We crunch through the long grass and make it onto the lawn, soft and lumpy under our feet—the kind of pre-grown grass people pay gardeners to roll on. It smells of fertilizer, and I can see the edges of the squares they rolled out. The car sits covered by a trellis between the garage and house, sunlight coming through the grapevines above and lighting it in patches. Tomas comes up to the car and peers inside.

Alarm’s on, he says.

I ask for the tire iron and he holds it out and I take it in my hand and my blood moves in my fingers against it and it feels warm and heavy and hard.

He goes up to the rear bumper. There is a scrape on the paint and the rubber is scuffed. Tomas reaches out with his shoe and taps it softly. The dent is so small nobody would notice unless it was pointed out, but she still had to call our mother and demand from her money that would take her two weeks of work to earn.

I step towards the car.

Hey, what are you guys doing here? a small voice says.

We turn. Ben Feinstein stands in the doorway that leads to the house. The kitchen behind him is huge and I can make out a far kitchen table and a counter of butcher-block wood lit by an unseen skylight. Above it hang shiny copper pots and pans.

Tomas approaches him.

Hey, Ben, he says, smiling and extending his hand.

Ben looks at it and hesitates. Tomas was never nice to him at school, but Ben finally shakes Tomas’s hand, then smiles at him. He wears a red polo vest that people make fun of but which his mother likes.

We came to pay your mom for the damage our mom did to her car. Is she around?

Ben looks over his shoulder but tells us she is not. He seems happy to hear this explanation for why we are here.

That’s too bad, Tomas says, pretending to sound disappointed. Hey, would it be all right if we paid you?

Me? Ben’s hands are shoved in his pockets.

Tomas turns to me. Junior, you got my wallet?

It takes me a second to figure out what he wants.

No, I say.

Shit. I think I left it in the car.

He turns back to Ben. We’re parked at the end of the drive. Come on back and we’ll give it to you.

Ben hesitates but nods. We begin walking towards the woods. Above the treetops emerges a white mission-style church with an ornate bell tower.

Hey, that’s a nice vest you got there.

Thanks.

Polo?

Ben nods.

Where’d you get it?

Israel.

You had to go all the way over there to get a Polo vest?

No, my grandma got it for me. She buys me presents every time we go there.