Chapter 153: Brothers
Pinkman's parents discovered a joint at home and assumed it belonged to Pinkman. They harshly criticized him and decided to evict him, forbidding him from staying there any longer.
"We don't allow such things in our house. We need you to leave," Pinkman's father stated sternly.
Silence engulfed the room as no one spoke.
"Forget it," Pinkman muttered, reaching for the joint on the table. Seeing his parents' resolute expressions, he grabbed it and left.
Pinkman's mother had tears in her eyes, and his father held her hand, trying to comfort her.
"I wasn't sure before, but this time you might have wrongly accused Pinkman," Frank said cautiously.
"If it's not his, then whose could it be? No one else here smokes that stuff, unless you think it's his brother's?" Pinkman's father replied.
"Speaking of Pinkman's brother, he's certainly impressive, but don't you think your expectations of him are too high? I've noticed he always seems to be studying, never taking time to relax. Kids his age should spend more time with friends," Frank suggested.
"Professor, you should know that Pinkman was once a well-behaved child too."
"Although he didn't excel academically, he was obedient. But after falling in with the wrong crowd, he changed for the worse, becoming a junkie and a dropout."
"We're terrified his brother will follow the same path," Pinkman's mother added.
"Studying can also help him make friends and learn new skills, giving him advantages in college," Pinkman's father noted.
After a brief conversation with Pinkman's parents, Frank left their home.
Outside, he found Pinkman standing by the roadside, smoking with his head down.
"Get in," Frank called, opening the car door for him.
"Uncle Frank, that joint wasn't mine," Pinkman suddenly said as they sat in the car, clearly unsettled by the accusation.
"I know, it wasn't yours," Frank replied.
"I wasn't at home... Wait, you believe me?" Pinkman began to explain, then realized Frank trusted him.
"Of course, I believe you. The joint's quality was terrible; I wouldn't take it even if it were free. Only clueless kids would buy that low-grade stuff. Your taste isn't that bad," Frank said.
"Uh," Pinkman was taken aback, not expecting such a response.
The feeling of being believed after being falsely accused brought a warm sensation to Pinkman's heart.
If the joint wasn't Pinkman's, then whose was it?
The housekeeper didn't live with them, only coming to clean occasionally, so she couldn't have hidden it there.
Pinkman's parents detested drugs because of what happened to Pinkman.
That left only Pinkman and his brother. If it wasn't Pinkman's, the process of elimination pointed to his brother.
While Frank and Pinkman talked in the car, Pinkman's brother approached them hesitantly and tapped on the window.
"What's up, little bro?" Pinkman asked, rolling down the window.
"Can you come with me for a moment?" his brother asked, glancing at Frank in the driver's seat.
Pinkman looked at Frank, who nodded for him to go.
Getting out of the car, Pinkman followed his brother to a nearby flowerbed.
"Thanks for not ratting me out," his brother said, grateful.
Pinkman wasn't surprised.
Frank had deduced the joint belonged to his brother, so it was no shock to Pinkman, who knew it from the moment he saw it.
With only a few people in the house, it was easy to figure out. Yet, knowing how much his parents valued his brother, Pinkman kept the secret.
If his parents found out their prized son was smoking, it would cause chaos.
So Pinkman stayed silent, shouldering the blame and leaving home without protest.
"Uh, can you give it back?" his brother asked, glancing nervously toward the house, worried about their parents discovering the truth.
Vendors near the school often sold low-quality goods at high prices, preying on students' ignorance.
His brother, closely monitored by their parents, didn't have much pocket money, and the joint had cost him dearly.
"You want it back?" Pinkman asked, pulling the joint from his pocket.
His brother's face lit up, thinking Pinkman would return it. He reached out eagerly.
But midway, Pinkman dropped the joint on the ground, crushing it underfoot.
"Don't touch this stuff. By the way, it's terrible quality," Pinkman said, kicking the remains into a nearby drain.
With that, Pinkman turned and returned to Frank's car.
"You, a junkie, telling someone else not to do drugs," Frank teased, having watched the brothers' exchange.
"His stuff was just too low-grade," Pinkman retorted, gazing out the window.
"I understand why your brother might have turned to smoking," Frank said.
"Hmm?" Pinkman looked at Frank quizzically.
"Your parents are putting too much pressure on him," Frank explained.
Unlike many Western parents who practice a more relaxed parenting style, Pinkman's parents resembled those from China, focusing intensely on ensuring their children succeed.
Their approach, hoping to give their children the best and not let them fall behind, might have contributed to Pinkman's downfall.
(End of Chapter)