WHEN I WAKE UP, I’m covered in sweat. It’s 5:14. My whole body is prickling with heat. I kick off my blankets to cool off. I stare at the ceiling and think about school and what I should wear today. I try to remember what I have that’s clean. The more I think, the more awake I become, and I know I am never going to fall back to sleep. I roll over on my back and stare at the ceiling with the quiet of the house humming in my ears. For a long time, I had to share a room with Charlie. I was so upset when my parents started assembling the old crib in the corner of my room. When I asked why he couldn’t sleep with my parents, they gave a lame excuse about my dad coming home late from work and not wanting to wake the baby.

Every night, Charlie would wake up crying. There was a baby monitor in the room, so my mom could hear when he woke up. She’d come in like a shadow and scoop him out of the crib. She’d nurse him while she held him in the rocking chair that took up a huge space in the corner. She’d hum quiet songs to him that helped me go back to sleep, too. I always wished she’d stop and pat my head or check on me on her way back to her room, but I always fell asleep before she finished, so I don’t know if she ever did.

When Charlie stopped nursing, my mom got rid of the monitor. But Charlie still never slept through the night. I would get up when he woke and rub his back until he went back to sleep. He was a loud breather, and at first it kept me up. But after a while, I got used to it and relied on that steady rhythm to help me get to sleep at night.

Last year my parents finally agreed that I needed my privacy, and my dad moved his desk into my parents’ room and gave Charlie his old office. I never admitted it to anyone, but for weeks I had trouble falling asleep in the quiet of my room. I wouldn’t say I missed him, but I missed his breathing.

I close my eyes in the quiet and try to fall back to sleep, but it’s no use. I finally drag myself up and take a shower. One good thing about being the first one up is a long shower with no worry about running out of hot water. By the time I’m done, it’s almost six thirty. Charlie, our family alarm clock, is usually awake by now. He runs down the hallway and bangs on everyone’s bedroom door as he makes his way to my parents’ room. I don’t like to shut my door, so usually when he gets to mine, he knocks on the door frame and calls, “Up, up, up, Ferny!” Sometimes he comes in and pokes Doll close to my face. I always know she’s there before I open my eyes because I can smell her odd Doll smell. A mixture of rubber and peanut-butter crackers.

As I walk down the hallway, I pause at his room and look inside. His curly hair is sticking out from under his blankets. I think about knocking on his door and whispering, Up, up, up, Char-Char! but I know he’ll tell my parents I woke him up and they’ll be upset about missing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to sleep in, even if it’s only an extra fifteen minutes.

After my shower, I go back to my room and gather my stuff for school, then head downstairs. It feels so strange to be the only one up. I go to the kitchen and put an English muffin in the toaster, then pour myself some orange juice. By the time my muffin is ready, I check the clock again. It’s almost seven. I can’t believe I’m still the only one awake. There is definitely going to be a fight for the shower.

I put my dishes in the dishwasher and go back upstairs. The bathroom is still open, so I go in and brush my teeth. When I turn the water off, I hear the distinct sound of an angry Sara.

“Hey! Why didn’t anyone wake me up!”

I step into the hallway. She’s standing in the door to her bedroom.

“Charlie decided to sleep in,” I say.

“And you didn’t think to get me up? If you want a ride, you have to help out!”

“Sorry! I didn’t —”

Holden opens his own door. “Don’t even think about going in next,” he says.

They both dash for the bathroom, but Holden gets in first.

“MOM!” Sara runs down the hall and slams her fist on my parents’ door.

My mom finally opens it, hugging her bathrobe to her chest. “Where’s Charlie?” she asks.

“He’s still asleep. Fern got up but didn’t bother to wake anyone else, and now we’re all going to be late.”

My mom sighs. “I think we’ll all survive.”

Wow. She didn’t blame me for something. She pads down the hall to Charlie’s room in her bare feet and peeks in. “It’s a miracle he’s sleeping through all this,” she says, coming back out to the hall.

“I’m not going to be able to drive them to school,” Sara says.

“Why not?”

“I haven’t showered!”

“But you’ve taken us before without showering.”

“Well, not today.”

“Just relax,” my mom says. “I can manage. Though why they can’t take the bus I still don’t understand.”

Sara shoots me a look.

I follow my mom back downstairs. She gets the coffee going and starts cutting up some orange slices for Charlie’s breakfast. They look good. Soon my dad comes bounding down the stairs in a T-shirt and enormous sweatpants with a gym bag. He kisses my mom on the cheek and says he’ll shower at the gym. The gym is a new experience for my dad. He discovered it’s a great place to give his sales pitch to local businessmen. Holden joked that seeing my dad naked in the sauna was sure to be a business turnoff, but no one but me saw the humor.

“Guess we better wake Charlie if I’m going to take you to school,” my mom says, downing the rest of her coffee. I put my books in my backpack and sit in the living room to wait. I hear the water in the bathroom shut off and start again, meaning Holden is out and Sara is in.

And then I hear the strangest sound I’ve ever heard. It sounds like no and help at the same time. It sounds like an animal trying to speak human. It sounds like it is dying.

I stand up.

“Mom?”

I hear it again.

It’s her.

I run up the stairs.

“Mom?”

Holden is in the hallway, his hair still wet.

“What was that noise?” he asks.

I run past him and stop at the door to Charlie’s room.

My mom is on Charlie’s bed, rocking him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. But already I can feel something. Something squeezing my heart into a stone. Charlie doesn’t look right. He’s gray and still. His brown curls hang dully over my mom’s arm. Her face is buried in his hair. She’s saying something, but I can’t make out the words.

“Oh, my God,” Holden says behind me. “I’m calling 911.” He runs back down the hall.

I don’t move. I just stare at my mom holding Charlie. Rocking him and making that strange, awful noise.

The water in the shower stops. Holden’s voice is back in the hallway. “Sara, get out here! Something’s wrong with Charlie!”

He pushes past me and runs to my mom and Charlie, but stops when he touches him and pulls his hand away.

“Oh, my God,” he says. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

My mom is sobbing into Charlie’s head.

My heart is twisting, twisting, twisting inside my chest and up into my throat. I can’t move. I can’t move.

Sara comes up behind me wrapped in a towel.

“What’s going on?”

Holden stands up and staggers as if he’s lost his balance. I hold on to the door frame to keep myself from falling. Sara rushes to my mom and Charlie and has the same reaction as Holden. She collapses at my mom’s feet and puts her arms around Charlie and my mom, as if she is holding them together.

“He’s so cold,” she sobs.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Holden keeps saying.

“Mom!” Sara yells.

But my mom doesn’t respond. She just cries harder into Charlie’s quiet face.

“Call 911!” Sara yells at me. “Don’t just stand there!”

“I already called,” Holden says quietly, just as we begin to hear sirens in the distance.

Sara looks back at my mom and Charlie.

She touches him again, sobbing. “No! No!’

I know what it means.

Holden moves past us and goes down the stairs. We hear his panicked voice shouting to someone outside. Then the thud of heavy feet coming through the house and up the stairs. Someone pulls me back out of the doorway. I lean against the wall in the hall, and I realize I still have my backpack on. I slip it off and slide to the floor. I can’t feel anything but my twisted-up heart, squeezing, squeezing. Everything around me is loud and pounding. My mom is sobbing. Then screaming. Then sobbing. Soothing voices from the EMTs. Questions. I hug my knees to my chest.

Charlie. Oh, Charlie. Please be OK.

But the more time goes by, the quieter the voices get. And I know. I know he’s gone. As my mother’s cries turn to whimpers, I can’t stand it anymore.

I get up.

And I run.