It was shortly after eleven on Friday night, June third, almost a year ago, when Dad and Mom and I heard the beeper sound on the emergency radio. I was in the bathroom washing my face and getting
ready for bed when Dad rushed from the bedroom toward the kitchen and ran out the back door to his pickup truck, which was parked outside in its usual spot, keys left in the ignition as always.

I heard the words “two-car crash, both cars are on fire, 39 Highway, three miles east” as the screen door slammed. The engine roared and wheels spun on the gravel as he sped away into the night.

Mom came out of the bedroom in her robe, fussing with her short salt-and-pepper hair. With the radio gone, the house was quiet. We had no way of knowing what Dad would find out there on the highway.

“Maggie, have you heard from your brother or your boyfriend lately?” Mom asked.

“Not since before supper,” I said.

When the alarm goes out, whoever is closest to the station drives over, opens the metal door, and starts one or both of the fire trucks, depending on what the call is. Some of the other men show up within
two or three minutes, skidding to a stop and jumping from their pickups. They put on their boots, jackets, and gloves and dash to the trucks.

Through the screen door, we heard the sirens. Both trucks were on the roll.

“Why don’t you call your brother, see when they’ll be getting back home,” Mom said.

Here in Grain Valley Township, we don’t have a paid fire department or ambulance crew to rescue us.

We rescue ourselves.

Dad has been a volunteer fireman, or first responder, since he was eighteen. My late grandpa also was one of the brave men who protected us, twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year. < For the sake of cutting to the chase, I would leave this sentence out because it isn’t really adding anything necessary or relevant. Dad always carries an emergency radio with him, fastened to the belt of his jeans. At night, the radio sits on the recharger, on his nightstand.

No matter where he is or what he is doing, when the radio goes BEEEP! he leaps into action. The alarm means someone’s been in some kind of accident or one of our neighbors’ houses or barns is on fire. < This line seems like it’s over explaining things. It would make sense for a middle grade audience, but YA readers will already know what the alarm means. It doesn’t happen every day, but often enough. Too often, I say. < “I’d say” would make more sense here. “I’d say” is not past tense, it just means “I would say.” “I say” only makes sense if he actually says it, in which case, I’d put it in quotes. Alternatively, you could write “I always say.”

Sometimes the first responders are called out of our small country church on Sunday morning. Beeping radios go off all over the sanctuary. And even if the preacher is in the middle of a prayer, the men leap up and bolt for the door.

Being a first responder may seem exciting, but it’s stressful and dangerous. < This too feels like you’re over explaining, almost like you’re talking down to your reader. For one thing, they never know what kind of accident they’ll be responding to or how badly someone is hurt. And for another, since everybody knows everybody else around here, there’s a good chance that whoever needs help is related to one or more of the first responders, adding to the pressure. <This is an interesting concept – that the first responders could be there to help someone they know – but this line falls flat. “Adding to the pressure” just doesn’t sound very intense.

It was shortly after eleven on Friday night, June third, almost a year ago, when Dad and Mom and I heard the beeper sound on the emergency radio. I was in the bathroom washing my face and getting
ready for bed when Dad rushed from the bedroom toward the kitchen and ran out the back door to his pickup truck, which was parked outside in its usual spot, keys left in the ignition as always. < This slows down the action while not adding anything, so I’d cut it.

I heard the words The radio screeched, “two-car crash, both cars are on fire, 39 Highway, three miles east” as the screen door slammed. < This modification (or one similar) makes the sentence easier to read. The engine roared and wheels spun on the gravel as he sped away into the night. < I’d cut what’s in red because it’s a cliche.

Mom came out of the bedroom in her robe, fussing with her short salt-and-pepper hair. With the radio gone, the house was quiet. We had no way of knowing what Dad would find out there on the highway.

“Maggie, have you heard from your brother or your boyfriend lately?” Mom asked. < Prior to this point, I thought the narrator was a boy. Also, as a reader, it seems like the topic is very abruptly changed here. It would help if the mom first addressed the fact that her husband rushed off. For example: “Another accident.” Mom sighed, then turned to me. “Have you heard from your brother or your boyfriend lately?” (Or perhaps something that connects the two concepts more clearly)

“Not since before supper,” I said.

The topic has suddenly changed back to the first responders again, but for me (as a reader), I don’t see any transition. > When the alarm goes out, whoever is closest to the station drives over, opens the metal door, and starts one or both of the fire trucks, depending on what the call is. Some of the other men show up within two or three minutes, skidding to a stop and jumping from their pickups. They put on their boots, jackets, and gloves and dash to the trucks.

Through the screen door, we heard the sirens. Both trucks were on the roll.

“Why don’t you call your brother, see when they’ll be getting back home,” Mom said. < Does her saying this have something to do with the emergency? It reads like there’s too much flip-flopping between the brother and the first responders without any explanation as to why.