For the Love of Money Read Online Free PDF

I said.
    His friends cheered but his face dropped. My face felt slack. He started to run toward me. He took two steps and then leapt into the air, a jump kick. I caught him in midair, rolled my hips, and threw him into the corner post of the cabin, moving after him. He hit it with a crunch, fell to the grass, and I was on him. In a panic-driven rage, I attacked him with fists, forearms, and knees. I never felt my hands hit him, but I saw red marks on his face and rips in his shirt.
    A counselor pulled me off. I could see Jorge’s eyes. They were afraid. I was thrilled. The counselor pushed me back. Jorge remained on the ground. I ripped myself from the counselor’s arms and turned and walked away. I heard Ben following behind me.
    When we got to the rocks on the beach where no one could see us, we sat in silence.
    Then the feelings came. Whooping gasps. Stomach-­heaving sobs. Tears poured from my eyes and I leaned against Ben, shuddering. After a time, the convulsions slowed, then passed. My heartbeat leveled. I felt calm, but raw.
    â€œOh my God,” Ben said. “You fucked him up. I can’t believe it.”
    I didn’t say anything, but my chest swelled a bit with pride. We stared out at the ocean for a few seconds.
    â€œWhat happened?” Ben asked. I knew there was no way he could understand what had happened to me out there in the water. I tried to explain anyway.
    â€œI felt like I was going to disappear,” I said. “Like I was nothing. I won’t feel like that anymore. I don’t care who it is, how tough they are. I’m not backing down.”
    I could see he didn’t understand. How could I explain thatI had become someone else? Someone bigger. How could I explain how powerful I felt, and how excited that made me? But also sad, for the loss of that little boy I’d once been, who’d silently slipped out of the life jacket and sank down into the ocean, until he’d disappeared so completely that it was as if he’d never existed at all.

CHAPTER 4
    Numbcake
    Â¤
    Ayear later, my family pulled up to Indra, a Thai restaurant in Glendale that we frequented three or four times a month. There were four kids now—Ben and I were thirteen, Daniel was six, and Julia was five—and we were regulars. When the pretty Thai woman at the front saw us, she directed us to our usual table.
    Dad motioned for the waitress and began rattling off the standard order: pad Thai, barbecue chicken, spicy green beans with chicken, eggplant with pork, Indian-noodle soup, and seafood curry.
    â€œTony, I want the spicy fish,” said Mom.
    The table went quiet. Mom sat with her shoulders hunched, her large body angled to the side, as if to deflect a blow. She hated how Dad ordered without asking what anyone wanted. She was jealous of his sway over us, how he could overrule her just by speaking, how we begged him to take us on “special time.”
    I felt a burst of anger. Why did she start up like this? I liked the spicy fish, too, but it was too expensive . Even then, I’d begun to wish I had a different mom. Not just for me but for Dad.
    When Dad and I were on special time, we’d go to a hole-in-the-wall Korean place or a Mexican place in East LA . He’d have a couple drinks. In the car on the way home, Dad would talk about how unhappy he was in his marriage. If it weren’t for the kids, he said, he’d have left long ago. He stayed for us.
    I’d nod somberly, while inside I was overjoyed that Dad respected me enough to share his deepest feelings. I never loved him more than in those moments. “I really respect what you’ve done as a father,” I’d say. He’d nod, tears in his eyes. Then we’d go into the house, both furious at Mom.
    Dad glared at Mom. To people who didn’t know our family, asking for spicy fish might seem like a regular request, but I saw that it was a direct attack from the woman who’d forced