Helga G. Pataki's life derailed the summer she turned 14.

It all started one morning in the middle of June, with the kitchen windows open to the soft summer breezes and Helga scraping her spoon around her cereal bowl, chasing down the last pesky, remaining marshmallow. Her thoughts were filled with middle school graduation, and summer.

She was a girl with plans-yes siree! First, there was going to be that big party at Rhonda's on graduation night. Then after that, nothing at all to do but hang with Phoebe and the other kids. In pleasant daydreams she imagined herself sleeping late every day, throwing rocks at the river in the afternoon sun, playing flashlight tag at night, generally goofing off...

CRASH. Helga whipped her head around to see her mother standing in a puddle of coffee and broken glass. One trembling hand held the white handle of what was apparently the former carafe from their coffee maker-although now it was a rather evil looking object with jagged glass edges-and Miriam stared at it through bleary eyes as if she had never seen it before. She turned it in her hand, this way and that, as coffee dripped from counter to floor.

Helga bolted halfway out of her chair, and Bob, alarmed by the sudden noise, stumbled into the kitchen, buckling his belt as he did so. He stopped short when he saw the ruined carafe and the plea in Miriam's eyes.

"Help me, Bob," she whispered, before she turned and gingerly placed the broken handle in the sink. Then she swayed suddenly, clutching the counter's edge with her fumbling hands. Her legs were shaking as if they could barely hold her weight

Bob was at her side in an instant, an arm around her waist to steady her, and their eyes met. "I can't do this. Not anymore." She sounded like she was forcing the words out through a constriction in her throat. "Please help me. Please Bob, you have to help me." Tears started rolling down her face.

Bob started to answer, then remembered they had an audience in the staring Helga. "Go to school," he barked.

Helga was outraged. "School? No way! I don't leave for another hour yet. I have to make my lunch, I have to..."

Bob raised his eyebrow, then turned his head and looked at her pityingly. He spoke again, and this time his voice was quiet-and kinder than she could ever remember.

"Helga, go to school. Please."

Her stomach clenched. This was all wrong. Bob was acting all wrong. "I could stay home and help, Dad," she suggested. Her voice was quiet, too.

He answered in the same, measured, even tone, "No. Go in my sock drawer and take some money for lunch. Then run along to school. And Helga? Everything will be all right. Be a good girl, now."

Where was the yelling and growling? That was something Helga was used to. Kindness from her father was unexpected-and frightening. She slid out of her chair and minced her way around the mess on the floor. She grabbed her bag from the hall table (forgetting to take the money) and tiptoed out the front door.

She paused on the top step, trying to slow her ragged breathing. She couldn't stay here, but where could she go this early in the morning? The corner drug store was open, maybe she could see if they had the latest issues of her favorite comic books. But no, she knew she couldn't concentrate on anything dumb like that when there was something seriously wrong with Miriam. Besides, she might run into one of her friends there. She also knew she couldn't endure a bus ride full of people. Phoebe might have been a comfort, but she didn't know what to say to Phoebe, because she didn't even know exactly what the problem was, and didn't have the slightest clue how she would explain it. Of course, the walk to school was long, and the day was going to be a hot one, but she had nothing but time to kill.

Helga sighed and trudged her way in the opposite direction than the bus stop.

In later times, she was never able to really remember that day, although she had a confused impression of trying to lay low and avoid being seen. She had vague memories of people talking to her and of herself not being able to make sense of anything they said. In return, they probably thought she was acting crazy, or stuck-up. But it didn't matter what they thought. Nothing mattered when her mother was in so much trouble. Miriam might be a lousy mom, but she was Helga's mom-the only mom she had.

Olga was waiting to pick her up outside the school when the final bell rang. Helga was surprised to see her-Olga was supposed to be at her teaching job, and she living in an apartment more than an hour away-but she scrambled into the passenger seat of the silver Accord and buckled herself in.

Olga started the engine. "Helga...?"

"Just drive. I don't want anybody to see me."

Olga pulled out of the space and it seemed that Helga didn't breathe until they were out of sight of the school.

"Its bad, isn't it? Miriam's bad."

Olga sighed. "We need to have a little talk, Baby Sis." They were into the suburbs of Hillwood when she pulled into the Dairy Squeezy drive-thru and placed her order. She handed a cup of soft serve chocolate to Helga, and placed an ice tea into the cup holder for herself before wheeling around to the back lot that opened out onto the baseball field.

"Mummy was admitted into the hospital this morning."

"Is she..." Helga's hands gripped painfully on her cup and spoon. "Is she dying?"

"Helga, that's morbid! No. It isn't that kind of hospital." Olga took a deep breath. "Helga, you do know mummy drinks a little too much, right?"

Of course she knew it. But it was one thing to know it in the secret recesses of her own mind, and another thing entirely to hear it talked about out loud. As long as no one actually talked about it, Helga could comfort herself with the thought that maybe she was wrong because she was just a kid and sometimes kids got things wrong, and maybe it was her own imagination, and not true after all...

Faced with the shattering of a cherished illusion, she rebelled.

"Listen, Olga, this is crazy. Miriam is a grown-up. She's legal. If she wants to enjoy a cocktail now and then it hardly makes her an alco..." She choked on the word, then continued, loftily. "Besides, you're the goody-two-shoes of the family. I can't believe you'd run down Mom like this."

"Listen to me, Helga. A person can't drink as much as Mum does, for as long as Mum has, without any consequences. It's finally caught up with her. She's in alcohol rehab right now. Daddy is with her. And I've taken a leave of absence from work to help out with things around home."

At that moment, some guys with baseball equipment started arriving and setting up for a practice. They were walking right past the car, which had all its windows down. Even though this wasn't the Pataki's neighborhood, and she didn't know any of these kids, Helga felt ashamed-of her family, of this whole ugly situation-and dropped her voice.

"Yeah, we'll, that's real nice and all, but we won't be needing you for very long, so don't get too comfortable. Miriam will sleep it off, they'll send her back home, and we'll go back to doing just fine without you."

Olga winced. "You're mad at me for leaving."

"Mad? Of course not. It's just we don't need you. Who do you think has been taking care of me since you left? Not you, definitely not Miriam and Bob. Just me. Good old Helga has been taking care of Helga. So," she concluded with a shrug as she placed her untouched ice cream cup in the other cup holder, "you can just go back to your hoity-toity little teaching job. And leave us alone."

"They said you might react this way."

"Who? Who is they? Have people been talking about me behind my back?" Helga's voice rose. She seemed to have forgotten her shame of just five minutes ago.

Olga put out a hand to try to soothe. "At the hospital, the therapist assigned to us..."

"Us? What us?"

"We have a family therapist now..."

"We don't have anything! How can there be a Pataki family therapist when there's hardly a Pataki family? Bob and Miriam barely look at me..." She was yelling now, gasping in between breaths, drawing attention to herself and Olga. Some of the baseball players were looking over at the car now, exchanging uneasy glances. "And you? What do you do? Act like you're all Little Miss Princess Olga, until you run away to your stupid dumb career and leave me all alone, and now you want me to go to a therapist, like I'm crazy and its all my fault...I can't breathe..."

And in fact, Helga was swaying dizzily and breathing too fast, her hands curled into claws. Olga jumped out of the car, ran back to the trunk, and fished around for a paper bag. The baseball coach came trotting over, followed by his team.

Olga flung open the passenger door and crouched in the gravel beside her sister. "Put this bag over your mouth and nose and breathe slowly. Thatta girl."

The baseball team was milling and jostling around, offering helpful comments.

"She doesn't look so good," said one boy.

"Want me to call nine-one-one, Miss?" Suggested the coach.

"Give her some air!" Interjected a player who fancied himself to be a leader of men.

"My sister did this once and we took her to the hospital."

"No way. When my cousin hyperventilated, we put the bag entirely over his head."

"You did not!"

Olga stood up. "Stop! Just everybody stop!" She screamed. Helga's eyes flew open in surprise; her sister was usually so refined and ladylike.

Olga turned to the coach. "Please, we're fine here. My sister got some bad news today and it upset her. Everything's under control now. Please make them go away." And she turned the full force of her puppy dog eyes on him.

The coach looked a little dazed. "You heard the lady, men. Nothing to see here."

The boys shuffled off, mumbling among themselves. Helga was breathing normally now, and Olga slid into the driver seat.

"Miriam's gonna die," Helga put her head in her hands.

"She's not going to die"

"I want to see her before she dies."

"The doctors will let you see her in a few days-and she's not going to die."

"Is she that bad? So bad I can't even see her?"

"It's DTs, Baby Sis. She doesn't want you to see her like that."

"You saw her."

"No sweetie, Daddy wouldn't let me."

Helga felt her resentment fading. "Thanks for getting rid of those kids. You know, you never used to be that bossy."

Olga shrugged. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

"If you stuck around more, maybe I would."

"Helga..."

"Look-things are bad, Olga. They've always been bad. And then you left us. You knew they were bad and you left us. You left me alone with them, which is just like being alone, period. You're this great teacher, it's a fact, all your awards are up there on the living room wall. All the kids love you. But what about me? I'm a kid. Maybe I need you, too."

"Why Helga, I had no idea!"

"Well, there's a lot about me you don't know."

"I suppose you're right. I don't feel good about it."

"You promise you won't leave?"

"Baby sis, I'm not going to lie to you. I have my responsibilities. You do have me here for now, and for the rest of the summer. And don't forget-you can always call, or email. I'm here for you, even if I'm not here physically."

Although she would hate herself later for being so weak, Helga slumped against her sister.