He marched across the yard, pushing the mower and watching for rocks and turtles. He couldn’t see his forearms in the faint light provided by the Browns’ porch lamp, but he knew they’d gotten bigger, stronger. When he’d first started cutting grass full-time, he couldn’t grip the shaky mower without his forearms shaking as well. Now, enlarged and more defined, they remained steady, immune to the machine’s constant shakes.

The rain was cool, but the humidity was suffocating. Theo looked forward to reaching the edge of the Browns’ expansive yard and collecting his pay. Maybe the thirty-five-dollar flat fee should be renegotiated, he thought. Some of the yards on his route took ninety minutes to cut. He wouldn’t get his car fixed before school if he kept losing so much time.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Mr. Brown shouted from the porch. Theo nodded and continued mowing, anxious to get home. Pushing the mower away from the porch, he continued toward the edge of the yard to finish the row. When he turned around to begin the next row, Mr. Brown was on the lawn, five yards away, barefoot and draped in a pristine white bathrobe. Theo silenced the mower, hoping Mr. Brown wasn’t about to ask him to trim the edges. He’d left the edger at home.

Mr. Brown was close enough to speak at a normal volume, but he shouted as if he were still on the porch. “Theo, you’re fired! This night-shift lawn mowing is fucking ridiculous! I’m trying to sleep.” Theo groaned. He could feel the sass slithering down his tongue, but he was too tired to commit.

“Okay, Mr. Brown. Should I at least finish up? I only have a few rows left, and I’m collecting the full fee whether I finish or not.” Theo smiled, pleased with his tiny act of resistance.

Mr. Brown crossed his arms, shifting his weight onto his left foot. Though his hands were stowed under his armpits, Theo could clearly see that his fists were tightly clenched. Theo’s smile dissipated at the thought of having to fight a grown man. The small amount of muscle that he had built through tennis was concentrated in his shoulders and calves. There wasn’t even a One Piece character with a fighting style suited for such an odd physique. Theo gripped the mower handles, comforted by the strength of his forearms.

Mr. Brown stared back at him. “Nigga, I have to work tomorrow. Here’s fifty,” he said, tossing a clump of cash onto the ground. “Come back when your business hours are convenient for the fucking customer,” he muttered, turning away and heading toward his house.

Theo’s grip slackened. This was triumph. Sort of. It wasn’t really clear whether or not he was supposed to finish the yard. Theo decided to just take the money and leave. The rain stopped.