He stood six feet off with his arms hanging loose, waiting to see what I’d do.

“Pick your gear up,” I said.

“Why don’t you pick it up for me?” Trent said.

“Or are you going to go whine to the HOA president like a coward?”

Nora went still with her shears hanging open in her hand, staring at the blue gloves on the ground.

I stood without moving on the freshly trimmed grass, my arms loose at my sides, my breathing slow and steady.

Trent gave a short laugh, turned his back on me, and walked off toward his driveway without picking up his gear.