I stood in the hallway, watching the sun beat down on the track field through the window, my palms slowly going damp with sweat.
Nearly half an hour passed before the phone finally rang.
"What is it?" Her voice was lazy, like she'd just woken up from a nap.
"The fifty-dollar materials fee. The teacher keeps asking. Can you just send it?"
"Fifty dollars?" Her pitch shot up instantly.
"Queenie, I give you five thousand a month and that's not enough? Now you're coming to me with your hand out for more?"
I swallowed the anger down. "It's a school fee. Collected from everyone. It's not part of the living allowance."
"Collected from everyone, so it has to be paid?" She cut me off. "How do I know your teacher isn't just skimming money on the side? I'm telling you right now, without an official receipt stamped by the school, you're not getting a cent. Go ask your teacher for one. When I see it, I'll transfer the money."
I froze for a moment. My voice dropped to almost nothing. "Mom. It's fifty dollars. Not five hundred."
"Doesn't matter how much it is. Rules are rules."
The line went dead. Clean. Final.
I stood in the hallway, phone in my hand, and for a long moment I had no idea where to go.