My name is Rina. I'm six years old and someone took me from my bed when it was dark.

I didn't scream or cry, although I assume that would be what a normal six-year-old would do. Instead, I quietly did as the kidnapper asked, hoping my best friends in the whole world would notice my absence.

I sleep on the journey to wherever I'm going. Being six, I don't recognize anything once we leave the small town and the rolling hills blur one into the next.

"Where are we?" My voice feels scratchy and I yawn hugely. Someone passes me a juice box and I chug it down. "Thank you."

I hope remembering my manners will make my parents proud.

Next comes a sandwich with egg and ham. I wish for cheese as I take a bite. But it's warm and tastes good, so I don't complain.

Instead, I look out the window at the lights of passing cars and wonder where the people who drive by might be going. I wonder if there might be another child in a car zooming down the road who doesn't belong to the people driving.

I try not to cry, but as I turn my thoughts toward my best friends, the tears come in earnest.

"Rina," Randall says and I want to jump with joy at his voice. I hug him fiercely and he reminds me that no one can see him except me.

"Don't cry, little one," a man's voice says. "We aren't going to hurt you. We just need something from your parents. Once they hand it over, we'll let them bring you home safe and sound."

I dry my eyes and ask, "Can I have a pen and paper please?"

"Sure," the man says and hands me my treasures. "I'm going to draw the others," I say to Randall and he smiles at me. I take my time drawing my friends. Stanley, my favorite stuffed animal is a mess of other animals. He has a pretty, scaled body in the shiniest blue you've ever seen. Each of his legs once belonged to a different stuffed dog. He sports a long lion tail, a pretty pink flamingo head and a useless set of elephant ears to pass as his wings.

Then there's Franco, he's the funny monster who sleeps under my bed. He loves comedy but can also do a very real Nightmare on Elm Street, if the mood strikes him. He saves those performances for when I have friends over who like scary movies.

And of course, there's Randall. He's my imaginary friend who's always there when I need him most. I've never been more thankful for Randall than right now. Now, I don't have to be alone.

I look out the window, and I take one last look at my drawing. I pat the drawing and sit there for seven hours.

Nope, I no longer love you. I think of him. I start to scream into my hands and then yell in German.

"Guten morgen! Guten tag!"

I began speaking in only German to the people that took me. I wanted home, and I wanted now. Good thing those lessons my parents forced me to take paid off.

"Was ist da los? Wie heissen Sie? Antworte mir bitte, arschloch!"

They were pretty confused. It was funny, seeing them try to speak to me when I would respond in German. They began ignoring me instead.

I could hear them talking to each other later, saying things like 'take her back' and 'pissing me off', words I've heard a lot from my parents.

The next day, they started driving me somewhere again. I couldn't recognise anything outside my window until I saw the local grocer we always got ice cream from. "Ich will einen ice cream!" They ignored me again, though.

Eventually, they dropped me off in front of a house, and I could immediately tell it was my own home! I ran to the door as the van sped away.

"Mommy! Daddy! I'm home!" The door opened, and Mommy fell to the floor and started crying. Why, I wonder? I just went for a little trip. Maybe she was upset I didn't get that ice cream I asked those guys for. Randall went past Daddy standing and went inside. He's probably going inside to sleep.

Mommy pulled me in an hug an held me for an very log time, till daddy pulled her slightly back and looked at her with his serios grown up face. All Grown up had it. I think it means that something bad happend but they don't think its for kids ears so they have to go to a secret hide out an talk about it there.

But Mommy and daddy didn't go on an adventure to their secret hideout instad Mommy pulled me in a hug again. I usally loved Mommys hug, caus they were warm and helpfull expasicaly when I was sad, but now it felt bad caus Mommy started crying.

Then she wisperd: "You have to Move to your grandma littel one" in my ear. Her breath tickeld a bit.

I puelled back in confusen. "I don't have a grandmom anymore."

I looked at dad but he just looked away. He wouldn't tell Mommy that she was talking giberich.

"Yes you have angel"

She lives in Germany" My Papa said with a heavy sighnt.

I did not know i had an third grandmama but I alredy was exitetd to meet her. Hoppfuly she was as nice as my other tow. They both were death. I cried veery long in Mamas Arms becaus of that, bit now Mommy cried so I had to be strong.

"Its Ok Mama. Ich kann ganz gut Deutsch" tried to smiele as bright as possibel because normaly it would help mama but it didn't work this time.

I had never once been on a plane before then, but there I was, six years old, with a badge that said 'Unaccompanied Minor' on it, bound for Munich. A stewardess with a shiny gold name tag walked me onto the plane before anyone else was allowed on. She held my hand the whole way down the little tunnel and told me I could pick any snack I wanted from her cart, as many times as I wanted, because I was "very brave." I picked pretzels.

Randall sat in the middle seat, even though there wasn't really a person in that seat, so I made sure to leave him room and not put my elbow through him by accident.

"You don't have to be scared," Randall said. "I've been to Germany before. In your grandma's photo albums. Remember?"

I did remember. There was a photo albums box in the attic that Papa said was Mama's mama's mama's, and sometimes on rainy days I'd flip through it and make up names for everyone in the black and white pictures because nobody ever told me the real ones.

"Is Grandmamma going to be nice?" I asked him.

"She raised your mama, didn't she? Your mama's nice."

That made sense to me, so I stopped worrying about it and worried about something else instead, which is something I am very good at. I worried that Stanley was still on my bed at home and that nobody would remember to give him a hug goodnight while I was gone. I worried that Franco would get bored under my bed with nobody to scare. I worried, a little, about the men in the van, and whether they got what they wanted from Mama and Papa, and whether that meant they'd never come back, or whether it meant they knew exactly where to find me now.

I didn't worry about that last one for very long. Six-year-olds are only supposed to hold one big worry at a time, my teacher says, otherwise you'll spill them everywhere like a too-full cup.

When we landed, the air smelled different, like a house that isn't yours but that you're about to spend the night in anyway. It was cold, and I had to stop at the luggage carousel to dig a thick hoodie out of my suitcase. A short round woman was waiting past a rope with a sign that had my name on it, except she'd spelled it Rhina, with an H, and someone at the airport desk had to walk me right up to her before she would say hi.

She crouched down so we were eye to eye. Her hands were warm and papery, and there were rings on almost every finger.

"Rina," she said. "Ich bin deine Oma."

"Ich weiß," I told her. I know.

She smiled like that surprised her, and then she started crying, which seemed to be something all the grown-ups in my life had started doing a lot of lately.

"Komm," she said, standing up and taking my suitcase before I could argue. "Wir gehen nach Hause."

We're going home.

I looked over my shoulder for Randall, just to make sure he'd made it through the rope with us, and there he was, walking easy as anything right beside me, like Germany was nothing new to him at all.