If you knew where to look, you could see the hatlike shape of the meteorite up on the hill. Everyone is talking or pointing or shouting, but all I hear is the unstoppable movement of water coming from the place I saw the big rock land. I need to see it up close and put my hand in it, and I walk past the grown-ups to the edge of the water.

I kneel down and dip the tips of my fingers into the water and swish them around like I do in the bathtub. I put my fingers in my mouth. The water tastes like the big rock. Everything becomes quiet when my fingers are in the water, but when I take them out, the voices start up again behind me.

Mom walks down the road toward the crowd, and Dad and Nana come down the hill from Bower One. Dad carries Birdie in his arms.

All around me, the crowd talks.

“We should call someone.”

“Who? The game warden?”

“Yes, it could be beavers. Maybe they flooded a stream uphill. They can do some real damage.”

“Beavers the size of COWS.” Braggy’s voice is louder than everyone else’s. “You can look for them from the roof of my house. It’s the tallest house on the hill.”

“Call the fire department,” Mrs. Stockford suggests.

“The state police. They need to be informed.”

“Yes, and maybe the department of transportation.”

“How about the town manager?”

“Hahaha.” Braggy snickers. “Call the coast guard. Call the US Navy. Call a lifeguard.”

“That’s enough, Braggy.” My uncle Lincoln stands next to his younger brother. “These people have reason for concern. And so do we.”

All of a sudden, Mom is there with me at the water. She lays her hands on top of my head. She takes a piece of my damp hair and moves it between her fingers, like she’s trying to figure something out. I stand still, at the edge of the water. When I look away from the water up Bower Hill, I see the last curve of the sun lighting up the earth. It’s only five-thirty but the sun goes down early in February. As it gets darker, I can’t see the colors in the water anymore, but I hear it rushing past at my feet.

By the time it’s completely dark, the state police have set up floodlights and blocked off the road in both directions. Two police cars are parked at the bottom of our driveway. It’s never been this bright outside at night since the fireball flashed across the field.

Birdie falls asleep in Dad’s arms, and he lays her down on her mattress in his and Mom’s room.

I pour myself a glass of water and drink it down. Then I pour another glass and set it on my nightstand. The blue lights on the police cars make strange, shifting patterns across my bedroom walls.