For the Love of Money Read Online Free Page B

straight ahead, not even willing to acknowledge our terror to each other. At times like this I hated Ben; our twinness seemed to make us conspicuous targets. I’d be paralyzed with fear, and tortured afterward by impotent rage, and Ben would see all of it.
    The camp director walked onstage. I felt a wave of anger gathering behind me. The crowd had just started to quiet when Jorge leaned forward and slugged Ben across the cheek.
    Everyone around us froze. I looked over at Ben, whosehand had gone to his face. He was looking up at Jorge, who towered above him. Ben stared at him for a second, and I thought he might do something. But then he turned away, faced forward. Only I could see his eyes fill with tears.
    â€œYou okay?” I whispered.
    â€œNo,” he said, keeping his brimming eyes forward. I wanted to apologize for getting us into this, but I didn’t. After the campfire, Ben and I walked silently back to our cabin and climbed into our bunks without a word.
    Jorge and his friends haunted us the entire week. The activity in the morning with our cabin was safe; Jorge was with his own cabin. But afternoons were different. During the three hours of free time, Ben and I existed on the periphery, always on guard against Jorge and his friends, always moving. It seemed everyone was playing and laughing but us. Sometimes we’d make our way to the beach and bodysurf. There was one fat kid who bodysurfed near us, but we kept our distance from him, conspicuous enough.
    Late in the afternoons we’d sit wrapped cold and damp in our towels and watch the campers waiting in line for tubing. Each cabin had been assigned one time slot for tubing, and ours was the last day. A large, inflatable tube roped to the back of a speedboat would drag the campers, one by one, into the ocean.
    By the last day of camp, Ben and I were refugees, stumbling around, seeking asylum. We were sunburned, exhausted, and friendless. It was our turn for tubing, and Ben and I were near the front of the line.
    â€œI’m a little nervous,” I said to Ben, and he nodded. The kid ahead of me squealed as he was dragged toward open water. I was next. The counselor looked down at me.
    â€œThumbs-up means you want to go faster,” he said. “Thumbs-down means slow it down. If you fall off, just stay where you are and let the boat circle around for you. Hold ontight to the handles or they’ll slip. And have fun. Remember to have fun.”
    The boat dragged the tube into my reach. I held the dock with my right hand as I leaned out with my left to grasp the handle tightly. Straining, I lowered my body facedown onto the tube, which skimmed across the water.
    The man in the boat smiled at me and gave a thumbs-up. I took a deep breath and gave one back. The boat pulled away. The line snapped taut. It felt like my arms might rip from their sockets. I suddenly understood how powerful the engine was, and I was scared.
    The water sprayed up and knifed my face. I couldn’t open my eyes. The tube bounced higher and higher. I wasn’t giving a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down—I was holding on for dear life. My forearms were straining and my fingers started to slip but a rush of adrenaline allowed me to close my grip.
    Suddenly, the collisions got harder and the bounces higher and I knew we had reached open water. Whap, whap, WHAP , the ocean slammed the tube. WHAP , WHAP , WHAP . The water felt solid, like concrete. I gasped for breath as the air crushed my lungs. I moaned through clenched teeth.
    Then it happened.
    I saw the boat turn; we had gone as far out as we were going to go—to the middle of the ocean—and we were turning back. The turning boat made a huge wake, frothy and raging. The rope to the boat strained from the centrifugal force. I was on a collision course with that wake. I was going to hit it dead-on.
    The tube hit the wake like a freight train. My feet flew into the air as I held my desperate grip on the