I didn't understand what was happening. I had been told to "stay still" and "be quiet" and "Don't leave this closet, no matter what you hear, okay?" I had nodded, but I was now regretting my unconditional agreement to my mother. I heard her yelling, and other people in the house. Not my brother Mac, though. He had left with Nana about 20 minutes ago, so that Mom and I could go back-to-school shopping. She said 6th grade was a big year, because after it was over, I would be a big girl. As an 11-and-a-half year old, I felt I had already matured. I had even started wearing bras this summer, though admittedly they were mostly filled with toilet paper rather than actual mammary.

I heard my mom go quiet, as did all the other noises inside our small house. I was starting to sweat, and wanted to feel the fresh air the loud A/C unit just outside the closet promised. Then a knock at the front door sounded, and for some reason, my nerves ratcheted up. I heard Nana's voice, and Mac's, announcing that they had forgotten my brother's sword, which was vital to the function of an 8-year-old. They had only gotten a few miles away and turned around, then. I silently begged them to accept that Mom and I had gone already, and to leave without trying any other doors.

My stomache dropped.

The car.

The car was in the driveway, because I had insisted Mom turn on the air before we got in so that I wouldn't sweat through my shopping outfit. Mac and Nana knew we hadn't left, and would come in through the garage.

I heard the tell tale sound of our squeaky garage door hinges opening, and my brothers loud feet against the linoleum in our kitchen.

"Mom, I forgot my-"

A gunshot.