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Mother. Sister. Lived in our very own double-wide. Brown shag carpet. Dirty gold countertops. Peeling linoleum floors. Used to race my Hot Wheels down those food-splattered countertops, double-loop through ramps of curling linoleum, then land in gritty piles of shag. Place was definitely a shit hole. But being a kid, I called it home.  \nMornings, wolfing down Cheerios, watching Scooby-Doo without any volume so I wouldn’t wake the ’rents. Getting my baby sister up, ready for school. Both of us staggering out the front door, backpacks nearly busting with books.  \nImportant to read. Someone told me that. Mom, Dad, grandparent, teacher? Don’t remember now, but somewhere I got the message. Book a day. Like an apple. So after school I headed off to the library, sister still in tow. Read some books,’cause God knows we didn’t have any fruit.  \nI liked Choose Your Own Adventures. Each scene had a cliffhanger ending, where you had to decide what would happen next. Turn left in the forbidden temple or turn right? Pick up the cursed treasure or walk on by? In the Choose Your Own Adventure books, you were always the one in control.  \nThen I’d read Clifford the Big Red Dog to my little sis. Not old enough to read yet, she’d point and laugh at the pictures.  \nSometimes, the librarian would sneak us snacks. She’d say stuff  \n2 LISA GARDNER  \nlike, Someone left behind their bag of chips. Would you like them? I’d say, Nah. She’d say, Go on, better you than me. Potato chips aren’t good for my girlish figure.  \nEventually my sister would grab the chips, eyes greedy. She was always hungry back then. We both were.  \nAfter library, home.  \nSooner or later, always had to go home.  \nMy mom had this smile. When she was in the right mood, having a “good day,” oh, that smile. She’d ruffle my hair. Call me her little man. Say how proud she was of me. And hug me. Big, strong hugs, envelopes of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. I loved that smell. I loved the days my mother smiled.  \nSometimes, if things were going really well, she’d fix dinner. Spaghetti noodles with ketchup—that’ll leave a stain, she’d cry gaily, slurping up noodles. Ramen noodles with scrambled eggs—dinner for fifteen cents, now we’re living the dream, she’d declare. Or my favorite, Kraft macaroni and cheese—it’s the nuclear orange color that makes it special, she’d whisper.  \nMy little sister would giggle. She liked my mother in this mood. Who wouldn’t?  \nDad was usually at work. Bringing home the bacon. When he hada job. Gas station attendant. Night clerk. Warehouse stocker.  \nStay in school, he’d tell me, afternoons when we came home in time to watch him button up yet another grimy uniform. Fucking real world, he’d tell me. Fucking bosses.  \nThen off he’d go. And my mom would appear from the hazy cloud of their bedroom to start dinner. Or the door would never open, and I’d get out a can opener instead. Chef Boyardee. Campbell’s soup. Baked beans.  \nMy sister and I didn’t talk those nights. We ate in silence. Then I’dread her more Clifford, or maybe we’d play Go Fish. Quiet games for quiet kids. My sister would fall asleep on the sofa. Then I’d pick her up, carry her off to bed.  \nRIGHT BEHIND YOU 3  \n“Sorry,” she’d say sleepily, though neither of us knew what she was apologizing for.  \nHad a family once.  \nFather. Mother. Sister.  \nBut then the father worked less and less and drank more and more. And the mother . . . Dunno. Drugs, booze, her own foggy mind? Parental units appeared less and less to cook, clean, work. More and more to fight, scream, yell. Mom, hurling plastic plates across the kitchen. Dad, punching a hole through the cheap drywall. Then both would guzzle more vodka and do the whole thing all over again.  \nSister took to sleeping in my room, while I sat by the door.’Cause sometimes, the parents had guests over. Other boozers, druggies, losers. ","cbCaibsbUbSoa1rT","https://ap.wps.com/l/cbCaibsbUbSoa1rT","pdf",2309117,14,"English","# Prologue\n## Childhood routines and library escapes\n## Gradual collapse of family safety\n## Nights of guests, threats, and fear\n## The knife incident and escape","[{\"question\":\"What comforts does the narrator have at the start of the prologue?\",\"answer\":\"The narrator finds comfort in reading, especially Choose Your Own Adventures and Clifford, and in simple routines like breakfast and going to the library with a younger sister.\"},{\"question\":\"How does the family situation change over time?\",\"answer\":\"The father works inconsistently and drinks more, while the mother becomes unstable, leading to frequent fights, shouting, and increasing neglect of daily responsibilities.\"},{\"question\":\"What triggers the prologue’s climax?\",\"answer\":\"A sudden escalation into physical violence involving a butcher knife leads the narrator to realize what the father will do next and to urge the younger sister to run.\"}]","Right Behind You - Prologue | PDF",22]