Alex keeps watching people walk by. She rarely looks you in the eye. Nah. No one special, not since Lydia boogied on down the road. Guess he has f.u.c.k buddies, though. Why?

"I dunno. It just came to me that maybe he and my mom should hook up or something."

She doesn't miss a beat.

You kidding? You don't like your mom or what?

I laugh. "Not much, actually.

But she's easier to deal with when she's got a man in her life."

Really? Seems to me life is a lot easier without getting attached to someone. Too complicated.

"G.o.d, do you know my mom?

But she thinks having a guy around makes her important."

Alex snorts. How old is she, anyway? Sounds like she still plays with Barbies.

"I doubt she ever played with Barbies. Just a s.h.i.tload of Kens." And Sams. And Bills.

But, as much as I think Alex is pretty okay, I'm not about to share too much information about Iris and how she brings in cash. Besides, maybe Iris would stop tricking for the right guy.

Maybe if the right guy came along, we could live a nice, normal life. However that's defined.

I Guess Nothing Says Moms have to be good people, though. I mean, look at Britney Spears. She might not be a complete wh.o.r.e, but she's not exactly a shining example of motherhood. And, just down the block, a woman in baggy sweats yanks her little girl along, yelling, Hurry the h.e.l.l up, would you? The kid's bawling.

And then there's Alex's mom. Busted for robbing a liquor store with a gun.

All for another fix. A few hours of finding a way to forget everything. Alex included.

I hope I'm never a mom. But if I am, I'll make d.a.m.n sure my kids look up to me.

Speaking of Kids I really ought to get home.

Gram has a hair appointment this afternoon, so unless Iris suddenly figured out motherhood, Mary Ann is the only one there to take care of the little kids until I get home. "Better go," I tell Alex.

"Time to play mom. How 'bout a smoke for the road?"

She grimaces. At least my winner mother had the sense to get fixed.

You're gonna pay me back, right?

Pay her ... oh, for the cigs.

"Yeah, sure. I can 'borrow'

some from Iri-uh, my mom."

Not sure why I don't want Alex to know I call her Iris.

Yeah, it makes her seem like less of a mom, but Alex knows she's not much of a mom anyway.

Anyone with eyes could guess it.

I Walk Up the Street Slowly, sucking nicotine into my lungs. Tastes like c.r.a.p, and I know if I don't stop it will kill me. But it satisfies some deep call. And what the h.e.l.l?

I don't want to live too d.a.m.n long.

Suddenly an ambulance screams by. Fear punches my gut. Without a doubt, I know exactly where it's headed. I throw the lit Kool into the gutter, start to run, choking on yellowish smoke.

I round the corner and sure as day, the square red truck is in front of Gram's, warning lights spinning.

Beside it, a police cruiser blocks most of the street, and another is parked farther up the road, routing traffic away. s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t! I run faster, barely able to breathe.

Fricking cigarettes! I skid to a stop, try to take in what I see. Two paramedics kneel next to Sandy.

His little body lies in the street, unmoving. "Is he okay?" I scream, trying to push closer, only to be stopped by a young police officer.

Give them some room. The little boy is breathing. That's all we know. Are you the mother?

"No. I'm his sister. But I-I-"

What else is there to say right now? "Wha-what happened?"

Hit and run. His radio scratches some unintelligible information.

Hang on. I've got to take this call.

Your, uh, sister over there saw the whole thing. Why don't you talk to her? But stay right here.

Like I would go somewhere?

d.a.m.n me. Why wasn't I here?

Must be what he's thinking too.

Mary Ann Stands Sobbing On the sidewalk, eyes wide with fear. "What happened?"

I struggle to keep my voice gentle.

He-I-Sandy was kicking a ball on the lawn. Pepper and Honey started to fight, and ...

when I tried to stop them, I guess the ball rolled into the street and Sandy ran after it and ...

I guess a motorcycle came down the street and ran over him and just kept going and ... and ... I was right there and I didn't mean- Oh my G.o.d, I'm so sorry. ...Oh my G.o.d, I'm so sorry... .

I grab her shoulders, shake hard.

"Stop it. It's not your fault. Go take care of the kids. They're scared."

They all stand huddled together on the doorstep. Mary Ann goes over to them as another ambulance arrives. Two ambulances for one person? Talk about overki- Don't dare finish the thought.

Two new paramedics open the back doors of their ambulance, remove a gurney and a backboard.

Together, the four prepare Sandy for a ride to the hospital. I can't do anything but watch them lift his still motionless form, tubes running into his arm and an oxygen mask over his face, onto the wheeled stretcher. As they load him into the waiting ambulance, Officer Lemoore comes over to me.

Your brother has internal injuries.

They'll need someone to give permission for treatment. Where are your parents? Can you call them and tell them to come to Emergency right away?

I Tug My Eyes Away from the ambulance, finally really look at the policeman in front of me.

He must be straight out of the academy, not too many years older than me. He's good-looking, in a straight sort of way, with topaz gold eyes.

Eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g sympathy.

"I-I'll try to get hold of my mom. But it will probably be my grandmother. Is that okay?"

He hesitates. The information sinks in. Your mother would be best. She has custody, right?

I nod. "But she's not always, uh ..." How can I say this?

"Easy to track down."

I see. Well, do the best you can.

If we need to, we can get a court order, but that takes time. And ...

He shakes his head, and his meaning is very clear: There might not be a whole lot of time.

Guilt churns. I want to heave.

"Can't I go in the ambulance?

If he wakes up, he'll be scared."

He won't wake up. He's sedated.

Besides, you need to find your mom. And someone needs to take care of your brother and sisters.

He gestures toward the crew.

You're the oldest. It's up to you.

I Am the Oldest It was up to me to make sure something like this never happened. But no, I needed to hang out downtown, smoking with Alex. If Sandy doesn't pull through, I'll make sure a hit and run happens. To me. The cop follows me to the front door.

I need to ask you a few questions, he says to Mary Ann, moving her off to one side. Tell me again what happened. Can you describe...

I push the other kids inside.

"I need to get hold of Gram.

Go watch TV. And don't fight."

I try to call Iris first. Her cell goes straight to voice mail. Big surprise. Gram left the beauty parlor number next to the phone. No surprise there, either. She's good about communication.

Hands Shaking I dial the number, ask to speak to Vivian Belcher. "Gram?"

I force my voice calm, hope she'll respond in the same way.

"You have to go to Emergency right away. There was an accident. ..."

I don't tell her everything. Don't have to. Enough for her to know Sandy's life hangs by a sliver.

I poke my head into the living room. Porter lies on the sofa, absorbed in Hannah Montana.

Pepper and Honey sit on the floor, holding each other in silent acceptance of one another, and maybe of the small part they, too, played in the afternoon's drama. I go to tell Officer Lemoore that I got hold of Gram. He's finished with Mary Ann, whose face is white as smoke. "Let's go inside," I say.

A Poem by Cody Bennett Smoke You stand in front of me, pretending to be solid, but you are nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

You said you'd never leave, that you would care for us forever.

But now you claim you cannot stay, that you've been called away. When you go, who will I turn to when it all crashes down?

Tell me who. Then tell me how I can believe in anyone again, if all your promises have been lies.

Cody

Nothing's Static

If I've learned anything at all in sixteen years, it's that things change. What you feel bad about one day can turn around like that. Same goes for the things you care about.

Three weeks ago, I kind of liked spending time at home, goofing off online or picking at my guitar, or just watching TV. But now everything feels strained at the Bennett house. Not really like home at all. Everyone is strung tight. On edge.

Concerned about the future.

Something to do with Jack's digestive system. Whatever it is, neither he nor Mom wants to talk about it. Silence, thick with apprehension, hangs over the place like a shroud.

No more dinner table banter.