When I turned onto her block, smoke was the first thing I saw.
“The hell?” I rubbed my eyes, thinking they were playing tricks on me, but as I got closer to her house, the flames flying up the side of her house came into view. My chest locked.
“Noa!” I hit the brakes hard, threw the car in park, and jumped out. This couldn’t be happening right now. I grabbed my phone and dialed Noa’s number. Maybe she wasn’t in there; maybe she’d gone out with Teagan or something. It rang once, twice, then three times before going to voicemail. I hung up and tried again, already running toward her house. There was still no answer.
“Pick up, Noa,” I muttered, jamming my key into the lock and opening the door. Heat poured out the second the door cracked open. Thick smoke filled the air, burning my throat.
“Noa!” I yelled her name, but she didn’t answer. Covering my mouth with my sleeve, I ran through the haze. The kitchen was the worst. Flames were crawling up the cabinets and popping from the stove area. My heart sank at the possibility that the house might explode.
“Shit.” I pushed my face further into my sleeve and moved fast down the hall. The sound of wood groaning filled the air, just as something snapped above me. I looked up just in time to see aburning piece of drywall fall from the ceiling, crashing at my feet and spreading fire across the floor.
“Noa!” I yelled again, louder this time. Still, no response. I pushed forward, reaching for her door. I wasted no time kicking it open. The bang echoed through the smoke.
“Noa, baby!” I ran to her. She was curled up in her bed under the blanket. She was asleep. Her pill bottle sat open on the nightstand next to her. I yanked the comforter off the bed, wrapped her in it, and lifted her. She coughed once against my chest as her eyes fluttered open.
“Hey, hey, I got you,” I said as I searched the room for a way out without getting burned. The flames in the hallway had already spread up the wall, blocking the path.
“Quade? What—” She stared up at me, confused.
“The house is on fire, baby. I gotta get you out of here.”
She lifted her head a little, and her body stiffened as she noticed the flames.
“Oh my God! My house?—”
“I know. Hold on.”
I looked toward her window. That was going to be our safest way out. It wasn’t a big drop to the ground, maybe six feet, but I couldn’t climb out while holding her.
“Shit,” I muttered, setting her down on the bed for half a second to yank the window open. The frame was hot, and the paint bubbled under my fingers, but I had to get it open. I shoved it up with all my strength until it flew open. I glanced around for help. A small crowd had gathered outside. Red lights flashed, and sirens rang out as the fire trucks pulled up. I leaned halfway out the window.
“Aye! I need help over here!” I yelled. A flashlight shined as two firefighters came running across the grass.
“You got someone with you?” one firefighter shouted.
“Yes, she’s right here! She can’t walk! She’s sick. She’s got lupus! She uses a wheelchair. I can hop out, but I’m not leaving her.”
“All right, stay put! We’re going to get y’all out!” Two more men ran toward the window, one dragging a short ladder, another pulling a hose.
“The fire department is here, baby.” I glanced over at Noa, coughing hard, my eyes burning from the smoke.
“Send her down first, and you can climb out,” the firefighter instructed, and I turned around and grabbed her.
“Hang on, Noa,” I said, wrapping the blanket tighter around her as she coughed into my chest.
“Quade…” She was dazed. “You can’t?—”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Hand her down slow!” the firefighters shouted up, and I nodded as I lowered her toward the opening. “Everything is going to be okay.”
The firefighters reached up and took her from my hands.
“Quade…” She gasped, clenching my shirt, like she didn’t want to let go. I had to pry them loose. “It’s okay.”
They eased her down onto the grass where the paramedics were waiting to receive her. I stared at her, a sense of relief washing over me. Even coughing, her eyes never left me.
“It’s okay!” I yelled, voice hoarse.
