At first, I noticed the glow of her phone. Then I saw the shoes. They were sitting proudly on her rug. Brand-new. Bright white. Designer. The kind of limited-edition sneakers kids at school talked about like they were investments.
I knew shoes. I knew the price of things. Those shoes cost at least five hundred dollars.
Chloe did not have a job. She did not have an allowance big enough to buy them. And last week, Grandpa Arthur in Texas had called me and told me he was sending something special for graduation. Mom had said the mail came that afternoon. She had not handed me anything.
I walked past my parents without another word.
“Jack,” Mom called. I ignored her.
Chloe looked up when I pushed her bedroom door wider. “What are you doing?” she snapped. “Get out.”
I did not answer. My eyes went straight to the trash can beside her desk. A corner of thick, textured paper stuck out from under a pile of tissue and shopping tags. I reached down and pulled it free.
It was an envelope. Torn open. Addressed to me: Jack Reynolds. The return address belonged to Grandpa Arthur.
My hand tightened around the paper. Chloe jumped off the bed. “Give me that.”
I turned slowly. “Where’s the check?”
Her face changed for half a second. It was quick, but it was there. Panic. Then the spoiled confidence returned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Grandpa sent me a graduation gift,” I said. “A check. Five hundred dollars, right?”
She crossed her arms. “You’re getting a free ride to college anyway.” The words hung between us. Then she added, almost casually, “Mom said I could use it. I needed retail therapy. I’ve been stressed because everyone keeps talking about you.”
For a moment, I could not speak. Not because I was confused. Because I finally understood exactly how far they were willing to go.
I walked back downstairs with the torn envelope in my hand. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, whispering sharply.
I placed the envelope on the table. “Care to explain why my fifteen-year-old sister is wearing my graduation gift on her feet?”
Dad frowned. “What is this about?”
“Chloe opened a letter from Grandpa addressed to me,” I said. “She took the check inside and bought designer shoes. She says Mom gave her permission.”
Dad turned to Mom. “Susan?”
Mom’s face flushed. “Richard, she was upset. She’s been crying all week. She saw the amount and made a poor choice. I was going to replace the money for Jack eventually.”
“A poor choice?” I repeated.
Mom looked down at the counter. “It was temporary.”
“It was my mail,” I said. “My graduation gift. My money.”
Dad lifted both hands like he was calming down a difficult customer. “All right. Let’s not turn this into something bigger than it needs to be. Your mother handled it poorly, but Chloe is going through a difficult time emotionally.”
I stared at him. “You’re defending her.”
“I’m asking you to be mature.”
“She stole from me.”