Not a mean old lady, my foot! I grabbed her arm and, using my feet against her car for leverage, tried to pry her skinny fingers out of my hair. Unfortunately, her grip was like steel, and she was hard to shake. Angry and scared, I did the only thing I could think of and screamed like a teen slasher chick about to meet her untimely doom. If I was going to die, every one of my neighbors was going to know about it first, and justice would be served.

Annoyed at my high-pitched screams, she slammed my head, face-first, against the door of her car. My nose started to bleed (it wasn’t broken, but it hurt like an anvil to the face), and tears leaked through my lashes before I could stop them.

Convinced that this was the beginning of my violent end, I continued screeching for help.

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