She hasn’t shut the door. It stays open wide, so Morgan and I step onto the white marble floor of her hallway. My eyes follow an oak staircase that winds up from the middle of it, past the chandelier and high hallway ceiling.

A slim girl in heels and jeans clatters down those stairs. She has bright blue eyes and smeared black mascara. A gold locket hangs from her neck.

“You were in an accident and drove away?” her mother calls.

“No!” She hesitates a moment. “I did hear a clunk under the car over on Broadway. Thought I’d hit a pothole.”

“You never stopped to check,” I say.

“I never saw anybody.”

“You were going so fast, how could you?” Morgan says.

“We have your licence number.”

“Did someone get hurt?” the friendly woman asks us.

“My dog.” My mouth buckles. “He may have a broken pelvic bone.”

“We want you to come to the animal hospital and sign for the bills,” Morgan tells her, for once no smirk on her face.

I grab my chin with my hand so my mouth won’t drop open in shock. I have to keep a poker face, too. We need them to do this. Diesel’s life depends on it. I watch the mother, whose face looks pale but hard.

“I didn’t know, Mom, honest! I thought I hit a pothole. I had a couple of drinks in Hess Village so I didn’t stop.”

Her mother shakes her head. “You’d risk not checking just to avoid a breath check?”

No answer. Then a shrug, some tears, and more mascara streaks down her cheek. “I’m sorry about your dog,” Summer tells us.

“Could you maybe just drive a little slower from now on?” I ask.

“It’s reckless driving is what it is,” Morgan adds. “You could have hit Naomi. She was chasing Diesel.”

It’s true. She could have hit me; Diesel and I could have both been hurt. Or died. Like the last time through only a little different.

The mom continues to stare at Summer. “Of course we’ll come to the animal hospital with you. Summer will sign and pay for all your dog’s vet bills. It’s only right.”

23

Tuesday, June 29:

The Vet Bill

Both Summer and her mother seem to be animal lovers, so I actually believe she didn’t know she’d hit Diesel. She’s really sorry, too, and cries all the way over to the animal hospital.

But how bad a driver does that make her — not even noticing a dog’s body rolling away in her rear-view mirror? And that Smart Car killed him last time, too, so I feel as though she’s made the same mistake twice.

After Summer has given the animal hospital her credit card number, her mom drives us back to Morgan’s house. The clock on her car dashboard shows eleven thirty, and the house seems quiet and dark except for the porch light. She walks us to the door, all the while looking around. For what? Signs of an adult, I bet — she doesn’t seem comfortable just dropping us off. But I know I don’t want to ring the bell, don’t want to risk waking Morgan’s mom, risk her getting my mother up, too.