Chapter 3
I read Mom's message so many times that the words stopped looking real.
If we lose this apartment because of you, Nia will know exactly whose fault it is.
Andre was making ramen in the kitchen.
He glanced over.
“You good?”
I locked my phone.
“Yeah.”
He waited.
I didn't say anything else.
He didn't push.
That was something I wasn't used to.
At home, silence was never allowed to simply be silence.
Silence meant somebody was angry.
Silence meant somebody wanted something.
Silence meant I needed to figure out what was wrong before it became my problem.
In Chicago, Andre just poured his ramen into a bowl.
“You want some?”
“I’m good.”
“You sure?”
I nodded.
Then my stomach growled.
He laughed.
“Man, take the noodles.”
I finally smiled.
It was the first time I'd smiled since reading Mom's message.
I ate half the bowl.
At 5:30 the next morning, I reported to orientation.
No one cared about my family drama.
No one cared that my mother was angry.
No one cared that I had slept four hours.
Mr. Harris handed me safety glasses and pointed at a row of workstations.
“Today, we find out who listens.”
For eight straight hours, we learned basic electrical safety, wire identification, lockout procedures, tools, codes, and the hundred different ways carelessness could get somebody hurt.
I loved every second.
My back hurt.
My hands hurt.
My brain felt full.
But every time I completed something correctly, someone said, “Good job.”
Those two words shouldn't have meant so much.
They did.
At lunch, my phone showed twelve missed notifications.
Six from Curtis.
Four from Mom.
Two from Nia.
I opened Nia's first.
It was a picture of a math worksheet.
Under it she'd written:
I GOT 10/10.
I smiled.
Then I opened Curtis's messages.
The first five were about money.
The sixth was different.
Mom crying.
That was all it said.
I stared at it.
Then Mom called.
I let it ring.
She called again.
I answered.
“What?”
“You couldn't call me back?”
“I'm at work.”
“So now you're too busy for family?”
I looked around the break room.
“Mom, what do you need?”
There was a pause.
“The rent.”
Of course.
“How much?”
“What do you mean how much? You know what rent is.”
“No. How much are you short?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because I'm asking.”
Another pause.
“Six hundred.”
I nearly dropped my sandwich.
“Six hundred?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“I'm in Chicago.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Our rent is twelve hundred.”
“Yes.”
“You're short half?”
“I had some expenses.”
“What expenses?”
“Malik.”
“What expenses?”
She sighed.
“The car needed brakes.”
“You don't own a car.”
“Curtis's car.”
I closed my eyes.
Curtis had bought a used Dodge Charger the previous year.
The payment was nearly four hundred dollars a month.
It had been one of the reasons he claimed he couldn't contribute more before he stopped working.
“You used rent money to fix Curtis's car?”
“He needs transportation to find work.”
“He doesn't have a job interview.”
“You don't know that.”
“Does he?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
“He's looking.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“How much were the brakes?”
“Three fifty.”
“That doesn't explain six hundred.”
“I had to pay my phone.”
“Your phone is sixty-eight dollars.”
“Why do you know every number?”
“Because I was paying half of them!”
The room got quiet.
A few apprentices looked over.
I lowered my voice.
“Where did the rest go?”
She didn't answer.
Then I knew.
“Did you give Curtis money?”
“He needed gas.”
“How much?”
“Malik, this interrogation is ridiculous.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred.”
I laughed.
I couldn't help it.
“You gave him two hundred dollars for gas?”
“It wasn't all gas.”
“What else?”
“He owed somebody.”
“For what?”
“I don't know.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“And you want six hundred dollars from me.”
“It's not for me. It's for the apartment.”
“The apartment you told me to leave.”
“You keep saying that like I threw you into the street.”
“You told me to leave because I asked Curtis to help.”
“I was angry!”
“And now I'm gone.”
“Malik, please.”
That word stopped me.
Please.
Mom almost never said please.
I pictured Nia.
Her purple shirt.
Her cereal question.
Her scared eyes.
“When is rent due?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Do you have anything?”
“About six hundred.”
“Then tell Curtis to come up with the rest.”
“He doesn't have it.”
“Then he needs to sell something.”
“Like what?”
I laughed again.
“The game system. The television in his room. Those expensive sneakers. Pick something.”
“You expect me to make your brother sell his things?”
“Yes.”
“You know how hard he took losing his job.”
“He didn't lose his job.”
“What?”
“He quit.”
Mom went silent.
“You didn't know?”
“He told me they cut his hours.”
“They did. After he stopped showing up on time.”
“How do you know?”
“Because his manager shops at my old store.”
“That doesn't mean—”
“Mom, Curtis quit after they wrote him up twice.”
Silence.
Long silence.
I could hear her breathing.
Finally she said, “I'll talk to him.”
“Good.”
“So you're sending the money?”
“No.”
The word came out before guilt could stop it.
Mom inhaled sharply.
“Malik.”
“I paid the electric bill yesterday.”
“So?”
“So I need my money.”
“You have housing included.”
“I need work boots. Transit. Food. Tools.”
“You'll get paid.”
“In two weeks.”
“And we're supposed to do what?”
I looked at the clock.
My break was almost over.
“Ask Curtis.”
I ended the call.
My hands shook for the next ten minutes.
Part of me wanted to open my banking app and send everything.
That was what I always did.
Someone panicked.
I fixed it.
Someone made a bad decision.
I paid for it.
Someone failed to plan.
I sacrificed.
For years, I had called that being responsible.
Maybe it wasn't.
Maybe I had just been trained to rescue people.
That evening, Nia called.
“Mom and Curtis are yelling.”
My chest tightened.
“Where are you?”
“My room.”
“Door closed?”
“Yes.”
“Stay there.”
“What are they yelling about?”
“Grown-up stuff.”
“Money?”
I hesitated.
“Yes.”
“I have thirty-two dollars.”
My throat closed.
“What?”
“In my piggy bank.”
“No.”
“I can give Mom—”
“No, Nia.”
She jumped at my tone.
I softened immediately.
“Listen to me. Your money is yours.”
“But if we need food—”
“You are nine.”
“So?”
“So adults are supposed to take care of you.”
She went quiet.
Then she whispered, “You did.”
I looked down.
“Nia…”
“You always did.”
I couldn't answer.
A crash sounded through her phone.
Then Curtis yelled.
“I'm not selling my PlayStation!”
Mom shouted something back.
Nia flinched.
“Put headphones on,” I told her.
“I can't find them.”
“Check your desk.”
She found them.
“Turn your music on. Keep your door closed.”
“Okay.”
“I'll stay on the phone.”
For almost an hour, I listened while Nia did homework.
Finally Mom opened her door.
I heard her voice.
“Why are you still awake?”
“I'm talking to Malik.”
There was silence.
Then Mom took the phone.
“You happy?”
I sat straighter.
“What happened?”
“Your brother left.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“What happened?”
“I told him he needed to sell the game.”
“And?”
“He said if you're so worried about the rent, you can pay it.”
I almost admired the nerve.
“Sounds like he has a solution for everything.”
“This isn't funny.”
“I know.”
Mom's voice cracked.
“I didn't know he'd quit.”
I said nothing.
“I thought they laid him off.”
“He lied.”
“I know that now.”
There was another silence.
Then Mom said something I never expected.
“I think I made a mistake.”
It wasn't an apology.
But it was closer than she'd ever come.
I swallowed.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don't know.”
“You can't keep giving him money.”
“I know.”
“He's twenty-four.”
“I know.”
“Nia shouldn't be worrying about groceries.”
“I know.”
I looked at the ceiling.
Mom sounded exhausted.
For the first time, I heard something besides anger in her voice.
Fear.
“I can send you one hundred,” I said.
She exhaled.
“Thank you.”
“But listen.”
“What?”
“It's for groceries. Not rent. Not Curtis. Not his car.”
“Okay.”
“And this is the last money I send until my first paycheck.”
Her voice tightened slightly.
“Malik—”
“I mean it.”
Silence.
“Okay.”
I transferred one hundred dollars.
For groceries.
Nothing more.
The next morning, I had thirty-one dollars in checking after buying required boots.
And I felt strangely free.
Until 10:17 a.m.
My phone rang during training.
I ignored it.
It rang again.
Then again.
Mr. Harris saw my screen.
“You need to take that?”
“It can wait.”
The call stopped.
Then I saw the voicemail notification.
It wasn't Mom.
It was Nia's school.
My stomach dropped.
I stepped into the hallway and listened.
“Hello, this is Roosevelt Elementary. We're trying to reach Denise Carter regarding Nia Carter. Nia has not been picked up, and we have been unable to reach her mother. Your number is listed as an emergency contact. Please call us immediately.”
I looked at the clock.
Chicago and home were in the same time zone.
School had ended almost an hour ago.
I called Mom.
No answer.
I called Curtis.
No answer.
I called the school.
“This is Malik Carter. I'm Nia's brother.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” the secretary said. “She's still here.”
“Is she okay?”
“She is safe. She's upset.”
“Did my mother call?”
“No.”
“Did Curtis?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“Can I talk to her?”
A minute later, Nia came on.
“Malik?”
Her voice was tiny.
“Hey. You're okay.”
“No one came.”
“I know.”
“Mom always says someone will come.”
“I know.”
“I called her six times.”
My jaw tightened.
“I'm going to fix it.”
“How?”
I didn't know.
I was six hours away.
Then my phone vibrated.
Mom was finally calling.
I switched over.
“Where are you?”
“What?”
“Nia is still at school.”
“Oh my God.”
My anger exploded.
“You forgot her?”
“No! I thought Curtis was getting her.”
“Did he say he was?”
“He usually—”
“No, I usually picked her up!”
Mom went silent.
I continued.
“Where are you?”
“At work.”
“Call her school.”
“I can't leave right now.”
“Mom.”
“My supervisor already warned me about attendance.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I need you to call Curtis.”
“I already did.”
“He'll answer you.”
“He didn't.”
Mom started crying.
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
Then a new voice came through the school call I'd left connected on my other line.
A woman.
Calm.
Firm.
“Malik?”
“Yes?”
“This is Ms. Grant, Nia's teacher.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“I can stay with Nia for another twenty minutes, but after that the school is required to follow our unattended-child procedure.”
I knew exactly what that meant.
Mom heard it too.
“What procedure?” she asked.
Ms. Grant answered.
May you like
“If no authorized adult arrives, we may have to contact child protective services.”
Everything inside me went cold.
