CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
There were reporters surrounding Kevin’s house when they got back. Reporters, and protestors, and even a few police, obviously there to keep the rest of them back. Kevin kept his head down in the passenger’s seat of his mother’s car, hoping that no one would see him, but there was no real hope of that. The moment they saw the car pulling up, the mass of people surrounded it, and the car practically shone with the glare of the camera flashes.
“When I open your door, don’t stop,” his mother said. She got out, and Kevin braced himself.
She pulled open the door on his side, wrapping a protective arm around Kevin even though he was taller than she was.
“Get back,” she yelled at them. “Get off my property.”
The reporters pulled back a little, but the press of people barely
