So You Think You’re American

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Footsteps coming up the stairs. Somebody calling my name again, someone else shouting, thuds.
What do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I—
I shoved my nightstand in front of the door, and then my desk, and then my desk chair. I piled pillows and stuffed animals and my toy chest on top of the nightstand. The footsteps were coming closer and someone was pounding on my door.
“Ekina!” my father called.
“Ekina!” said my mother.
I was going to die and have a heart attack, a quick one without all the signs of having a heart attack like shoulder pain and heartburn. They’d find me here on the floor with spit dribbling out of my mouth, unless all your spit dried up when you died. Oh man. Did spit dry up when you died or what?
I yanked open drawers and stuff spilled out onto my feet and everywhere. A deck of cards fell off my shelf and scattered all over the carpet. I dove under my bed and got the duct tape that had fallen from the bookshelf.
“Ekinadese! Open the door right now!” My father was pushing open the door. I could see the hallway through the crack.
I rammed myself against it and pressed hard with my body. When the door was completely closed, I taped it shut. I climbed up on the nightstand and taped the top shut, too. I would have taped the bottom but the crack was too wide. Then I sat down on the nightstand and closed my eyes. The other side was filled with yelling voices. The whole universe was filled with yelling voices, screaming for me to do this and do that and come here and be like this instead of being like that. 
Angry fists pounded the walls. I re-taped the door and tried not to think about having to pee. I wished I had a bathroom in my room like my parents had. I prayed Ize wasn’t awake.
When they finally left, I felt completely sick to my stomach. I waited for twenty minutes before I slid off the nightstand slowly, slowly, slowly and tiptoed around the room. I wanted to pee out the window, but I realized someone might see me, so I found a water bottle and poured it out onto the floor and used that it instead. The puddle of water on the floor would dry up in the morning, as usual.
I thought about getting into my bed, but I couldn’t do it. What if they snuck in during the night and woke me up and my mother hurt me like she did to my dad’s neck? What if my dad came in and tried to sneak me away and drive me across the border to Mexico or Arizona or wherever?
Was somebody in danger expected to sleep? I pulled my comforter off my bed and sat back down on the nightstand. I turned off the light because I wanted them to think I was sleeping. It was hard keeping myself awake. I had to pinch myself and play solitaire and read with a flashlight. I had to hold Buzz and keep telling myself that this was life or death. It was a nice experience, though, at some parts. Like when I didn’t know what time it was because my eyes were too dead to see the numbers on my digital clock, and I looked through the window and it was midnight blue outside and glowing at the line where the dome of the sky connected with the earth. And when at last someone came to knock softly on the door and cry and whisper, “Please, please let me in.” Except that wasn’t a nice experience. That was one of the bad parts. I would have cried too, but my eyes were out of water.