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my house, cooking dinner. Worm and I were in the living room, watching TV and laughing till tears were streaming down our faces. Worm and I were brother and sister, apparently, and the woman next door was our mother. Far away a smog alert siren sounded. Worm said, “It’s hot, so let’s have fried rice…. Fried rice sounds good.” I went to the kitchen to wheedle the woman into making it for us. Mom, I said, make some fried rice for us, okay? The woman stared at me from behind her silver-framed glasses, then took out a wok and pointed at the bathroom. He pushed me against the door over there, she said, so I’m not going to cook for you. But Mom, the door to the bathroom isn’t glass, so it’s okay. There must be some mistake. It seemed to be a dream where I knew what Worm had done, but I was doing my best to calm her down anyway.

I woke up all sweaty and looked around my room trying to figure out where I was. It had been light out for some time, apparently. The sun had come up as always and a new day was beginning. It looked like it was going to be another hot one. Another day like all the others, but since yesterday morning my world had imploded. That crashing sound I heard when the smog alert sounded echoed over and over in my mind. I hadn’t seen the bloody face of the woman next door, but I could imagine how awful it must have looked, her glasses flung aside. The dream I had must have been suggestive—telling me that I was knowingly aiding and abetting Worm after his “matricide.” Maybe I’d be seen as an actual accomplice in the murder. The fact scared me silly. If Worm was caught, wouldn’t they think that I’d lent him my phone and bike to help him get away? I suddenly felt like Worm had forced some awful thing into my hands. Now it had liquefied and was dripping down between my fingers. I was terrified—of the police, and the adult world. The warmth of the female detective’s hand on my knee came back to me, and I shuddered.

I should have told my parents everything, before this got completely out of hand. I’d just about made up my mind when I heard Mom downstairs getting breakfast ready. She was grinding coffee beans. The same old world as always. Relieved, I got out of bed. My mom might have a different take on things than me, but at least she was a buffer between me and the police and the adult world. I was happy I had a mom and dad like that. Just then I heard voices outside, so I opened the window and peeked out. The narrow street outside our house was packed with people. People lugging TV cameras, newspaper reporters, a woman who looked like a reporter, and police. The reporter was from one of those TV tabloid shows. I ran downstairs.

“Good morning. You’re up early.” My mom, her face gaunt, was stirring eggs.

“Mom, did you see all those people outside?”

“They’re from a tabloid show,” my mother said, her face dark. “I hate having all these people crawling about. They must be hoping the son will come back home. How vulgar. I mean, they don’t even know yet if he’s the one who did it. And besides, he’s a juvenile. All this racket’s driving me crazy. Sorry, but could you go out and get the paper?”

I didn’t have a bra on and was wearing a T-shirt and shorts I used for pajamas, but I said okay. I was curious to see how the papers were covering the incident and to see what the people from the TV tabloid show were like. As soon as I stepped outside, the hum of the people talking stopped cold. I was walking over to the newspaper box next to the front door when a woman reporter thrust a microphone in my face.

“Excuse me, I just have a couple of questions about the people next door. What sort of family were they?”

So this is a reporter? The other people stood there, holding their breath, waiting for my reply. Here I was, dressed like this, on national TV. I got all jittery and started inching backward, newspaper in hand. As soon as I reached the door I leaped