So we drove to the nursery. And Berry, who somehow knew something about grass (on top of knowing how to play like four instruments and how to play soccer), helped me load six sushi rolls of dirt and grass into the trunk. Then we went to the burger place for breakfast and looked at the pictures from that morning on her phone while I shoved fries in my face.

“You look hilarious,” Berry said, turning the phone sideways. “What do you want to do with these?”

“Photoshop. Then I’m going to post it tonight,” I said, pointing at her phone, “Can you send me that one?”

“Photoshop what?”

“You’ll see.” I slurped up the last of my shake.

“Sending in a message now,” Berry said, and sipped on her soda.

“Got it.”

We spotted Tanner and Sarah in Tanner’s Jeep pulling into the burger place as we pulled out. Sarah stuck her tongue out at me and laughed. Berry, staring ahead, didn’t see. And I didn’t know what to say, so I just looked at my photos on my phone. I wonder what people did with horrible moments before they had phones?

I wouldn’t let Berry help me actually sod. Like, I just couldn’t and I also didn’t want her to get any more cold glares from my moms, who were definitely going to be lurking. I got her to explain it to me and did it myself. Killing at least one of the sushi rolls in the process. And getting mud everywhere. It was kind of like repairing a hole in my pants but with more dirt.

I was about a quarter through and heading back from the garage, with a pitchfork and a dream, when I heard a clip-clop coming up the road. I looked over and spotted a shadow—a tall four-legged shadow on top of which was what I thought was someone saluting.

So apparently there are people in Greenville who have horses? That they ride? On the street?

And apparently one of those people is Gilly Henderson. On top of a big black horse with a big white stripe on its nose. Gilly sat with one hand on her hip, the other shielding her eyes under her helmet. Which was pink with a pom-pom on the top.

I didn’t know helmets came with pom-poms.

But then apparently there were a lot of things I didn’t know.

I froze, pitchfork in hand. For some reason I didn’t want Gilly Henderson to see me working my sod. Not just because I was pretty sure I was doing it wrong and it was possible Gilly knew the right way to fix a lawn.

The horse stopped in front of the house. Gilly stood up in the stirrups. She was looking at the grass. She looked confused.