I stood in the doorway watching the cases bump against each step.
At the bottom, she looked back once.
“Lock it.”
I closed the door.
The deadbolt clicked.
I stood there with the twenty-dollar bill still in my hand until I could no longer hear her suitcase wheels outside.
For the first two days, I did exactly what she told me.
I didn’t tell anyone.
I locked the door every time I came inside.
I checked it again before bed.
I counted the food.
The bread was already hard around the edges, so I ate the softer pieces first.
I spread peanut butter thin because I thought that would make the jar last longer.
I heated instant soup while the power still worked and tried to save the canned beans for later.
When the milk began to smell sour, I poured it out.
After that, I drank tap water.
The apartment felt different without another person in it.
During the day, I could almost pretend nothing had changed.
Cars moved through the parking lot.
Doors opened and closed down the hallway.
Someone upstairs dropped things constantly.
A television played too loudly through one wall.
Those were normal noises when my mother was home.
At night, they stopped feeling normal.
The refrigerator hummed too loudly.
Pipes knocked inside the walls.
Footsteps outside our door became something I had to interpret by myself.
Was somebody just walking home?
Had they stopped outside our apartment?
Was the door locked?
Had I checked it?
I started pushing a kitchen chair under the doorknob before I went to sleep.
It wasn’t something Sarah had told me to do.
I had seen it in a movie once.
I didn’t know whether it would actually stop anyone.
I only knew I slept a little better when the chair was there.
I kept my phone close, too.
At first, I expected Sarah to call all the time.
She didn’t.
Sometimes a message appeared.
Be good.
Everything okay?
Don’t forget to lock up.
I learned quickly that she did not want detailed answers.
If I wrote too much, I worried she might get angry.
So I kept my replies short.
Yes.
Okay.
Fine.
Those three words became my whole life.
On the fourth day, the power went out.
There was no warning that I understood.
One minute the refrigerator was humming and the lamp beside the couch was on.
The next minute everything stopped.
The silence frightened me more than the noise ever had.
I flipped the light switch twice.
Nothing.
I checked the kitchen.
Nothing there either.
I looked out into the hallway and saw light farther down, which told me the whole building had not lost power.
I didn’t know why ours was off.
I didn’t know who to ask.
And Sarah had been very clear about involving other people.
So I sat on the kitchen floor and counted my money.
Nine dollars and some coins.
That was what remained from the twenty.
I had spent part of it on a few things I thought I needed, trying to be careful every time I handed over a dollar.
Now I had to choose what came next.
Food mattered.
Light mattered too.
I wondered whether I should buy candles.
Then I remembered people saying candles could start fires.
What happened if there was a fire and I was alone?
I put the money back into the small pocket of my backpack and decided not to buy anything that night.
The refrigerator warmed slowly.
I kept opening it even though I knew that probably made things worse.
Eventually I stopped because there was almost nothing inside worth saving.
That night, with the apartment dark, I moved the kitchen chair under the doorknob earlier than usual.
I left my shoes beside the couch in case I had to get out quickly.
Then I lay down fully dressed.
Eleven-year-olds are supposed to worry about homework, lunch tables, and whether somebody will laugh at their clothes.
I was trying to decide how much bread I could eat without running out before my mother came home.
By Monday morning, I knew I had to go back to school.
I had already missed too much.
Sarah had warned me not to make anyone suspicious, and suddenly staying away seemed more dangerous than showing up.
I missed the bus.
Normally that would have meant calling my mother.
Instead, I walked.
I was still wearing the same hoodie.
