I turn to the voice. A girl stands in the doorway, her backpack slung around so that she’s wearing it with the bulky part resting against her chest. Across the front of the backpack is a strip of silver duct tape, and written in thick black letters on the tape is a name, “Maree.” Her words tell me that she’s helped me in the garden before, so we know each other. How well, I’m not sure, but her smile tugs gently at my heart. I’ve always had a soft spot for kids.

“You bet,” I say. “This garden belongs to you kids, anyway. I just help when I can.”

“Okay, but are you sure you want me to help?”

The way she says it, like we are familiar with each other, makes me pause. I have no context for what she might mean. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Yay!” she cheers and sets her backpack on the ground before skipping to my side. On her shirt is another strip of silver duct tape that reads “Maree.” She licks her lips, claps her hands, and stares at the rows of plants. “What are we doing?”

“Didn’t you say you helped me before?”

She makes a funny face. “Yep, but you were almost done, and it was a while ago, and maybe I wasn’t listening so great.” She holds her hands out, palms up, and shrugs. “Sorry.”

A buzz from my phone. School Garden: water temp, prune, mist.

“Well, let’s get started, and this time maybe try to listen a bit harder.” I smile, run a hand through my hair, and turn to the garden, check the water temp. The girl is staring at me, frowning, so I point to the thermometer reading. “The temperature needs to stay between sixty-five and eighty degrees.” Her mouth hangs open slightly. “Do you know how a hydroponic garden works?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“Have you ever grown a plant yourself?”

“My dad gave me a little pot that had dirt and seeds to grow a sunflower. I just had to put a little packet of soil in, drop in some seeds, and give it water.”

“Sounds fun. How did it turn out?”

Her nose wrinkles. “Nothing happened, but I did accidentally knock it off the windowsill when I got mad about something, and all the dirt spilled out. Probably the seeds, too, I guess.”

I lift one corner of my mouth. Cute kid. “That happens. But look here.” I point to the rows of plants. “Can you see the difference between your flower and this garden?”

She walks up and down the rows, pinches her lips together as she studies the plants. Suddenly, her eyes grow wide behind her cat-eye glasses, which are taped in the middle like they’ve been broken at some point. “There’s no dirt!”

“Very observant, Maree.”