A cop reached for Flo and had her by the arm. I immediately started crying—fake crying—screaming, “Please don’t take my sister.” I was so angry, but some instinct told me to make as much of a sobbing, snotty six-year-old nuisance of myself that the cops wouldn’t want me. I did a tug-of-war with the cop over Flo, until he relented, acting disgusted. I pulled Flo to me, half climbing her, half pulling her down to me—really playing it to the hilt. He bent to our faces and yelled in a harsh hot-breathed tone, “Go home now!”
