"Bobby!" His mother knocked on his door, called through it, did both more quietly than usual. "Bobby, get up!"
It was Sunday morning. Well, all right: technically, it was Sunday afternoon. "No."
"Bobby, there's something happening. On the news." She had the beginnings of panic in her voice. "There's shooting downtown. People being attacked."
Three weeks ago she had refused to let him go to a party because someone 'might put drugs in your cup and then murder you'. He clarified, "Go away."
"Bobby!"
He didn't respond. After an hour, he finally went downstairs. By then, they were already surrounded.
