We didn’t have an alarm system in our house. Fanny, who slept at the foot of my parents’ bed with one eye open, her tiny paws itching to defend her home, was more than adequate for that purpose. But I was ready for her. “Fanny!” I whispered, standing my ground at the foot of the stairs and holding a spare tennis ball right in her line of vision. She skidded to a halt. I threw the ball down the hall, toward the kitchen. When she tore after it, I quietly slipped out the front door. Then I waited, safely hidden in the darkness of the porch, and listened hard for a full minute. Nothing. No sound anywhere. My suburban Portland neighborhood was fast asleep. I shook my head as I walked down our driveway. It had been shockingly easy to escape my house, with my parents being none the wiser. I filed this information away for later use during my teenage years. My school is only six blocks from my house, and I made it there in record time.
