Chapter 4: The Spark That Changes Everything
Waking up yet again, I silently turned my gaze to the kitchen. My heart beat faster. Maybe this time...
The familiar sights and smells washed over me—flour on the counter, cinnamon in the air, Grandma humming softly. This time, I saw everything with new eyes. I searched for anything, any clue.
Grandma was kneading dough. "Ellie, check your admission ticket again, your pencils, your erasers. Tomorrow morning I'll make you Scholar Rolls..." She smiled, hands working the dough with practiced ease. (Scholar's Rolls—her special sweet buns for big test days. They were our family tradition.)
Her hands worked the dough, strong and steady. I watched her, memorizing every movement, every wrinkle on her hands. My mind raced.
She had several unopened bags of flour. They sat on the counter, white and heavy.
I stared at them, an idea forming in my mind. My heart raced, but this time, it was with hope. Maybe this was it.
And in my middle school chemistry textbook, there was a line: When dust like flour settles in the air, it can explode if it meets a spark. I remembered my teacher lighting a match in a cloud of flour, the whoosh of fire. My palms grew clammy.
Risky, dangerous—but it might be our only chance. My mind raced, planning every step.
A few minutes later, a deafening—
—and that’s where everything changed. The thunder outside was nothing compared to what I was about to unleash. I gripped the bag of flour tight, ready to turn the kitchen into a beacon—a call for help that no one could ignore. This time, I wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not for me. Not for Grandma. Not ever again.













