What My Stepfather Charged Me For

The year I turned seven, my dad died in a car accident. My mom married her first love, and I became an orphan in my own home.

At our first dinner together, my stepfather, Richard, laid down the new rule. "From tonight on," he said, "everything in this house is fifty-fifty."

I had one spare rib.

Then he looked at me, all of seven years old, and told me I owed him three hundred dollars for the meal.

I glanced at my stepsister, Tiffany, who was happily gnawing on her ribs.

"Tiffany ate ribs too. Why doesn't she have to pay?"