I bent and pulled the torn envelope from the trash.
It was addressed to me.
Jack Reynolds.
The return address was my grandfather’s place in Texas. He had called the week before and told me he was sending something special for graduation. Something for books, tools, whatever I needed when I got to Boston.
My pulse slowed in a way that scared me more than if it had raced.
“Where’s the check?”
Khloe’s face went pale for half a second.
“What check?”
“The one Grandpa sent me.”
Her eyes moved to the sneakers.
That was all the answer I needed.
I held up the envelope. “Did you take it?”
Her mouth twisted. “You don’t need it.”
I stepped fully into the room. “Excuse me?”
“You have a full scholarship,” she said, getting louder. “Everyone keeps saying how amazing you are. Grandpa sent you money like you’re some hero. I’ve been going through a lot too.”
“So you took my mail.”
“I didn’t take it. Mom gave it to me.”
The sentence hit harder than if she had denied it.
“Mom gave you my graduation check?”
Khloe folded her arms. “She said she would replace it later. I needed something to make me feel better.”
I looked at the sneakers again.
“You signed my name?”
She rolled her eyes. “It was just a check.”
Just a check.
Five hundred dollars I could have used for textbooks, a winter coat, a used laptop battery, groceries during freshman year, or the thousand other small expenses people with families like mine never saw coming because they assumed scholarships made life free.
I walked downstairs with the torn envelope in my hand.
Mom and Dad were still in the kitchen, whispering furiously. Mom stopped talking when she saw me. Dad frowned.
I laid the envelope on the dining table.
“Would either of you like to explain why Khloe is wearing my graduation gift on her feet?”
Mom’s face flushed.
Dad looked from her to me. “What is he talking about?”
“Grandpa Arthur sent me a check,” I said. “Khloe took the envelope, signed my name, and bought shoes. She says Mom gave her permission.”
Dad turned slowly toward my mother.
“Susan?”
Mom’s eyes filled too quickly.
“She was upset,” she said. “She saw the card, and she just… she made a poor choice. I was going to replace the money.”
“A poor choice?” I repeated.
“Jack, please don’t make this uglier than it is.”