His face took on a new strength; he was arming himself, gathering the right words to say. “It wasn’t your money,” he said calmly.
“It was my money,” said Dee. “I earned it babysitting and doing those stupid little jobs for your company. I raked leaves, I—”
“You’re a minor,” said Mr. Moreno. “That was our money, too. It was family money.”
“Family money?” She took a step forward. It felt as if she were on fire, as if she could do anything and it wouldn’t matter. Nothing mattered—he’d taken her one last chance at surviving.
“It was for school,” she snapped. “It wasn’t even for something stupid, like other kids might have used it for. I never bought new clothes or purses or a nice cell phone—every cent went into that stupid account. For my future.”
“And what kind of future is that?” He edged forward. She could see him getting angry, see the storm clouds gathering behind his eyes. “You want to go to college? To go somewhere far away and get some fucking useless degree for thousands of dollars?”
“Yes. Because that’s what people do.” Her hands were balled into fists. “That’s what responsible people do. They go to college and they get good jobs.”
“I never went to college,” he replied with a sneer.
“And look at all the good it did you.” She should have done what she always did; she should have kept her mouth shut.
But all her numbness vanished. She was abruptly aware of the churning in her middle, the flush creeping up her neck, the sudden fire racing through her veins. Anger. Raw fury clawed at her rib cage, as if the hollowness inside of her had been taken up by some wild creature.
“You can still go to college,” he said, sliding back into that calm, arrogant demeanor that made her want to strike out. He was always so self-assured, so confident. “You’ll just have to earn your own way. Like an adult.”
“I was earning my own way!” she snarled. “I got into Brannigan, I put that money away, I—”
“That was Gran’s money,” he said, and suddenly his expression darkened. “Though why she gave you a handout, I’ll never know.”
“Give it back,” she said, and she hated that her voice trembled. “Just give it back. I need it.”
“For what?”
She opened her mouth and closed it again.
“See, I don’t think you want that money so you can go to college.” Mr. Moreno’s voice dropped, and she realized belatedly that there was a half-empty beer bottle in his hand. He brought it to his lips, drained it. “I think you just don’t want to come home.”
Hearing those words, those forbidden words, spoken aloud felt like some kind of betrayal. There were certain things people didn’t talk about in this family and her desire to escape was one of them.
But if he wanted to open that door, she would let him.
“Family money,” she said, mouth twisting with fury. The anger running through her felt like heat and pure force; in this moment, she was invincible, reckless, and the words flew from her mouth. “You took it for yourself.” She strode to the bathroom, to the secret places she knew she wasn’t supposed to know about. To the plastic brown bottles—half of them empty, half of them not. She snatched up two empty jugs and threw them onto the floor.
“Look what you bought with my future,” she snapped. “Was it worth it? To numb out the world for a while?”
A half-formed thought, ready to catch fire, flew from her lips. “Did you ever care about me at all?”
A beer bottle smashed against the floor. And then he was in front of her, a wall of muscle and sweat and everything was too close and too loud.
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”
Mrs. Moreno ventured into the kitchen with her hands extended as if entreating, but Dee ignored her.
She refused to retreat; she was afraid, but anger still kept her back straight. “You’re a fucking addict. And I’m sick of it—I’m sick of watching you get drunk and scream at each other. I’m sick of you screaming at me, telling me I’m defective just because I didn’t turn out the way you wanted!”
His hands closed on her arms and he shook her so hard her teeth rattled. “You will not talk to me like that! Children respect their parents.”
She tried to wrench herself from his grip, her teeth bared. “Why? You never respected me! I spent half my life trying to fix things and I couldn’t!”
“You’re an ungrateful little shit.” The words spewed from his mouth. “Fucking arrogant little bitch who thinks she’s too good to do manual labor.”
“At least I’m not a drunk loser,” she snapped.
