Alex is standing outside the door. When he sees us together his jaw tightens and he shakes his head. Then he takes off. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Zach asks, raising his eyebrows. “No,” I say. “Not at all.” I didn’t do as good of a job trimming the bushes yesterday as Matt would have done. A few stray branches poke out. I’m about to go out to the barn for the clippers when I remember that I never put them back. Good thing Dad didn’t notice. Where are they? Think. There they are, tucked behind a bush. I clip the problem areas, then trudge out to the barn to put them away. As I open the side door, a bird flaps its wings and crashes into a wall. I leave the door open, hoping it will fly out. Bam! The bird crashes into the superclean tractor (Dad washes it after every use). Poor thing. I scan the pegboards and the tools hanging on them, looking for the gap where my clippers should go. I find the spot. But there’s another empty spot near it. My dad’s very neat with his tools.
