Promise Me, Please?

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~1~

It was like any other cold January day, it seemed like it wanted to snow, it fogged up so much. It was hard to see through. I was sitting on the window sill of my bedroom window, messing around with my long brown curly hair.

“Twyla, come down and eat!” Mom yelled from downstairs, an accent in her voice, as she called for me.

“Coming!”  I answered back. I ran down stairs, almost taking two at a time, I was so hungry. Once I reached the stairs I found my brother, Mark (who was in seventh grade and actually was really nice to me), my mom and dad, were already eating. I slid into my seat across from my brother. We all sat in silence, eating dinner. It was like any other dinner. The food right in front of me and a cup of juice on the top right of my dinner plate. Steak, with mash potatoes and macaroni and cheese and orange juice. It wasn’t really my favorite meal, but I was hungry. I picked up my cup of orange juice and started drinking it, maybe a little too fast. I guess you could say chugged it down.

“So how’s math going, Mark?” Mom asked Mark, the word math sounding strange coming from her mouth.

“Ok, I guess” Mark muttered quietly and quickly added. “We have a test tomorrow and were starting a really cool lab in science!” My brother exclaimed.

“That’s good, what it is…” Dad started but didn’t finish his sentence, because…

“OPEN UP, FBI!” someone yelled from the outside.

“What the?” Dad said sounding confused and ran to the door. Mom and Mark followed right behind him. I went as well. Dad opened the door.

“What’s this about???” Dad asked the FBI agent, looking him straight in the eye.

“Step aside Mr. Tarragon, where’s the girl?” the FBI agent growled at my dad. I stepped behind my mom trying to hide myself.

“What are you talking about!? What girl?” My dad asked.

“TWYLA! THAT’S WHO, WHERE IS SHE?” yelled the FBI agent.

“What do you want with her?” Mom yelled back, with a hint of her Mexican accent in there. Another FBI agent appeared beside the first agent. The first agent looked around and spotted me. My mom pulled me further behind her.

“There she is, get her!” He told his “co-worker” beside him and looked past mom and straight at me, I looked at him in the eye and burst up running up the stairs. The other agent stepped in our house and pushed everyone else aside, he started running after me, not good his legs were longer than mine! He bent down and scooped me up into his arms; I was half way down a hallway upstairs. I started screaming.

“NO! LET GO OF ME!” I screamed and kicked. The agent was starting to walking down the stairs and out of our house, into the coldness of January.

“What do you need from her? LET HER GO! She didn’t do anything!” My dad yelled at him. “NO!” both mom and Mark yelled at the same time.

“The girl comes with us.” The first agent shouted and blocked the entrance/exit of the house. I kicked and screamed trying to get out of the second agents grip. Nothing, it didn’t work he was too strong. Mom made her move and ran toward the first agent and started hitting him on the chest, but nothing happened, he didn’t even move an inch.

“She’s only eight!” Mom yelled, with the accent in her voice.

“Mrs. Tarragon, stop it or you could get in serious trouble!” He yelled at mom while holding up his FBI badge. The other agent still had me in his grasp and started walking out into the cold and walked right up to a black car, which was probably theirs and was parked in front of our house. He opened the door with one hand and me in his other, he opened the door from were the back seats were and shoved me into the back seat.