[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-four-of-a-kind":3,"chapter-four-of-a-kind-four-of-a-kind-chapter-9":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Four Of A Kind",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1529703,1985,"Chapter 9: [1.8] My Entire World Boils Down to a Math Problem I Can’t Solve","four-of-a-kind-chapter-9",9,"\u003Cp>Five blocks is what separated me from the Velvet Lounge and Penn Station. Twelve minutes is the time I had to make it on time for the 12:32 Train. If I missed it, I’d be waiting at least an hour for the next one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unacceptable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My legs were tired. My feet hurt. The kind of dull ache that came from standing on them for six hours straight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Keep moving. You can rest on the train.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I made it to Penn Station at 12:27.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bought my ticket. Made the platform with two minutes to spare.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The train was half-empty. I found a window seat, plugged in my earbuds, and pulled out my calc homework.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lofi beats started playing. Some playlist I’d found months ago and never changed. The soft piano, the gentle static, the vague sense of melancholy that somehow helped me focus.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Twenty problems. Fifteen variations of the same formula.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Start with the hard ones while my brain still works.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The train started moving. Lights flickered past the window. The city gave way to suburbs, suburbs gave way to darkness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I worked through the first five problems.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not bad. My eyes are only a little blurry.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Six through ten were harder. Required more concentration. I had to reread the formulas twice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Come on. You know this. You’ve done this before.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eleven through fifteen were the variations. Easy once I had the pattern.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Almost there.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sixteen through twenty were the application problems. Word problems about trains meeting at various speeds and balls being thrown at various angles.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Why is it always trains and balls? Who is designing these problems?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I finished at 1:47 AM.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Somewhere past Trenton.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Forty-three minutes until Philadelphia.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I closed my notebook. Leaned my head against the window. The glass was cold against my temple.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I could sleep. Just for a little bit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No. If I sleep now, I’ll miss my stop.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Stay awake. Just forty more minutes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The lofi playlist continued. Some song about rain and coffee shops and feelings I didn’t have time to feel.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I watched the darkness roll by outside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This is my life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Has been for two years.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Will be for... how long?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The train rattled on.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Philadelphia’s 30th Street Station was quiet at 2:30 AM.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A few night owls. Some homeless people sleeping on benches. The cleaning crew making their rounds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I walked through it all without stopping.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bus to Kensington ran every thirty minutes at this hour. I caught the 2:45, sat in the back, and counted the remaining stops.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seven stops. Twelve minutes. Then a five-minute walk.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Almost home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>During the day, Kensington was as loud as the bronx or queens. But at night, it was eerily quiet. Quiet was a blessing and a curse in this area. A blessing because of the silence and a curse because silence is when Kensington is the most dangerous.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The streets were empty as I walked. Just me and the occasional tabby walking from street lamp to street lamp.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oka\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Okay... take a left on Allegheny, then a right on Kensington Ave. and my building should be the third one on the left.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And there it was, home sweet home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The apartment building was five stories high and hadn’t been rennovated since the Civil Rights Movement. The elevator hadn’t worked since we moved here four years ago.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the rent was cheap and the neighbors were good people.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I climbed to the fourth floor. Found our door. Unlocked it as quietly as I could.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The apartment was dark. Small. A living room that doubled as my bedroom, a tiny kitchen, an even tinier bathroom, and Iris’s room in the back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I dropped my backpack by the couch. Slipped off my shoes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Iris’s door was closed. I opened it just a crack.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She was asleep. Curled up under her blankets with her stuffed bear tucked under one arm. Her sketchbook was open on the nightstand, some half-finished drawing visible in the dim light.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her breathing was steady. Peaceful.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Good. She’s okay.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I closed the door. Stood there for a moment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She’s okay.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That’s all that matters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The shower was cold because our hot water heater was temperamental. I’d learned to wash fast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Three minutes. In and out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I toweled off, pulled on clean boxers and an old t-shirt, and headed to the kitchen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Breakfast and lunch for Iris. Then sleep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Almost there.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The fridge was sparse but not empty. I’d gone shopping over the weekend, carefully stretching the budget as far as it would go.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eggs. Toast. Fruit. That’s breakfast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sandwich. Chips. Apple. That’s lunch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I cracked eggs into a pan. Got the toast going. Cut up some strawberries because Iris liked them and they’d been on sale.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The lunch went into a brown paper bag. I wrote a note on the outside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Don’t forget your homework. Love you, idiot.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She called me idiot. I called her idiot. It was our thing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I left everything in the fridge with another note.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Breakfast in microwave. Lunch in fridge. Be home late. Don’t wait up.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She always waited up. I’d given up trying to stop her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>3:17 AM.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Alarm set for 4:30.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That’s one hour and thirteen minutes of sleep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Acceptable. Barely.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I collapsed onto the couch. My bed. My refuge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ceiling stared back at me. Water stain in the corner. Crack running across the middle. Same view every night for the past two years.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sleep. You need to sleep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But my brain wouldn’t stop.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Train tickets. A thousand a month. More if I account for price increases.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tips tonight. Two hundred and forty-seven dollars. Good night.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Weekly income from the Velvet Lounge. Maybe eight hundred. Nine on a good week.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Rent. Four hundred and fifty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Utilities. Hundred and twenty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Food. Two hundred if we’re careful.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>School supplies. Transportation. Emergencies.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I pulled the cash from my pocket. Started counting.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Twenty. Forty. Sixty. Eighty. A hundred.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Twenty. Forty. Sixty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fives.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ones.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two hundred and forty-seven dollars exactly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I added it to the envelope under the couch cushion. My emergency fund. Separate from the bills money. Untouchable unless everything went wrong.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Four hundred and twelve dollars total.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not enough. Never enough.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The paper Dr. Reyes had given me was still in my pants pocket.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I pulled it out. Unfolded it. Read it again in the dim light.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Personal assistant position. Compensation negotiable. Contact through counseling office.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Substantial compensation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I thought about the Valentine sisters. Cassidy with her death glares. Harlow with her relentless friendliness. Two more I hadn’t even met yet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What kind of family hires personal assistants for teenagers?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The kind with more money than sense.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The kind that could pay me more than the Velvet Lounge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The kind that could make all of this... easier.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stared at the paper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What’s the catch?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There was always a catch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But what if the catch is worth it?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What if the catch is manageable?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What if the catch is better than this?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I thought about Iris. About the scholarship application due in February. About four more years of trains and late nights and three hours of sleep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>You can’t keep doing this.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>You know you can’t.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Something has to change.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I folded the paper. Put it on the table where I’d see it in the morning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Talk to Dr. Reyes tomorrow. Find out more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Can’t make a decision without information.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That’s just common sense.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ceiling continued to stare. I closed my eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One hour and eight minutes until the alarm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sleep. Just sleep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The lofi playlist was still stuck in my head. Soft piano. Gentle static.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I let it carry me away to sleep.\u003C\u002Fp>",1269,"2026-06-06T06:03:59.713Z",1,"novelbin.me","a8beb11bcec1ff295d28da92786ff0b05221da23c1de1463903c70c8440bc961","four-of-a-kind-chapter-10","four-of-a-kind-chapter-8",251,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Ffour-of-a-kind-cover.jpg"]