I looked out the window and it was Carlene. She was screaming that Chip’s monster truck was in flames! FLAMES!

I didn’t know what to do but then I knew exactly what to do and I ran out the door in my nightgown, grabbed the neighborhood hose, and while Carlene and her stepmom and Lala and Bonnie and all of them were standing there bawling, and Chip, who was the most devastated of all of course, was rolling around in the dirt in a ball, wailing, “My baby! My baby,” while all that, I started spraying the fire.

I even went right up to the heated truck that was crumbling before our very eyes, and sprayed and sprayed and sprayed and when most of the flames were out, Carlene was still crying: PEBBLES! PEBBLES! Which is the name of her cat, which I am allergic to, and she said, “He’s in the cab! The cab!” and even though my body told me no, my heart told me yes.

People were all out of their trailers now.

Bob.

Grant.

Melody.

Mrs. Sydney Gunnerson.

Delilah.

Wanda and Jerry.

Baby George and his family.

Sadie and Jane.

Paul.

The black mamba owner.

The drug dealers.

Everyone was out, some cheering, some crying, others taking pictures.

So anyway, against the will of my body and even though I knew I might die, I climbed the wreckage and found the poor cat, huddled under the seat, meowing and meowing and for a brief second he said, “Olivia. I knew you’d come.”

And I said, “I love you, Pebbles. I would never let you down.”

And then I picked him up and ran him out to safety.

And that’s when I saw something out my window.

It wasn’t a monster truck on fire.

Instead it was Bart or Harrison or whatever his name was sitting on the trampoline.

He had a Mohawk.