“Because I just filled the tank!” Dad shout-says.

“Do you want to take turns?” says Mom coldly. “Do you want a chart on the refrigerator, Edmund?”

“God!” yells Gilly. “You guys!”

“Go feed the rabbits, Gilly,” they say together.

Gilly slams the door so hard the house falls down like a deck of cards: the roof flutters away over the collapsing walls, and her parents stand speechless in the middle of the kitchen rubble except not really. If only.

She stomps out to the hutch to pitch food at Fur-Fur and Bingo, who, like every day, look astounded to see her.