Can I Download 'Who Moved My Cheese? For Kids' For Free?

To prevent me from being jealous of my stepmother's son, my dad implemented a "family point system". Washing dishes earned 1 point, and getting a perfect score on a test earned 10 points. Accumulating 1000 points meant you could make a wish come true. When my stepbrother broke a vase, Dad said it was a sign of good luck and awarded him 50 points. When I insisted on going to school with a fever, Dad said I was trying to garner sympathy and deducted 100 points. I scrambled to scrape together every point I could, all for that exorbitant Math Olympiad registration form. On the day I finally accumulated enough points, my stepbrother cried and said he wanted a pair of limited-edition sneakers. Dad immediately emptied my points. "We're family. Your points are your brother's points too." I looked at the torn-up application form and jumped from the 18th-floor balcony.

A parent in my son's preschool group chat tagged me out of nowhere. "Theo's dad, your son's lunches always look pretty nice. Starting tomorrow, pack one for my daughter too." "I'm not asking for free food. I'll give you ten dollars a day. That adds up. You can make a little extra on the side." I stared at the message, almost laughing from how absurd it was. My son has severe food sensitivities and a fragile stomach. Every ingredient in his meals is specially sourced, and a single lunch costs far more than five hundred dollars to prepare. And this man thought ten dollars could buy it? I replied with two words: "Not happening." The next day, my son came home crying. His lunch had been taken by another child, and the teacher had scolded him for being selfish. Fine. Since they wanted to push this far, I would show them exactly how far I could go.

On the seventh day after my daughter goes missing, I kidnap an entire kindergarten. I lock away all 27 students and two teachers in a classroom. I tell the police that if they can't find my daughter, I will kill a kid every 30 minutes. The principal falls to her knees, wailing and begging, "It's not my fault that your daughter is missing. Why should other children pay for it?" I glance at my watch. "29 minutes left. Find her." I know she's in this kindergarten.

Someone suddenly tags me in a parents' group chat. "Hey Madison, I notice that the lunch boxes you've prepared for your daughter have a nice variety and rich in nutrients. Why don't you prepare the same thing for my son starting from tomorrow onward? "I'm not going to leech off you. In fact, I'll pay you ten dollars per day. When it stacks up, you'll earn quite a lot per month." As I stare at the messages on the screen, I find the situation rather ridiculous. My daughter, Sophie Reed, is extremely picky, not to mention she has food allergies. All of the ingredients of her meals are flown in from their places of origin. That means one meal's net price is more than 500 dollars. Yet now, someone intends to use ten dollars just for me to replicate the same meal for them? I reply right away in the group chat, "No way." Unexpectedly, the next day, Sophie is in tears when she returns from the kindergarten. She tells me that her lunch box has gotten snatched by a fellow classmate. On top of that, the teacher scolds her for being selfish as well. Fine. Since those shameless people intend to take advantage of me, don't blame me for being ruthless at all.

My parents were award-winning teachers, having nurtured countless outstanding students. However, I had always been the last in line, failing every single class. After yet another gentle warning from my homeroom teacher, my dad finally snapped. "How did I end up with a kid this dumb? You're deliberately trying to torture me, aren't you?" He disappeared for three days. When he returned, he had a boy with him. "From today on, Josh is the only true child of this family. You are no longer allowed to call us Mom and Dad. "Get out! You'll only earn the right to be my son once you can actually pass your exams." The next time I saw them was at the hospital during a check-up organized by their school for all the staff. The head of guidance recognized me immediately. "Yale? Isn't this Shane from your family? "He works here now. And Josh's condition, there's hope for him! You should have him contact the new Dr. Cunningham right away." Seeing me in my white coat, my dad's expression shifted again and again. "This kid… switched jobs and didn't even tell me." I subtly used my coat to cover the badge hanging on my chest. It read: Department Director: Asher Cunningham

My mom is an HR professional. She uses KPI to determine my entire life. "If you get into the top ten of your grade, you'll receive a B grade as well as a bonus of 500 dollars. If you can achieve a ranking at a state-level competition, you'll receive an A grade as well as a bonus of 1,000 dollars. Of course, if you can get into a top-tier university after scoring well in your SATs, I'll give you an S+ grade as well as a year-end bonus of ten thousand dollars!" I work my ass off in my studies and manage to earn the offer letter to a top-tier university. But that's when my mom puts a contract in front of me. "Congratulations on getting hired. From today onward, your allowances will be determined by the total of your base salary, KPI, as well as your full attendance award. "Your base salary is 500 dollars. It's to make sure that you won't starve to death, at the very least. In order to help you adapt to workplace stress in advance, I'll check on your progress randomly. If you don't meet my requirements, I'll deduct your salary." When I'm down with a fever of 104 degrees Fahrenheit, my mom deducts my full attendance award, claiming that my physical attributes aren't up to par. In order to catch up on my studies, I've completely forgotten to submit my weekly report to my mom. Because of that, she suspends my allowances. So, I have to sell my blood to a hospital behind her back just so I can survive. At the end of the school term, I show my mom my grades as well as the certificate to my scholarship, thinking that I'll be eligible for the highest KPI and the bonus. But that's when my mom tells me coldly, "The company has decided to give your S+ bonus to your younger brother as a form of investment. After all, he has more potential to achieve better results compared to you." As I gaze down at the 200-dollar consolation prize, I can't help but laugh. It turns out that I'm not even worthy of being recognized as a good employee in my mom's company.