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Mom shrugged. “How was your bike ride? Did you explore the neighborhood?”
“We got picked on!” I complained. “Some boys made fun of us for being Braves fans.”
“That’s your problem.” Mom flicked the ash off her cigarette. “You rely on each other too much. Maybe if you tried harder, you’d be able to make new friends.”
“We did try!” Brandi insisted. “They were mean.”
“If you walk around smelling poop everywhere, you should probably check your own shoe.” She got up from the chair and walked to the front door. “I’m ordering pizza for dinner. And because I’m such a great mother, I’ll get a cheese pizza just for you two.”
Brandi and I grinned at each other. Mom usually ordered pepperoni, which meant we had to peel the toppings off. This was a special treat indeed.
Brandi’s smile quickly faded. “Look.”
I turned to see what she was pointing at. Jack and the other two boys were riding up on their bikes. They skidded to a stop in the driveway of the blue house, and one of them pointed at us. We couldn’t hear what they said, but they abruptly started laughing.
Great. They’re our neighbors. I felt my heart sink.
“I have an idea,” Brandi said. “Let’s collect some of Duchess’s poop and put it in a bag. Then we’ll put it on their door.”
“Or in their mailbox!” I suggested.
The two of us giggled until we had tears in our eyes.
3
Alyssa
Present Day
Tears welled in my eyes as I sat up in bed, looking around my room. It was still dark, but there was a glow around the frame of the door like an orange rectangle, which gave enough light to see the smoke creeping through the cracks. It was oppressively hot inside the room, and the smoke was acrid and stung my lungs and eyes.
My brain finally caught up to the situation. I was in Clearwater, in the room Brandi and I grew up in. There was a fire in the house. I was in trouble.
This has to be a nightmare… right?
The sound of something crashing deeper in the house banished all illusions that this was just a dream. I needed to get out. I approached the door, but the smoke was stronger there, so I pulled my shirt up over my mouth and breathed through it. I tapped the handle—it was scalding hot. And judging by the glow under the door and around the frame, there was a fire in the hallway right outside.
If I don’t get out, I’m going to die. The thought was like a shot of adrenaline.
I whirled to the window. The storm shutters on the outside were still closed, blocking any light from outside. I grabbed the window pane and pulled, but it didn’t budge. I yanked two more times before disengaging the twist-lock on the top. But even with it unlocked, the window refused to move. A quick glance showed that when the room had been painted, even the window was painted over, sealing the glass to the frame. I let out a cry of distress and banged on the window.
Windows. Glass. Smashing. My thoughts were becoming sluggish as I coughed, but that was enough to help me form a plan. The room was empty aside from my bed and suitcase, so I grabbed the latter and hurled it at the window. It bounced off on the first try. I was beginning to grow tired, so tired, and it was more difficult to raise it the second time. I needed to smash through the glass or I was going to suffocate in here, and die.
I heaved the suitcase at the window. My throw was weaker than the first, and didn’t come close to breaking through the reinforced hurricane glass. Smoke was filling the room from the ceiling down, so I dropped to my knees, then down onto my belly.
I knew I needed to move, to do something, but it was hard to find the strength or motivation. The air was clean down here, and I was so, so tired. If I allowed myself to relax for a few moments, I would regain enough energy to do something. All I needed to do was close my eyes for a moment or two.
Without warning, the door smashed open in a spray of wood splinters. The silhouette of a fireman stood in the doorway, outlined by a flare of flames behind him. He held an ax across his chest, helmeted head swiveling to examine the room. When he saw me, he put the ax away—I couldn’t see where—and quickly bent down to me.
“I got you,” I heard him say, muffled behind his oxygen mask. “Let’s go.”
He raised me off the ground like I weighed nothing, and then I was floating. Flames licked up the hallway walls and across the ceiling like the tide caressing a beach. The heat was powerful, and painful, so I buried my face in his uniform and closed my eyes shut.
Everything was a blur for several minutes. The heat disappeared, and then I was cold. I was laying in the grass. Someone pressed a mask to my mouth, and the air was cool and sweet. People spoke all around me, but I barely heard them.
“Glad you heard her pounding against the window.”
“Point of origin is the garage.”
