it right.”
For the first time in years, I felt like someone was talking directly to the person I wanted to become.
Housing was simple.
A shared apartment with another apprentice named Andre.
Two bedrooms.
A tiny kitchen.
Clean floors.
No game console blasting in the living room.
No overdue bills on the counter.
No one asking me for money.
That night, I called Nia.
She answered immediately.
“You called!”
“I promised.”
She gave me a tour of her homework over video chat.
Then she whispered, “Mom's mad.”
“At me?”
“I think everybody.”
“Did you eat?”
“Peanut butter.”
“For dinner?”
She looked toward her bedroom door.
“Mom said she's tired.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where's Curtis?”
“Out.”
“Out where?”
“I don't know.”
I sat up.
“Nia, listen to me. There's chicken in the freezer.”
“I know.”
“Can you tell Mom?”
“She knows.”
Before I could answer, Mom's voice came from somewhere behind her.
“Nia! Who are you talking to?”
“Malik!”
The phone moved.
Then Mom's face appeared.
“We're fine,” she said.
“I didn't say you weren't.”
“You're interrogating a child.”
“I asked what she ate.”
“She ate.”
“Peanut butter isn't dinner.”
Mom's eyes hardened.
“You've been gone one day.”
“And?”
“And don't start acting like you're running my house from Chicago.”
I stared at her.
“Then run it.”
Her face changed.
Before she could respond, the screen went black.
She had ended the call.
I sat there staring at my phone.
Andre looked over from the kitchen.
“Family?”
“Yeah.”
“Complicated?”
“You have no idea.”
My phone buzzed.
For one second, I thought it was Nia.
It was Curtis.
I opened the message.
Bro, Mom said you turned off the automatic payments.
Then another message appeared.
You need to put that back on before the rent comes out Friday.
I read it twice.
Then typed four words.
I don't live there.
The typing bubbles appeared immediately.
Then disappeared.
Then returned.
You really gonna do us like this?
I stared at the screen.
Before I could respond, another message came through.
And this time it wasn't from Curtis.
May you like
It was from Mom.
If we lose this apartment because of you, Nia will know exactly whose fault it is.
