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“Is it a story?”
    “Yes, sweetie, Mommy’s writing a story.”
    “I love stories. Can I read it?”
    Her mom smiled, resting the pen and notebook at her side, then grabbed a towel and started drying Hannah’s head. “You’re still soaking wet, honey. When are you going to learn how to dry yourself off?”
    “The sun dries me, Mommy. It feels good. So, can I read your story now?”
    “Someday,” she said, “but you’re too young to read what I’m writing now.”
    “Are you writing bad stuff?”
    “No, sweetie, nothing bad. Just…not the kind of things you should be reading at your age.”
    Her head finally dry to her mom’s apparent satisfaction, Hannah stood and said, “I’m thirsty.”
    “The water fountain’s right over there. Go get a drink.”
    Disgusting, Hannah thought. She never drank from the fountains at school and doing it here seemed worse. She thought about all the snot-nosed brats, their faces pressed to the nozzle. And, even though something cool to drink would help her headache, she would rather take her chances with dehydration than germs.
    “Can I please have a Coke?”
    Her mom had already returned to her notebook. Without looking up, she said, “Didn’t bring any money, Han. Besides, you shouldn’t be drinking all that sugar right now. Go use the water fountain. That’s what it’s there for.”
    Hannah pressed her palms into her sides and sighed. “I thought Daddy said we didn’t need to worry about money anymore.”
    Her mom dropped the notebook on her stomach and glowered, her eyes narrowing to pinpricks of anger. “Let’s get something straight, your precious daddy’s a piece of shit. Do you understand that?”
    Hannah felt tears pricking her eyes, but she fought them back as she swallowed the dry lump in her throat. Again, she didn’t fully comprehend what her mom was saying; only that she was in pain.
    Her mom heaved a sigh of disapproval and went back to writing, her pen flying faster, more desperately than ever, and Hannah meandered in the general direction of the dreaded water fountain.
    It angered her mom when she talked about Dad; that much was clear. She promised herself she wouldn’t do it again. She didn’t want to make trouble.
    Approaching the fountain, Hannah looked up. The same boy who’d collided with her earlier pressed his face into the spigot and sucked greedily.
    She hated him. Hated all kids. The way they piled into the back of their family SUVs and minivans. Their stupid, carefree expressions. Did these children wake to the sounds of their parents shouting at each other? She doubted it. She also doubted they ever worried about money or wore clothes from garage sales or slept on sheets that hadn’t been washed for weeks. Why were these brats all so defiant when they clearly had it so good? Spoiled rotten. All of them.
    She stopped and glared at the boy, and that’s when it happened.
    Her attention, as if directed by a force beyond her control, became the water fountain. The YMCA pool area vanished, replaced by deep black nothingness. In this dark place, only she and the fountain remained, and she could see inside it. In that moment, terrified and hopeless, she lost control of her emotions and fell to her knees, aware of the unforgiving concrete upon impact, even though she couldn’t see it. She sobbed. But even in her anguish, she couldn’t look away from the rusty pipes that normally hid beneath the fountain’s gray shell.
    Hot, she thought. Burn! Burn burn burn burn…
    Pipes rattled and she heard a high-pitched whine. Bowing her head, now able to look away, she squeezed her eyes shut. She felt her mom’s hand on her back a moment after she heard the boy scream. She looked up and saw others rushing to the child’s aid. His face had turned a horrible red, his lips blistered and bleeding. He wailed in evident agony.
    “Oh my God,” her mom said. “What happened?” She helped Hannah up, but her attention remained on the boy. The pool had