Chapter 6: The Turtle Gamble

When I came back, there wasn't a crumb of cake left. I was filled with frustration and resentment, my mind spinning. But my dad looked at my mom with pity: "You've really had it tough, taking care of our daughter at home by yourself while she's about to take her SATs."

I couldn't believe it. He actually looked at her with misty eyes, as if she'd carried the whole world on her shoulders, not just a cake box to the couch.

My mom ate like a beast, then turned to my dad with tears in her eyes: "Honey, it's just what I should do."

She dabbed at her face with a napkin, sniffling like a contestant in a beauty pageant. I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they'd get stuck.

She actually cried! I slammed the beer down on the table. With a loud thud, they finally turned to look at me.

The can rattled against the Formica. Their heads snapped up, startled for the first time all night.

"Oh, I was just too hungry and forgot to save a piece for the kid."

Mom feigned regret, but her eyes danced with satisfaction.

My mom glanced at my dad, then at me. "Emily boards at school but always comes home to mooch food. If you hadn't come back, I might not have had enough to eat."

The lie was so bold, I actually choked on my own breath. She made it sound like I was the leech, not her.

I exploded: "You're lying! You tricked away my allowance. If I didn't come home, I'd starve at school!"

My voice cracked with anger. I didn't care if the neighbors heard me this time.

My mom suddenly shrank back, like a startled rabbit. She waved her hands frantically: "Don't be mad, don't be mad! Yes, yes, yes, it's my fault, I tricked away your allowance!"

She ducked behind Dad, wringing her hands and putting on the kind of guilty face you’d see in a cheesy sitcom.

"Don't be mad, don't be mad! You're right, it's all Mommy's fault! I'll stick my finger down my throat right now and throw up all the cake! Mommy doesn't deserve to eat!"

She stuck two fingers in her mouth, gagging for effect. I just stared, wondering how she could turn even this into a circus.

My dad jumped up and slapped me across the face.

The slap echoed. For a second, nobody moved. My ears rang. Mom looked away, Dad’s chest heaved, and I pressed my hand to my burning cheek.

"You've gone too far! Is this how you usually treat your mother? Tell me! Where did all the allowance I gave you go? Why do you come home to eat every day?"

His voice was thunder, his eyes full of disappointment I could never seem to shake.

I saw my mom hiding behind my dad, licking her lips, even smugly showing off the last bit of frosting on her fingertip to me. I couldn't take it anymore.

She stuck her tongue out, wiping the last of the icing like a kid taunting her sibling. I wanted to scream.

"If I don't come home to eat, I'll starve! I told you—Mom took all my money! Why won't you believe me? Why!"

My throat hurt, my heart pounded. The words tumbled out, desperate and raw.

My dad got even angrier and slapped me again.

The world spun. My cheeks were on fire. I was done trying to be heard.

"Still talking back! I saw with my own eyes how you bullied your mother, and you still dare to talk back!"

He crossed his arms, looking every bit the judge and jury. There was no winning here.

At that moment, I suddenly felt clear-headed. Saw with his own eyes... Yes, unless he saw with his own eyes what his wife was really like, he'd never believe me. I felt like I grew up in an instant, suddenly understanding the way people work. Why did I pay that time? I should've called the cops! Why did I keep feeling sorry for my mom? Since she didn't care if I lived or died, why was I so confused?

A bitter calm settled over me. I stared at them both, my parents, seeing them clearly for the first time. I realized I didn't need their approval or their pity. I just needed out.

I looked coldly at the two of them and forced a smile: "Oh, right, it's my fault."

The smile felt strange on my face, but it was armor. They could have their lies. I would have my freedom, someday.

My dad was stunned for a second, then put on his parental face again. "Your mom is such a gentle woman, and you're young—if you wanted to bully her, wouldn't it be easy?"

He ruffled my hair, oblivious to everything I'd just said. The whole world upside down, and he was still playing the same old tune.

Her, gentle? She ate herself fat while I was starved thin by her. My dad was really blind.

I held in a bitter laugh. The truth was obvious to anyone who cared to look, but Dad never did.

"I'm telling you, from now on, listen to your mother and don't cause trouble!"

He wagged his finger like it would make a difference.

My mom wiped her tears and wrapped her arms around my dad's neck: "Honey, you're so good, always looking out for me! Look at me, I've even gained weight from working too hard... boohoo..."

She sniffled, then flashed me a victorious smile. The performance was over, the curtain closed. I was just another prop in their little play.

Seeing my blank face, my dad quickly found an excuse to send me away. "Go wash the thing I put on the porch!"

He shooed me out like a bothersome fly, eager to get back to his peace and quiet.

I dragged my feet to the porch. I searched for a long time before finding what he meant. In a box in the corner, there was a palm-sized land turtle. It looked strange, but kind of cute. The patterns on its shell were beautiful, neat, and clear. The box was covered with newspaper—if you weren't looking for it, you'd never notice it. Why was he hiding this?

The turtle blinked up at me, unbothered by all the chaos. I reached out and traced the ridges of its shell, feeling oddly comforted by its slow, steady presence.

Just as I was wondering, my dad walked in. "So, Emily, what do you think? Not bad, right?"

He crouched down beside me, his eyes sparkling with excitement. It was like he was letting me in on a secret club, just for the two of us.

I was still angry and didn't want to answer. He tugged my sleeve and squatted next to me, whispering.

His voice dropped low, the way it did when he was about to share a wild scheme or a get-rich-quick story from the internet.

"Dad's about to get rich! I bought this for $17,000—on a loan."

He grinned, rubbing his hands together. I wanted to ask if he was out of his mind, but the hope in his face stopped me.

"And this turtle is already pregnant—it's going to lay eggs soon."

He beamed at the turtle as if it were a golden goose. I bit my lip to keep from laughing or crying, I wasn't sure which.

"Once it has a bunch of baby turtles, I'll sell the big one and make money both ways!"

He made it sound so simple, like flipping pancakes at a church breakfast. I couldn't help but wonder if he actually believed it.

"I know a buyer who's coming back in a few days and can give me $22,000 right away!"

He squeezed my shoulder, eyes shining. For a second, he looked like a kid who still believed in magic.

"That's a $5,000 profit! Listen, soon it's your mom's birthday, and I want to surprise her. I'm planning to spend $3,000 on a necklace for her. Be good and help Dad take care of this turtle. Once I sell it, I'll give you $300!"

My heart skipped. $300! That would get me through SAT season, maybe even buy me a little breathing room from all of this. I nodded, suddenly hopeful. Maybe things could turn around—just once.

My heart skipped a beat! Three hundred would be enough to get me through the SATs. With that $300, I could completely avoid my mom before leaving for college.

I pictured myself, at last, eating lunch without worry, maybe even getting new headphones for the bus ride to campus. The future glimmered, just out of reach.

I looked at my dad in surprise: "Are you serious?"

I tried to keep the hope out of my voice, but I couldn't help it.

He patted my head: "When has Dad ever lied to you? And once this deal goes through, that buyer will introduce me to more clients. Dad will grow this business, and our family can move to a bigger house and buy a nice car in the future!"

He winked, already lost in dreams of upward mobility. I couldn't blame him for wanting better. Maybe, just maybe, this time luck would be on our side.

Lost in my dad's beautiful dreams, I smiled hopefully. I turned and hugged him: "Dad! You're amazing! Keep it up..."

It felt good, for a second, to believe in something. I squeezed him tight, wishing I could freeze the moment.

But through the glass door on the porch, I saw a familiar, terrifying figure reflected alongside my dad. It was my mom, hiding nearby, sneakily watching us from a distance. My heart immediately leapt into my throat.

Her eyes locked on mine through the glass, cold and calculating. I hugged the turtle closer. In our house, nothing was safe—not even hope.