Caught

I held my breath, tiptoeing through the hallway with all the stealth of a squirrel in the dog pound, with one major difference: there were no chain-link fences between me and my enemy.

  My grandma’s fluffy white curls stuck up menacingly from the other side of her sofa, the glow of the TV casting her silhouette on the wall. The doorbell on the sitcom family’s house rang shrilly, nearly knocking me off my feet in terror. But she hadn’t heard me yet. I crept forward. The key was to take each board slow, feeling out the creaks before moving on. Inch by inch, I approached the back door. CREAK.

Sucking in a gasp, I froze. Grandma didn’t turn around. Maybe I was lucky and she’d fiddled with the settings on her hearing aid again. Or maybe not. My fuzzy pink socks slid across the floor without a sound. Only a few more steps and then I could be out the door, slip out of my stockings and put on my heels, and make my way down to the beach party. I stifled a snicker of triumph as I reached the back door. Twisting the knob, I felt the sharp blast of freedom pour through me down to my toes. The night was waiting!

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

Caught.

My cage door fell shut with a deep clanging of finality.