A furious, joyous whoosh erupted from below. A creamy white foam surged up toward the faucet like a science fair volcano brought to life. Lena leaned closer, grinning. The bubbles crackled and popped, sounding for all the world like tiny applause. She could almost hear the clog—a grim lump of old grease and soap scum—surrendering with a gurgle.

For one breath, nothing happened.

“What’d you do?” asked Maya, peering down the drain.

She’d tried the plunger. Nothing. She’d tried a wire hanger. Nope. She was one cruel twist away from calling her landlord when she remembered something her grandmother used to say: “The best cleaners don’t roar. They fizz.”