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hanging together. But it wasn’t long before Mom announced she had to go to work.
    “But it’s after two o’clock,” Sophie pointed out.
    “I know, but I promised Dolores I’d come in for the three-to-nine shift for the rest of the week in exchange for the time I took off for Bart. It’s still the back-to-school season, and Dolores told me they’ve been crazy busy.” Sophie’s mom had been working part-time at Staples for several years now, but she usually didn’t work later than seven at night.
    So once again, Sophie had the whole house to herself. But instead of enjoying the freedom of cranking up her music or making a mess in the kitchen (which she almost always cleaned up afterward) or watching whatever she wanted on Dad’s big-screen TV, Sophie just sat in the kitchen and felt lonely. Then she headed for her room. As she trudged up the stairs, she couldn’t remember when she’d felt so tired. Or was she just bored? Maybe she was depressed. She just wanted to go to sleep, to escape . . . everything.

5
    When Sophie woke up, it was to the sound of an alarm ringing loudly and the smell of acrid smoke. Heart racing and certain that the house was on fire, she leaped from her bed and dashed downstairs.
    Smoke was billowing from the kitchen, and on closer investigation, she realized it was simply from the remains of a Hungry Man dinner that appeared to have been torched in the oven. And the cause of the noise was the fire alarm in the laundry room. It had probably already gone off once and then must’ve detected smoke again for a second. At least the oven was turned off now, but the cook—her dad—was nowhere in sight. She opened windows and turned on the fan and wondered why on earth her dad had decided to heat his dinner in the oven rather than the usual microwave. And, furthermore, why he had taken off without even warning his daughter that she might be about to die from asphyxiation.
    Her guess was that he was in a grumpy mood tonight. That he’d come home expecting his wife to be here but she was gone. Not only that, but his teenage daughter was sleeping— lazy girl! And so he’d turned on the oven, shoved in the frozen dinner, and zoned out in front of some sports show, only to be awakened by a fire alarm and smoke. Then he’d probably gotten really mad, used some choice words, jumped into his big diesel Ford pickup, and beat cheeks over to Hank’s Diner, where he would order something dripping in fat and complain to the waitress that no one understood him. Or something like that.
    Sophie gingerly removed the offensive burnt offering from the oven, carried it out to the metal trash can outside, and dumped it.
    “Everything okay in there?” called out Mrs. Poindexter from next door.
    Sophie gave the old woman a smile. “I think my dad decided to cremate his dinner tonight.”
    Mrs. Poindexter made her way slowly across her driveway toward Sophie. “Well, I smelled smoke and heard that ringing noise, and I was about to call the fire department.”
    “Thanks, but it’s under control now. Sorry about the noise.”
    She nodded, then looked concerned. “Goodness gracious, Sophie girl, what in the world has happened to your face?”
    Once again Sophie explained about falling at the lake.
    “Oh my, you know what the Good Book says, don’t you?” “What’s that?”
    “Pride comes before a fall.”
    Sophie considered this. “So, do you think that’s what made me fall?”
    “Were you feeling mighty proud of yourself about something?”
    Sophie shook her head. “Not even close.”
    The old woman smiled. “Then I’m sure it wasn’t related.”
    Sophie sighed.
    “How old are you now, Sophie girl?”
    “Seventeen. But I’ll be eighteen in February.”
    “You’re nearly grown then.” She shook her head. “You kids grew up so fast. Seems like yesterday you and your brother were playing in the sprinklers, dressing up for trick or treat. And now you’re a grown woman.”
    Sophie laughed.