I turned to the others, pointing at the treeline. “If you guys want to head over that way, stop at the rocky outcropping on the hill. We’ll meet you there.”

Kenzie walked with me. She was wearing black overalls and a pink tank top, a red apple clip in her hair, and red sneakers. Her hair was in much the same style as before, but the buns were set higher.

I paid more attention to her fashion choice because so much about it seemed deliberate, from color scheme to running theme. During the last meeting it had been a star on her dress, partially on her shirt, and in her hair.

“My dad gave me a ride today, because he needs to buy a suit and more work clothes,” Kenzie said. “Please don’t judge me too harshly if he acts really lame.”

“I won’t,” I said. “You said Tristan and Chris could have helped. Tristan has increased strength?”

“Just a little. Very very little.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon.”

“Sveta could have helped too, we think, she’s really strong if she uses her real body, but it would have meant dragging it and that would have hurt the grass.”

“How big is this thing?”

“I’ll show you,” she said. She sprinted the last little way to the sleek van that was parked on the street in front of the library, hopping up to the passenger side window, clinging to the bottom edge of the open window so she could stick her head in. The back door of the van popped open, and Kenzie’s father stepped out, walking around the van to the sidewalk.

He was almost as meticulous in appearance as Kenzie. He was very lean, with pronounced cheekbones and a long face that was made to look longer by the goatee that extended an inch from his chin. He wore a short-sleeved work shirt with a pinstripe pattern on it, and slim jeans that looked like they had cost a pretty penny. Shoes, belt, and watch, all expensive-looking.

The beard and his longer hair weren’t as tidy as Kenzie was, but I was hardly about to judge, given how it was probably a day off for him and he was sitting in the sun.

“Dad, this is Victoria. She’s the coach I was talking about. Victoria, this is my dad.”

“Hi, Mr…” I extended a hand.

“Julien Martin,” he said. He shook my hand. Both handshake and his tone were stiff, but it was a different kind of stiffness than I was used to seeing in Dean’s family. I was well aware of how easily I’d slotted him onto that same mental shelf.

“You can call him Julien,” Kenzie said.

“Nice to meet you. What do you do?”

“Realty.”