I kept waiting for something to happen. I wanted to text her, to make sure she was okay, but just as I was about to, I was seized with the fear that maybe her phone wasn’t on silent. That maybe a call or text would give her away.

Time seemed to stand still, everything frozen—the houses, the street, me in the car. It was taking her what felt like forever to set up the fireworks, and then I realized I didn’t even know which house she was at. I didn’t know if at that very moment she was climbing a tree to string up firecrackers outside her father’s bedroom window. Didn’t know if she’d been detected, didn’t know if she ran into some kind of problem with the fireworks, didn’t know if she was okay at all.

Panicking, I finally texted her.

Me: Where are you?

Another five minutes crawled by.

Me: Elise, seriously, where are you

No answer. It was almost three in the morning. The night was still and quiet as a graveyard. I couldn’t wait for her anymore—I had to know she was okay. I got out to head in the direction I saw her disappear, and as soon as I closed the door, the first of the fireworks shot up into the sky, bursting. The next one shot up, a sharp whistle against the eerie calm. I leaned against the car door to appreciate the show. Then the firecrackers went off, a storm of angry blasts.

I heard the explosion before I saw the flash of light. Several more followed, like a series of bombs detonating.

I watched as the roof six houses down burst into flames.

55.

Light from the houses began to hit the street as the cacophony of fireworks and firecrackers shook the air. The fire on the roof roared to life as another explosion hit the house with the distinct sound of glass shattering. I was too frozen staring at it to notice Elise until she was five feet in front of me. Without a word, she grabbed the keys from my hand and hopped in, starting the car. I followed quickly and twisted around, staring at the fire as we raced away with the headlights off until we were down the street.

“What happened?” I asked, confused and scared. Elise’s face was coated in a sheen of sweat, her hair wild and eyes panicked. “Was that—should we—”

“We need to get out of here.” With great effort and shaky hands, Elise slowed down through the neighborhood, careful not to attract attention. We pulled over by the entrance of the neighborhood and Elise got out, turning back to see the glow of the fire and plume of smoke rising a few streets over.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, so scared I couldn’t think. “What happened? What happened?”

“One of the fireworks hit the roof,” she said, her expression unreadable.

“Is your dad . . . ?” I trailed off, unable to complete the thought.