“Thank you.” The mother wept, her pale face inches from mine, her tears falling on my face. “Thank you so much.”

I gasped again and said, “No problem.” But it was a problem, as my poor legs would probably ache for days. I would eat more chocolate to compensate. Maggie’s mother pulled Maggie up and was cradling her in her arms, rocking and sobbing.

My friend Gracie, her blonde hair piled up in a ball, sat down next to me in the street, her legs crossed as if she were sitting on my bed and chatting like when we were teenagers. “You had one of your premonitions again, didn’t you, Evie?”

I shook my head, sucking air in. “No. I don’t have premonitions.”

“She did,” Koo Jones said, also kneeling beside me. She squeezed my hand. “She started running and dropped her cat before the truck was even in view. We saw it. The cat’s not happy, Evie—that one is a hisser—but are you okay?”

I nodded. “No premonition. I saw the truck coming.”

Darrell shook his head as he and Gracie and Koo helped me up. Wow. Even my butt hurt from that run. I put my hands on my butt and rubbed. Ouch! Gracie handed me my missing flip-flop as Koo yanked my dress down so the whole town wouldn’t see my pink underwear that says “Cats Rule” on the back.

“You couldn’t have seen the truck. It was up and around the bend,” Darrell said. He’s an organic farmer. Sells his crops to our local grocery store and to the other islands. “I feel for you. Those premonitions must be awful. You see something and you have to go save someone. You’re a right kind person, Evie. Always helping others.”

Gracie ran her hands over my black hair and flicked out small rocks from the pavement. “There. You’re good to go. No more rocks in your waves. Hey! Rocks in your waves. That sounded pretty cool. Maybe I should be a songwriter.”

“Thanks, Gracie.” I had hoped to see Marco today, a tiny sighting, and I would not want rocks in my waves.

The driver ran over, puffing and pale. “Man, I am so sorry. You okay, lady? Is the kid okay?”

“We didn’t die,” I snapped, my anger rising like a mini volcano. “My legs are still attached.”

“The brakes wouldn’t work. I kept pumpin’ ’em, pumpin’ ’em.”

“You were going way too fast,” I said. “What is this, a racetrack? Who are you, Evel Knievel?”

He looked embarrassed. Ashamed.

“Don’t go fast again. Ever.” I was pretty dang ticked. “You almost killed that girl.”

He hung his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m really sorry.”

The girl was now jumping and bopping about on the sidewalk, twirling here and there, everything happy! Her mother was leaning against a light post, bent in half, looking like she might lose her cookies, her eyes never leaving the bopping daughter.

“Lucky she had a premonition it was going to happen!” Mr. Jamon croaked out. “She’s been having them since she was a wee little girl.”