My heart was pounding hard and fast. I could feel the warmth of the sun on my face. My stomach began to turn as a single drop of sweat ran down my cheek.

"I’m almost home free," I thought. I had it! The door was open just enough for me to slip through. Yes! But then, I heard it. Those horrifying, gut wrenching, six words.

“Michael Jonathan Peters! Don’t you move!” Oh, no! Mom had busted me trying to sneak out. I could visualize myself being stuck in an endless cyclone of boring lectures. I had to think fast.

“Sorry, Mom. I’ve got to go.” I darted out through the front door and headed for Dad’s car. “See you later,” I shouted back to her, as I made a daring attempt to escape a doom that was even more frightening than study hall, the wretched “do-not-do” talk.

I sprinted across the freshly watered lawn, my sneakers squeaking with every leap. I could hear my dad shouting from inside the car. His bloodcurdling screams of terror pierced my ears and sent a wave of fright through out my pulsating heart.

“Run!” he cried out in terror. “Run for your life!”

My legs began to feel weak and limp, like wiggly Jell-O. I was pushing myself too hard and just wanted to drop to my knees in surrender. But the terrifying fate that awaited me played over in my mind.

“Michael Peters,” Mom called. I turned my head and saw her standing on the door step, ready to lecture me.

“No-o-o,” I cried out. “Must make it to car.” It was so close, yet it seemed so far. “Just a few more feet,” I gasped. I reached out, ripping open the door and jumped into the front seat where I would feel a sense of freedom and great triumph.

We were just about to back out of the driveway when Dad stopped short of the mailbox.

“Why are you stopping?” I gasped, jolting up in my seat.

“I forgot to kiss your mother goodbye,” he said, as if there was nothing to worry about.