Lucy and Millie, still in sleepy robes, holding empty coffee mugs, stood on the front steps. Mouths open.

“What the heck?” Millie gasped.

“You painted the LAWN?!” Lucy stepped forward and bent down to look at the grass, inspecting the damage.

In fairness, it wasn’t as bad as a rug of dog barf. I didn’t say that, but I definitely thought it. I don’t know what Lucy was thinking as she rubbed the paint between her fingers and stared at my suit.

Berry took a huge step back. Awkward.

“Why would you do this?” Lucy asked.

You’re going to say, of all the people that would understand why I would want to cover someone’s hate message on the lawn, Lucy and Millie would be two people who would get it. Also, let’s say, covering the lawn with spray paint is not hitting someone with a piece of pizza.

But I didn’t want them to see it. I didn’t want to see it. I wished I hadn’t seen it. And I didn’t want that to be in their brains like it was in mine. Even if it wasn’t new, I didn’t want one more for Millie or for Lucy. I just didn’t. It was easier for them to be pissed at me, for some reason, than to have them feeling sad with me.

Or that’s what I thought, I guess.

“There was a hole in the grass,” I lied. “So I figured I’d take advantage of it. Make some art. Then I could fix the whole thing.”

Berry dropped her phone by her side and looked at me.

Monty, who had sprinted out of the house after my moms, did a zoom across the front lawn, apparently feeling much better. With great dog zeal, she charged through the painted square. Her paws were immediately soaked in paint.

“GAH! MONTY!”

Lucy shook her head. “I can’t deal with this right now.” And she walked back inside. I think she was talking to herself because she was making angry gestures with her hands.

Millie took a long sip from her coffee, thinking. “What would make you think that it was even remotely okay to cover the grass with paint?”

“I just thought. . .it would look cool. Like an installation piece.” I dropped my hands by my side. “I mean, it’s our property, and you can just replace grass.”

“I can?” I could feel Millie searching my eyes for a hint of something. Millie can read my eyes like a book. I tried to look indifferent: the green of the lawn at the edge of the pink, my ruined sneakers, Monty’s now dyed paws.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess it was a bad idea.”