“What was that?”

I went to the patio door and pulled the light green curtain aside.

Ten feet past our property line, a heavy black leather punching bag hung from an iron frame staked right into the grass.

A young man with short-cropped hair and gray gym shorts was hammering the bag with his bare fists.

The wooden fence post jerked three inches to the left with every punch, pulling the chain link taut against my post.

“He’s hitting it right up against our fence,” Emily said, her voice climbing as she pulled her algebra book off the kitchen table.