“What!?” I turn and look out the front window. “That old bitch. For all he knows, I dropped out.”
“Next year, it won’t be a problem. Just stay out of his way for now.”
“Whatever.”
Beckett takes a seat beside me at the kitchen counter. “You’re not in school? Don’t you want to go to college?”
“Nah, I’m making plenty of money doing what I’m doing.”
“Selling drugs?
“Makingdrugs,” I correct. “Distribution’s not my area.”
She frowns. “That’s bullshit. A guy as smart as you should get a degree.”
“Hey,” Alessia says, her head back in the oven. “Dom doesn’t need to go to college. He’s gonna make a million dollars and buy me a Harley.”
“Exactly,” I tell Beckett. Although Alessia’s wrong. I’m not gonna make a million dollars. I’m gonna make a billion dollars. And I’m not just gonna buy her a motorbike: I’m gonna buy her a house and a car and anything she wants. Then I’ll buy Mom a cottage where she can do pills all day and hire a nurse to look after her. And maybe in a few years, she’ll get bored and start painting again. Who knows?
People say money can’t buy everything, but that’s bullshit. Money opens doors. It makes everything easier. That’s why I like Morelli. He’s a grease ball who unironically wears polo shirts but he’s not one of those rich kids who thinks they’re better than their trust fund. He wants to make Orchard as big as I do. Patent it if we can and sell it to pharmaceutical companies. Yesterday he sent me an article about scientists trying to find the ‘female Viagra.’ We definitely have that, it’s whether the government will let women get high that’s the issue.
But fuck, they let people get drunk and smoke cigarettes, and I don’t think we’re that far from legalizing weed. Why not get girls stupid horny? Who doesn’t want that?
Once I’m rolling in cash, I’ll go to college. Tech at Yale. Bio chem at Oxford. Medicine at Johns Hopkins. Once I have money, it won’t matter. I can spend the rest of my life legitimizing what I already know; that I’m the smartest guy to come out of this shithole neighborhood.
Alessia slams the oven again. “Not long now.”
“Okay, babe,” Beckett says patiently. She pats my shoulder. “You gonna go see your girlfriend?”
“Don’t have a girlfriend.”
“The prep school bitch,” Alessia says, squinting at the oven door.
She means Rosie Constantine. We started hooking up last year and we’ve been banging on and off ever since. Rosie’s no fun to be around when her class assignments are due, but she’s a ten and her college boyfriend means she doesn’t want to be seen with me in public. Which suits me just fine. An involuntary smirk spreads my lips. Now that Alessia and Beckett have taken Orchard and it went great, it’s time to ask Rosie to give it a try.
“I’m heading into the city,” I say, standing. “Where’s the money jar?”
Alessia points to the cupboard below the sink. I hunt around and find the old Jiff jar full of change. I take a couple of fives and shove them in my pocket. Alessia nudges me with her foot. “Put it in the other place. Mom’ll be back tonight.”
“Sure.” I put the jar on top of the fridge and push it to the back where Mom can’t see or reach it. “I’m gonna head off, okay?”
The oven dings.
“Finally!” Alessia grabs the dirty towel from beside the sink. “Want tots before you go?”
“You tryna kill me?”
I hate tater tots. The grease. The mushy potato filling. The smell. I watch as Alessia dumps the slightly burnt tots onto two mismatched plates. None of the plates in our apartment match. Nothing in here is good in any fucking way. Last month I went to Morelli’s house and there was afountainin the entrance. Alessia grabs the ketchup from the leaking fridge, and I want to snatch it off her and throw it out the window at old Mr. Hodges.
“Five years,” I mutter. “Five years and I’ll have a billion dollars.”
Alessia sprays ketchup all over her plate. “What was that?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Then get out of here. Beckett and I are refueling and then we’re going back to bed.”
“Good for you.” I watch Alessia run a tot through the red sauce and toss it in her mouth. Christ, I hate tater tots. I’m not a food snob but—
