Chapter three: The Doorbell

No sooner had I closed my eyes than the doorbell rang. I couldn’t believe it! Five in the morning and somebody was standing on the front stoop, ringing the doorbell. Probably I should’ve been worried—didn’t the hours preceding dawn only ever bring bad news?—but I wasn’t.

 

I was grateful. Grateful that either one or both of my parents was going to answer the door. Grateful that I was going to be able to come downstairs in my pajamas, yawning and acting all sleepy like. Grateful that whoever was ringing the doorbell was going to be my ticket out of trouble.

 

See, my parents had to know I missed my eleven-o’clock curfew. They stayed up to at least eleven on Saturday nights, which is what this night started out as. But they may not know how majorly I missed my curfew. They may think I only missed it a little. So if they were only a little angry at me, which is what I was hoping, then the door-bell ringer was about to give their anger a new target.

 

Any second now…

 

To be continued...

 

Done