Next to the phone on the kitchen wall was a sticker of an ambulance with a number printed beneath it. I dialed that number and gave the woman who answered our address. I shouted at her to hurry like Jubalee had shouted at me.
Not knowing what else to do, I sat on the arm of Jubalee’s chair watching out the window for the ambulance. The street was filling up with all the neighbors who’d also heard the noise. Unable to wait any longer to find out what was happening, I eased back outside. It was almost completely dark when I stepped out into the street, pushing through the bodies that blocked my way, looking for Jubalee. A long, four-door, black car was parked sideways in the middle of the street. Frightened, I backed away from it.
The hushed whispering of the grown-ups, like bees hidden in a bush, was the only sound in the humid night, so when the small sports car turned the corner, its radio blasting out "Hot child in the city, running wild and looking pretty…" we all twisted our necks around, staring at the intrusion. The car slowed down, coming to a complete stop with its bright lights clearly shining on the twisted, crushed remains of a child’s bike, red and white ribbons still tied to the handle bars.
Daniella jumped out of her car and pushed her way through the crowd. Once she started screaming she didn't stop.
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