Was I mad? I wasn't sure "mad" was the right word. There was just this unbearable tightness in my chest, and my head felt like it was filled with fog.
I hesitated for a moment before answering. "No."
Pat turned to Mom. "Mom, maybe we should give Priscilla some of the money."
Sylvester shot her a glare. "You want to share, share from yours. I finally have enough to stop renting. I'm counting on this money to buy a house and pay for my son's school."
Val raised his hand. "I'm not taking the civil service exam anymore. I'm going to use this money to start a business."
Pat's lips moved, but she said nothing, her head dropping again.
Sylvester looked at me.
"Priscilla, I think Val has a point. You really should put something in writing."
"Write what?"
"That you're giving up your share of the demolition money. Obviously."
I laughed. I didn't even know why.
I took a deep breath.
"Fine. I'll write it."
I walked over to my mother, crouched beside her, and wrote a single line:
I voluntarily relinquish all claim to the eight-million-dollar demolition compensation.
Then, stroke by careful stroke, I signed my name: Priscilla Perez.
I set down the pen and looked at them.
"Can I go now?"