Ben’s P.O.V
All I can hear is smashing glass. It’s coming from outside the window, but I don’t want to open it. The boy who sometimes comes to preschool with me said that someone threw a brick through his kitchen window once, and the police still don’t know who it was.
I don’t want someone to chuck a brick at my head. That would hurt.
Instead, I stay in bed and pull the covers up to my chin, keeping my eyes open just in case. I count in my head, to see how many seconds it takes until I can get to sleep.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 19, 47…
I think that’s how Mrs Thomas said it goes.
The door to the house opens, I can hear it, and there are footsteps in the kitchen. I hope it’s Dad, because if someone comes to get their brick back, I’ll be annoyed.
But if it’s not Dad, then I should reall
