Austin managed to loosen his grip on her. “I ain’t mad,” she said, grinning at him. “You can be my fire partner anytime, Texas.”

“Nobody got hurt,” said Isaiah, touching faces and bare arms, reassuring himself that he was right, that no one was hurt.

Lindsay and Grace were standing away from the rest of them, clinging to each other. Isaiah didn’t touch them.

“So,” said Macey, trying to sound cool, “we may have to add another coat of paint down there.” It didn’t come out cool; it came out trembly.

“My grandma says living here is like war,” said Venita. “You watch TV news? I love TV news. They show wars all over the world. They should just set cameras on this corner. Snipers, drive-bys, gang shootings. You got drug ODs and crack crazies, and you got kids their moms never home and they burn theirselves in spaghetti water.” She grinned at Macey. “But not me. Not my family. And not the kids in this day care. And now I been in a fire, and I won. They can’t burn me.” Venita was laughing. She put her hand on Macey’s shoulder. “Now you, on the other hand, you burned. Thought you were a goner.”

“Me?” Macey realized they were staring at her—Lindsay and Grace and Austin, the firemen, a gathering crowd—and Venita said gently, “You know a hairdresser you can hit tonight, Mace? ’Cause you look funny with an Afro.”

Macey touched her head.

Her hair, her wonderful, precious hair she was so proud of, its color and highlights, its sheen and body, all the things they told you shampoo was supposed to give you, but Macey just had—there was nothing left. Two or three inches of shag stank and broke off when she pressed her palm against it. She had no hair.

Macey was afraid she was going to start crying. It was only hair, she couldn’t cry, she could not make a scene, it was hair.

“I put out your fire,” said Austin.

Venita said, “Naw, you ain’t put out her fire, Texas. She still got sparks for you.”

“Stop it, Venita. Don’t listen to her, Aus. She’s making that up.”

Austin said, “Well, anyway, it was my T-shirt I used to smother the flames that were burning you.”

“Thank you,” she said. So that was why he was bare-chested and she was holding a T-shirt to her chest like a teddy bear.

Reverend Warren, the adult painters, the baking crew from the kitchen and finally Graff came running around the church.

What took them so long? Macey wondered.