At some point, it morphs into a school dream—those are the worst! But suddenly there’s an alarm going off in class. Ms. Avery shouts at everyone to stay in their seats. “It’s just a fire drill,” she yells. Only I’m not S. Hawkins anymore. I’m just me. And Macy is standing next to me saying, “You need to wake up! Now!”

My eyes flutter open. I’m not at school; I’m in my room. There is an alarm blaring, but instead of Macy, it is Noah standing over me, shaking my shoulders.

“Get up!”

“Just a fire drill,” I mumble.

“This is not a fire drill!” he yells, pulling on my arm. “We have to get downstairs now!”

As my feet hit the floor, I’m fully awake, and the alarm is real. Loud. It’s so piercing I have to cover my ears.

“Come on, come on!” Noah shouts over the noise, grabbing on to my hand and holding it tightly.

In the hallway, Moms stumble out of their room and yell, “Are you okay? You got your sister?” Mom leads the way down the stairs, and Mama follows close behind us.

The kitchen is filled with smoke. Mom throws open the back door and ushers us outside, yelling, “Be careful, but hurry!”

It’s all happening so fast I don’t even realize that she’s gone back inside at first, until Mama yells, “You two stay here!” She pulls the neckline of her shirt up over her mouth and nose and follows Mom.

Noah is still holding on to my hand—I squeeze it. “Noah?” I cry.

“It’s okay,” he says. “They’re just getting Gramps.”

After what feels like way too long for my moms to be inside of a smoke-filled house, Mom and Mama emerge with Gramps, each of them holding one of his arms to help him down the porch steps.

“Gramps, are you okay?” I shout, running toward him.

He looks around like he’s not sure how he got outside. Mom has gone back in again and is opening windows, letting the smoke come billowing out.

“Mama!” I shriek. “Make Mom come back outside with us!”

“It’s all right.” She pulls me into a hug. “Somebody left the stove on. But there’s no fire, just a lot of smoke. Mom’s getting the air to circulate so the alarm will stop.”

“Who left the stove on?”

But as soon as the question is out of my mouth, I know the answer. I look up at Mama, and Noah, who is now standing next to us, and they are both staring at Gramps.

The alarm stops. But the silence it leaves behind feels even louder.

We stand there, not speaking, barely breathing.