I followed her because that’s what younger sisters do. Because a part of you always believes there’s a chance this time will be different. That this time she will include you, like you’ve always wanted.
She led me toward the back of the house, to the storage room near the laundry area. It was a narrow space filled with boxes and old coats and holiday decorations shoved into corners. The air smelled like dust and detergent. She pointed to a shelf high up.
“Can you grab that for me?” she asked, pointing to a plastic tub.
I stood on my toes and reached. My fingers brushed the edge of the lid. I leaned forward.
The door closed.
The lock clicked.
I remember the sound more than anything else. Sharp. Final. Like the snap of a trap.
At first I thought it was a joke. I laughed and knocked on the door. “Amanda!” I called, giggling because I still believed in the rules of play. I waited for her to laugh back, for the door to open, for her to say Got you and for us to run back to the party together.
She didn’t laugh.