Prince Tennyson by Jenni James

please—if you’re real, help me.”
    I needed a miracle. Right then, I needed a miracle.
    I took a deep breath through the washcloth and then held it, as I grabbed on the towel with both hands and the washcloth and pulled and tugged with all my might. My eyes stung from the tears and the smoke, but I didn’t care anymore. I pulled and pulled and pulled. Grandma moved a few more inches. But that was it. Just inches.
    I clutched the washcloth to my mouth and nose again and breathed. Then I took it away to use both hands and held my breath again. I didn’t think about how hot the air was, or how much smoke there was, or where the fire had gone—I only thought about getting my grandma out of the hallway and into my bedroom.
    I can do it. I can. I have to.
    This time when I leaned over to grab the edge of the towel, two strong arms wrapped around me and clutched the towel too.
    I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there because I could feel them.
    Then I heard very quietly next to my ear, “You are the most determined girl in the whole world. That’s a good thing.”
    Dad? Daddy?
    I didn’t have a chance to be amazed or grateful or anything, because in the next instant, Grandma and the towel were moving and they were moving fast. I just stumbled along inside those arms while I pretended to pull the towel too. But I knew I wasn’t. I knew it—there was no way I was pulling the towel that fast.
    When we made it to the window in the bedroom, I sat my grandma’s towel on the ground under the smoke and turned around. The arms were gone, but I didn’t slow down to think about them. I pressed the washcloth to my face, climbed onto the dresser, and tugged the window open. Smoke flew past me.
    Lots of thick, black, dark smoke. It covered me completely. I couldn’t even see the road out the window to call for help. I couldn’t see anything but smoke. Lots and lots of smoke.
    I couldn’t breathe. Not even with the washcloth over me.
    I tried to call for help, but that didn’t work either. I was coughing too much. Then before I knew what was happening, I felt myself growing tired and slipping off the dresser and tumbling to the floor.
    The ground hurt.
    My eyes stung.
    And my coughing was worse and worse.
    â€œYou are the most determined girl in the whole world,” the voice said again. “That’s a good thing.”
    Dad?
    My eyes popped open.
    They looked right at the secret box of my dad’s pictures under my bed. I had forgotten that Mom had put them back under there.
    â€œNo,” I gasped.
    Not my dad’s pictures. We couldn’t lose them. Not now.
    I was so tired, but I scurried and scooted and scraped across the floor and under the bed until I clasped the box with my hand. Then I scurried and scooted and scraped across the floor to the dresser. With one more final heave, I lunged up on the dresser and threw the box out the window before everything went black and I started to fall and fade away.
    I hit the ground again, but this time I didn’t care.
    From very far away, I could hear the sound of sirens. 
    I wasn’t worried. Instead, I closed my eyes.
    I was with my prince.

Chapter Twenty-one
    â€œCHELSEA! CHELSEA!”
    It was my dad. I knew it was. I quickly turned around in a bright, bright room and looked for him. I found him running toward me. He ran perfect and fast and he was so handsome in his uniform.
    He was smiling.
    When he caught up to me in that bright room, he picked me up and twirled me around and around. It felt so good and wonderful to be held by my dad again. He was strong, like always. And his hug was tight and the best thing ever.
    I was so happy to be held by him and see him, I forgot to speak to him. All I remembered to do was cry. I know I’d said I would never cry again, but I had to. He was there. Right in front of me and holding me. It was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I