We ran as fast as we could, simply trying to get home before our parents did... If they saw what we had done, we would all be dead.

Little Curtis struggled to keep up with mine and John's long legs. He was nearly twenty feet behind us when he tripped over his shoelace that had come unravelled and hit the ground with his freckled cheek. John stopped to help him up, but I kept running. I was the oldest of us three and I couldn't afford to get in trouble for something as stupid as what we had done.

It wasn't actually my fault. It was Curtis's, but I knew my parents well enough to know that they wouldn't blame him for what had happened that night. He was only six years old, but no matter what his age was at the time, he still wasn't their kid. Curtis was one of John's friends, but he had been living with us, as his house was no place for a good kid like him. His biological father left before Curtis was even out of his mother's womb and he had been living with his mother, which honestly wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't married a drug addict. The man would come home nearly every day from what he claimed to be work, as high as the mesosphere. Curtis had tried discussing with his mother upon several occasions, but of course she never listened to him. She never listened to anyone and never thought clearly about thing either, it appeared. The only reason she was with the druggy was for sexual pleasures. Though even that seemed nearly pointless seeing that they had already had four miscarriages by the time we met Little Curtis.

So my parents thankfully decided to let Curtis stay with us for a while until things began to settle down at his own house, which I honestly thought would never happen.

I continued running, and soon enough John and Curtis caught up with me again. Minutes later, our house was visible just down the road and we were relieved to see that neither of our parent's cars were parked in the driveway.

I took a quick glance at the watch strapped to my wrist.

7:43pm

Fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes to make everything right.
Fifteen minutes to save our butts.
Fifteen minutes. . .