The dishes were finally dry and my mom had gone upstairs. The TV was blaring and my dad sat on the sofa commenting on the recent China government decision about permitting online media websites to report the news. Looking left and right, I quickly grabbed a pack of Oreos and hid it in my jacket. Trying to cover the bump, I crept out of the kitchen and into the living room.
     "Where are you going, Emily," asked my dad calmly. He shoved his hands into his thick, navy blue jacket. I stared back, frozen.
     "Well…?" he demanded. My dad hated it when I didn’t answer him right away. He always suspects that I am lying when I do that.
     "I was… um… trying to… uh… find my drawing notebook. I have art homework that I need to finish," I answered, coming up with a reasonable lie that was half true, hoping he wouldn’t suspect a thing . 
     "Sure, your notebook is in the drawer under the black table.… You know what I am talking about. Don’t go upstairs, Mommy is in a meeting. And tell Melody to get out of the garage so she can get ready to go to bed."
    I grabbed my drawing notebook, some colored pencils and a few pens, rambled toward the garage and stepped inside. I looked around and remembered when we first changed the garage. 
     Earlier that year, my dad and I covered the garage floor with carpet, moved the bookshelf in, and brought in a table and all of my little sister’s toys. I even picked out a perfect bean bag chair, color and everything,  that I could work on, but "Noooo" was the only answer I could get when I asked if we could get it.
     I was lost in my thoughts when I heard a “Kaboom” and I noticed my little sister looking straight at me. She had knocked over a huge pile of my books to get my attention. Then, she started whining, “You have to play with me… or I will lock you in here.”
    I was already extremely annoyed with her that day. In the morning, she spilled all of her milk and blamed it on me. I had to help her put on her clothes ( which is really disgusting) and pack her backpack. When she came home, all she did was complain about her “hard” homework, so I was stuck doing it. Last but not least, she kept mocking me at the dinner table which cause everyone to laugh at me. So I replied, “I won’t play with you, I have homework to do… Plus Daddy wants you to get out.”
     “Fine, but I am telling on you,” she said, as she pouted at me.
     I replied in a repulsive way, “Well, I don’t care, and Daddy wants you to get out of the garage.” She stormed out of the garage, through the door, and into the house. I heard a click and she was gone.

     Right away, I felt like everything had become oddly quiet. Almost suspiciously quiet. “Nah,” I thought, “They probably just upstairs with Melody. There is nothing to worry about.”
     I bent down, picked up my notebook, and turned in a full circle. There was a bookshelf on the left, Melody’s toys scattered all over the ground in front of me, her tea set still holding her little stuffed animals on my right and my desk right behind me. The pile of knocked over books seemed like a easy thing to draw, so I sat down and began to sketch.
     10 minutes later, my parents left the house to go to their best friends Sharon and Tom’s house. They met with each other every Wednesday night to talk about grown-up things.
     I worked on my drawing, too focused to notice if anything was different about the place. I remember that I was in charge of Melody for the night, so I carefully placed all of my pencils, colored pencils, and pens on my notebook, hid the rest of the Oreos under the bookshelf, picked up my things, and walked toward the door that connected the garage to our house. By then, I had been in the garage for about 45 minutes.

     I grabbed the shiny, new doorknob, and turned. It jerked. I turned the knob again. Nothing happened. Again and again I tried to turn the knob. Still, it wouldn’t budge.
     In that moment, my heart skipped a beat. My mind raced. Why wasn’t the door moving? What is going on? How am I going to get out? What should I do?
     My first reaction was to grab my notebook. I slammed it on the door relentlessly, hoping my parents would hear. Looking around, I found a metal bar and tried prying the door open.  Was I stupid or what? I thought. Even if I could pry the door open, my parents would have to pay for the damage and I wasn’t even strong enough. With no other idea about what to do, I continued banging on the door for 10 minutes straight.
     Soon after my distress died away, my brain began to function. Is the back door open? My head pounded as a ran into the backyard. The air outside felt numbing and the moon had come up. I tugged on the back door. It was locked. Peering through the glass door, I saw that the lights were turned down and no one was downstairs. I began to panic. My eyes welled up with tears. Melody was probably in the house all by herself. If  Mom and Dad came home to find her by herself, I would be grounded for at least a month. They cared a lot about Melody’s safety.  Frantically, I ran back into the garage and grabbed my notebook. I didn’t know what to do. Too tired and stressed out to do anything, I laid down on the cold, hard ground. In the next moment, I fell asleep.

     I slowly opened my eyes only to see the same darkness of the garage. my watch said it was 6:45 in the morning. The large insulator was making noise so I knew the heater was on inside the house, but the garage felt like Antarctica. I was shivering from head to toe and had nothing on other than a t-shirt and some shorts.
     Suddenly an idea hit me and a candle lit inside of me. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? It was so simple. I sure am stupid. Feeling a sense of adrenaline, I sprinted towards the locked garage door. Next to the door was a simple switch. All I had to do was flick the switch and the wide door ( the side in which the cars could come in) would roll up and I could sneak out. I had been focusing so much on the passenger door that I didn’t realize there was another way out.
     Relieved, yet feeling stupid, I flipped the switch. The door didn’t move. I flipped the switch the other way, not realizing that the switch was broken. A sudden wave of despair rushed over me. My only hope was lost; the candle that I had just lit, seemed to be blown away in front of my eyes. Having no idea what to do next, I dropped to the ground and closed my eyes.

     Moments later or maybe many minutes later, the sound of feet shuffling around forced me to look up. “What are you doing in here?” I heard. It was the familiar voice of my dad. Relieved that somebody found me, I stood up, ran to him, and hugged him. Still confused, he said, “Why are you up so early?” Having nothing to say, I followed him out the door and back into the kitchen. The birds were chirping and the whole place seemed to be flooded with sunshine.
     Glad to be back out, I thought to myself, as I poured some milk into my bowl, ready to start the new day.