The boy's footsteps grew closer. Each one a hammer blow against my already fraying nerves.
Three steps away. Two steps. One.
His hand reached for the closet door handle.
We all held our breath. Five people compressed into shadows, muscles locked, waiting for the inevitable discovery.
The handle started to turn—
"FOUND YOU!"
High-pitched voices exploded into the room. Children—maybe three or four of them—burst through the doorway in a chaotic rush.
"Maja and Piotr are in here together!" one shrieked in Polish, the universal tone of childhood tattling transcending language barriers.
"Kissing probably!" another added with gleeful accusation.
The girl—Maja—went rigid with mortification. "GET OUT!" she screamed, her face flushing red even in the dim light.
"Maja and Piotr sitting in a tree—" the kids started to chant.
