I walked down the street and turned into the pillared entrance of Poplinger Park. Overhead spotlights lit up the tennis courts to the right, and smaller solar lights hid underneath bushes and plants, lighting up the walking trails. I took the leash off Oompa, picked him up in my arms, and sat down to swing. “I have really made a mess of things,” I said into his spiky fur. He snorted his agreement. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I reached for it, and when I saw it was Max, I frantically pressed the talk button, accidentally dropping Oompa off my lap. He landed with a thud on my pinkie toe. “Owww!” I hollered then, and, although it really wasn’t that painful, I just exploded into tears, all the anxiety leaking out of me in blubbering sobs. “Geez,” Max said on the phone. “I admit I gave you the freeze-out, but I was just upset that you bagged on me for the concert. But I’m over it, so stop crying. I’m sorry.” But I couldn’t stop crying, which was weird because I typically wasn’t the emotional one.
