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I was surprised to see Jonathan's face peering in at me. He was holding a flashlight and I could see that he was yelling at me as he pounded, but the wind and rain were so loud that I couldn't understand what he was saying.I tried to roll down the window, but the battery on the car must have been dead. So instead, I pulled the handle and opened the door."What's wrong?" I started to ask, but Jonathan simply grabbed my arm and dragged me over to where his car was parked."Angela needs you! Get in there now!" he yelled over the force of the storm as he opened the door to his Escalade and shoved me into the back seat.Inside his truck was a sight I will never forget. I am amazed, in fact, that I didn't just drop dead at that moment because all those feelings of despair washed through me again as I saw Angela laying on the seat of his truck.She was pale and had a rapid shallow breathing pattern, a sure sign of impending doom. Her clothing was askew and she looked septic, critically ill and. The adventures were clever and exciting and the artwork outstanding. One of our father-son rituals was to drive to the drug store every month and to buy a new Donald Duck comic when it hit the newsstands. Then Dad, Betsy, and I would sit together, looking at the pictures, while Dad read the story aloud. Now I could read the books perfectly well by myself, but I still loved hearing Dad do it. I couldn't stand the thought of him reading a new comic book to other kids without me.Dad figured that I had no choice but to give in, put on the shorts, and come outside. Now I quickly had to find some other option, something that would force him to abandon his plans. There being nothing else in my room to wear, I climbed the stairs to the attic. I opened the door to the clothes closet and saw the blue dress.A plan immediately crystallized in my mind. I knew that if I hesitated, even for a moment, I would lose my nerve. And I had to do it now, before the other boys my age returned.
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