Chapter 3:  Alcohol as a Plot Point

	Alison and her mother stood in line at the grocery store with their
half-full cart, waiting for the customer in front of them to finish.  
Alison had a calculator in one hand, adding up the prices of everything 
in the cart to make sure it wasn’t too much.
	“Are we okay so far?” Mrs. Devar asked nervously, brushing back her 
hair with one hand.
	“Yup, just fine,” Alison said, trying not to sound too impatient. 
“Don’t worry, mom.  We’ve got plenty of coupons.”
	“That’s true…”  Mrs. Devar smiled a little, relieved.  At last their
turn came, and she began gathering her coupons and counting out exact 
change.  The checkout lady glared at her, but rang everything up and 
bagged the groceries.  “Thank you,” Alison’s mother said, smiling at the
woman as she put the bags into the cart, and the woman grudgingly 
muttered “Welcome” as she went to the next customer.
	Alison helped her mom carry the groceries to their Toyota, and they 
put the bags on the floor in the back.  “Ready to go home, Ali?” her 
mother asked, getting into the driver’s seat and starting the car.
	“Yup.”  She was getting hungry, and she really wanted to call Shiko 
and talk with her for a while.  The weather wasn’t actually bad, but the
skies were just gray enough to send her mood into a downward spiral, and
there was nothing like a conversation with Shiko to cheer her up.
	They pulled out of the parking lot, both checking the streets for 
other cars.  “So, fried fish is okay with you for dinner?”
	“Fried fish is great, mom,” Alison replied, trying to reassure her.  
“I like fried fish.”
	“Good…”  They listened to the rather staticky mix station on their
radio, a little tired but comfortable.  “Is school going all right?  
How’s your new teacher working out?”
	“He’s really nice,” Alison said, forcing down a blush.  “Kinda 
strict, but nice.”
	“Well, a little discipline never hurt a teenager…”  Alison’s mother
smiled slightly.  “And your friends?”
	“They’re doing good, too.”
	“That’s nice…”
	Oddly enough, the simplicity of the everyday conversation comforted
Alison.  I’m getting way too used to Shiko and Damien’s weirdness, she 
told herself.  Sighing with contentment, she leaned back in the seat and
gazed out the front window, letting her mind drift.
	Ahead of the Toyota, in the lane of opposing traffic next to their 
own, Alison could see one car swerving wildly, going much too fast. 
Involuntarily, her hands tightened their grip on the sides of the seat.  
In a much too calm voice that she had to force through her constricting
throat, she said, “Mom - watch out for that driver…”
	Karen Devar saw it, and her eyes widened.  She hit the brakes while
trying to steer away from a particularly wide swerve, and the car 
screeched in protest.  The other driver, meanwhile, had decided to speed 
up, and that car seemed set on a collision course with the Toyota.
	Alison’s breathing grew frantic.  Oh God, oh no, not now, I didn’t 
want, oh God oh God no no no no…  Statistics raced through her brain, 
idiotic remnants of her driver’s ed course, and she almost screamed as 
she realized that she was about to become one of them.  Her mother kept
trying to steer away from the other car without going into another lane.