Theo dropped his phone to the floor and rolled over, turning off his lamp. He dreamed of numbers, disembodied numerals floating around him like the number of the day on Sesame Street. There was something intimidating about the numerals, so Theo ran from them. Relentlessly, they pursued him, drifting through walls and floors and glass and trees like apparitions. Cornered, Theo began to add the numbers, his hands flailing as he carried ones and twos and sixes and fours. As he added them, they decreased in number but increased in size. Eventually one remained, metastasized into some behemoth integer that enveloped Theo like a blob, suffocating him.

Theo awoke to two voicemails. One was from his father: “Hey son, I saw your letter from Clemson. State school looks pretty damn appealing right now, but I want you to get out of Georgia, see a little more of the world. I never told you this, but I set you up a college fund just in case something like this happened. It’s yours, son. You earned it. See you at dinner.”

Theo couldn’t believe his dad was counting South Carolina as “the world.” He couldn’t even name a rapper from South Carolina. Still, a warm calmness settled over him, his body feeling limber. He played the second voicemail. It was from Mr. Brown: “I paid you in advance, so you better finish the job. I don’t care about how fucking hot it is. If my grass isn’t cut by the time I get home today, I’m going to knock that stupid smile right off of your high yella face. I know where you—”

Theo erased the voicemail, wondering whether Mr. Forrester would categorize Mr. Brown as shouting or yelling. Holding his phone above his head, he scrolled over to the weather app. The forecast was unbearable: no clouds, 100 percent humidity, 94ºF. “Feels like 105ºF,” the app taunted. Theo sighed, leaning over the bed to fish Mr. Brown’s payment from his rain-soaked shorts. A refund was the only option.

Suddenly, he resolved to get a job at the mall. He’d still cut grass, but if his dad was fronting all of his college fees, Theo wasn’t going to take his seven hundred to get the car fixed, especially when he’d lied about how it got damaged in the first place. He’d raise it all himself. The plan was solid. Air-conditioned days, warm nights, a month of dignified, legit work. Theo could feel the guilt evaporating from his conscience. He’d make this right.