Chapter Five. Hot Girls Commit Federal Crimes
Chapter Five
Hot Girls Commit Federal Crimes
“ Why’d he show up? Was it about the tour?!” Jo bombards me as soon as I finish my second ASL lesson of the morning. She was forced to wait an entire hour to interrogate me because I had to start class immediately after Felix and Ava left. Poor thing.
“
I scan the lobby for Mom but don’t see her. She must be in the office.
“I told him no. Again. He’s so annoying! And presumptuous! And just the worst!” I exclude the part of the conversation where I foolishly told Ava I’d think about it. It was but a moment of human weakness.
“Did you ask about the money?” she pries.
I press my lips into a thin line and keep my hands planted by my sides, refusing to answer.
“Tell me! How much?!”
“$17,000,” I admit, avoiding eye contact.
Horror colors her features. “Go say yes, RIGHT NOW! What the fuck!” Her signing is frantic, like the money will literally disappear if I don’t accept the offer in the next five seconds.
“I already told you, I’m too busy to—”
“Hey!” Mom waves her hand wildly, appearing in the lobby so suddenly it’s almost like she teleported. “What about $17,000?” she asks in bewilderment.
I scrub hands over my face. Damn it.
“Is this about the tall boy who came in with A-V-A?” Mom asks, her eyes narrowing. Medusa Mode: activated. “Who is he? Did he give you money? We don’t need charity!”
I choose not to argue the fact that, actually, we could use some charitable donations.
“He’s … my client.” It’s technically not a lie.
“And what did J-O mean about the $17,000?” she presses.
Jo adopts an impish-youngest-child smirk. “Natalie got a job offer.”
I reach for her hands to shut her up, but before I can physically restrain her, she shelters behind the front desk and elaborates. “He’s A-V-A’s brother. He’s a famous singer, and he wants her to teach him ASL. If she goes on tour with his band, he’ll pay her $17,000!”
I study Mom in anticipation. But to my ultimate surprise, she’s measured. Composed. The only movement is her brows tilting into a contemplative frown.
What the hell? I exchange glances with Jo, who seems equally puzzled why Mom didn’t immediately launch into a fit of rage—her usual reaction to … well, most things.
My curiosity outweighs my fear of setting Mom off, and I hazard, “Why aren’t you mad?”
Her fingers twitch, a reply dancing on the tips, but she changes what she started to sign. “What did you tell him?”
“No.”
She considers me for one of the longest moments of my life. “But do you want to go?”
“What? No. It’s good money, but I’m busy and he’s annoying.” A deep, baffled frown crosses my face, and I stare into Mom’s piercing gray eyes. “Wait … do you WANT me to go?”
She shrugs. “It’s your choice. You’re an adult now.”
Okay, now I’m less confused and more concerned that my mother was abducted by an alien overlord and the woman standing in front of me is some cybernetic clone.
Unless … she’s trying to get rid of me, isn’t she?
I huff. That seems more like Mom. If I go on tour with Felix, Project Revamp would practically come to a screeching halt.
(Not to mention, she could spend a lovely, tranquil summer with her Golden Child if I were out of the picture.)
I bite the inside of my cheek and take a beat to center myself. “OK-OK. If it’s my choice … I’ll stay in Seattle and revamp the Center this summer.”
“Stop! No revamp talk. Conversation finished. Finished!” she finally snaps. There’s the Mom I know.
“You tell me to ‘act like an adult,’ but when I make a choice, you tell me no,” I shoot back. “Tell me why I can’t revamp, Mom! Tell me ONE good reason!” I beg. “If you’re going to be this adamant, I think we at least deserve an explanation!”
But I don’t get my answer. Mom’s expression darkens before she storms toward the exit.
That afternoon, after the students from my last Monday class leave, my Teacher Mode smile slips from my face. I plop onto the floor behind the front desk and heave a defeated sigh.
Ginger blinks her big brown eyes at me. I pat my legs, and she curls up on my lap and nuzzles me. I lean down and bury my face in her fur, in desperate need of some dog cuddles.
Everything that’s happened over the past few days plays in a loop in my head. The arguments with Mom; Ava begging me to teach her brother; and most unfortunately, Felix’s gratingly brilliant smile and his bottomless, son-of-a-tech-CEO and global-musical-sensation pockets.
I thought this was going to be the first summer in three years I could simply enjoy.
Three summers ago, Dad got sick.
Two summers ago … he died.
Last summer, I was still too numbed by the ache of grief to do anything except survive.
But this year? This was supposed to be the summer when my dreams started coming true. But with the days in June ticking away, and the fights with Mom growing more heated, I’m starting to think I’ve been full of false hope all along.
“Excuse me?” a loud voice calls out.
Startled, I rip my head away from where I’m suffocating in Ginger’s fur and look up.
A mail courier peers over the front desk.
I awkwardly chuckle and nudge Ginger off my lap.
Some of her fur is tangled in my mascara-coated eyelashes and glued to my glossy lips, and I inelegantly pick them off while standing up.
“Hi. How can I help you?” I ask.
They extend a clipboard toward me. “This is signature-required,” they explain, gesturing to the manila envelope in their other hand.
That’s weird. We never get any mail that’s even remotely important enough for all this. I scrawl my name on the clipboard and thank the courier.
My confusion mounts when I see the envelope is from our bank and is marked with a bright red high-priority label. It’s also addressed to Mom, which means I should absolutely not open it. Legally, I can only open mail addressed to The Nielsens or The Nielsen Family Deaf Center.
I glance at Ginger. “Should I open it?” She boofs in disapproval. “I know, I know! But it’s a victimless crime, Ging. I’ll just take a peek…”
Who cares about a silly little federal crime!
Account in Arrears Demand Letter
This letter is to demand payment in full re: previous insufficient mortgage payments, in order to bring your loan current.
The total sum due, including late fees, must be received within four weeks from the date of this notice, or the bank has the right to foreclose on your property.
Total Due: $12,506.95
I read the letter three times. Six times. Ten times. My heart races and hands tremble more with each re-read. I can’t breathe. Every bit of air is being squeezed from my lungs. How could this happen? How could we owe so much money? Mom’s been paying the mortgage every month!
I scramble to grab the landline phone that has auto-captions and punch in the bank’s number. The line rings for a few seconds before someone picks up.
“Hello? I’m calling about a … a demand letter I received.” I choke out the words, forcing my voice to not wobble. “There has to be some kind of mistake. We pay our mortgage every month.”
“I’ll look you up and see what’s going on,” the person on the other end replies. I read the live captions on the screen attached to the phone while they speak. They ask a bunch of verification questions, but I can barely focus.
“Unfortunately, there’s not a mistake, Ms. Nielsen. You owe the bank $12,506.95.”
My heart thunders in my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jo enter the lobby. Her hand-me-down backpack is slung over one shoulder, indicating she’s ready to go home. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees me. Panic must be written all over my face.
“What’s wrong?!” Her signs are anxiety filled.
I don’t have a chance to reply before the banker speaks again. “I can see monthly payments— —only $200— —and— — mortgage is $2,000. Those payments aren’t enough.” Their speech cuts out and the captioning technology isn’t perfect, so I lose some of what they’re saying.
I cover my mouth with my hand to block out the strangled gasp that escapes me. “You can’t threaten to foreclose on us without any warning!”
“We’ve sent multiple warnings about insufficient payments over the past several months. They were all signed for.”
I never signed for anything, and Jo’s been at school …
Mom must’ve signed for them. My initial shock morphs into a hot, pulsing anger. My breathing quickens as the phone trembles in my hand.
It’s bad enough Mom didn’t tell me how far in debt we were with the bank—that we’ve been barely scraping by every month—but to not tell me we could lose the Center?!
It dawns on me that this must be why she’s been so cagey about Jo’s and my plans. She didn’t want us to pour time and money into a sinking ship.
I wrack my brain for a solution. Think, Natalie. Think.
“I can pay $2,000 right now. Would that give us more time?”
“Unfortunately, we need the full payment.”
“How the hell am I supposed to make $12,000 in four weeks?!” I bite, finally losing my grip.
Calmly, the banker replies, “We need— —payment— —July. No exceptions.”
I don’t trust myself to not say something I’d regret to someone who’s just doing their job, so I simply hang up.
Jo steps forward. “What happened?” she asks.
Anger burns inside me, and I can only point to the letter that lies on the desk. Jo picks it up, and her hazel eyes flit over the page.
“What?! How!?”
“Mom didn’t pay the mortgage,” I explain. “The bank needs the full payment in July or we’ll lose the Center.”
She gulps. “Can we sell something?”
I shake my head. The only thing I own that potentially has value is my car—but the windows stopped rolling down months ago, and the check engine light has been on for two years. I’d be lucky to get a grand for it on Facebook Marketplace.
“We both know what can make that much money … F-E—” I push her hands down and cut her off, jaw clenched. I can’t bring myself to think about that. The very last thing I can devote brain cells to right now is Felix Song.