The Good Girl I pounded on the apartment door! My babysitter had locked me out and was alone with my baby brother. I kicked, screamed, tried to climb through the kitchen window, called him whatever names my eight-year-old self knew. I had been playing outside, wanted to come in, and he locked me out. Every moment I had felt powerless in those eight years of life, collected, and spewed out of me with a fierce passion to right a wrong. Babysitters weren’t supposed to lock children out of their homes.