“Who is that kid?” my father said, craning his neck around the side of the house.

“What?” I was still pushing my mower, circling the trees by the fence. The smell of cut grass filled the air, sweet and pungent.

“Who is he?”

I cut off the mower. In the backyard I could see Macon mowing around the hidden tree stumps. My father saw it too, his face shocked. “He’s my friend,” I said.

There must have been some giveaway in how I said it because suddenly his face changed and I could tell he wasn’t thinking about the lawn anymore.

My mother came out the front door, holding her coffee cup. “Brian? There’s some strange boy mowing the lawn.”

“I know,” my father said. “I’m handling it.”

“I thought that was Halley’s job,” she said like I wasn’t even there. “Right?”

“Right,” he said in a tired voice. “It’s under control.”

“Fine.” She went back inside, but I could see her standing in the glass door, watching us.

“This was supposed to be your job,” he said, as if reading off a script she’d written.

“I didn’t ask him to do it,” I said as the mower roared around the corner of the house, edging the garage. “We were talking about it last night and I guess he just remembered. He works mowing lawns, Dad. He just wanted to help me out.”

“Well, that doesn’t change the fact that it was your responsibility. ” It was an effort, but he was fading.

The mower was roaring toward us now as Macon finished off the patch by the front walk. Then he came closer, until the noise was deafening, before finally cutting it off. We all stood there in the sudden silence, looking at each other. My ears were ringing.

“Macon,” I said slowly, “this is my dad. Dad, this is Macon Faulkner.”

Macon stuck his hand out and shook my father’s, then leaned back against the mower, taking off his hat. “Man, that is one tough yard you have there,” he said. “Those tree stumps out back almost killed me.”

My father, hesitant, couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t sure how my mother would want him to react to this. “Well,” he said, easing back and sticking his hands in his pockets, “they’ve brought down a few in their time, let me tell you.”

“I can believe it,” Macon said. I looked over his head, back toward the house, and saw my mother standing in the doorway, still watching. I couldn’t make out her expression. “This thing is equipped with sensors and stuff, so it makes it easier.”

“Sensors?” my father stepped a little closer, peering down at the mower’s control console. He was clearly torn between doing the Right Thing and his complete love of garden tools and accessories. “Really.”

“This thing here,” Macon explained, pointing, “shows how far you’ve gone. And then anything over a height the blade can handle pops up here, on the Terrain Scope, so you can work around it.”

“Terrain Scope,” my father repeated dreamily.

Then we all heard it; the front door opening and my mother’s voice, shattering the lawn reverie with a shrillness she had never been able to control. “Brian? Could you come here a moment, please?”

My father started to back away from Macon, toward the house, his eyes still on the mower. “Coming,” he called out, then turned to face her, climbing the steps. I could see her mouth moving, angrily, before he even got to the porch.

“Thanks,” I said to Macon. “You saved me.”

“No problem.” He started pushing the mower back to the curb. “I gotta get this thing back, though. I’ll see you later, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, watching him climb back into the truck. He took his hat off and tossed it onto the seat. “I’ll see you later.”

He drove off, beeping the horn twice as he rounded the corner. I walked as slowly as I could up the driveway and front walk to the porch, where my mother was waiting.

“Halley,” she said before I even hit the first step, “I thought we had an understanding that it was your job to mow the lawn.”

“I know,” I said, and my father was studying some spot over my head, avoiding making eye contact, “he just wanted to help me out.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s just this guy,” I said.

“How do you know him?”

“We have P.E. together,” I said, opening the door and slipping inside, making my getaway. “It’s no big deal.”

“He seems nice enough,” my father offered, his eyes on the lawn.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. I started up the stairs, pretending not to hear her, turning away to keep my secrets to myself. “I just don’t know.”

Part II

SOMEONE LIKE YOU

Chapter Five

“I need you,” Scarlett said to me as I was busy weighing produce for a woman with two screaming babies in her cart. “Meet me in the ladies’ room.”

“What?” I said, distracted by the noise and confusion, oranges and plums rolling down my conveyer belt.

“Hurry,” she hissed, disappearing down the cereal aisle and leaving me no chance to argue. My line was long, snaking around the Halloween display and back into Feminine Products. It took me a good fifteen minutes to get to the bathroom, where she was standing in front of the sinks, arms crossed over her chest.