She was back home, in Texas, lying on her back in the garden. Sunflowers towered over her, swaying lazily in the wind, and ladybugs jumped from the ground to the leaves to the tip of Lyssa’s nose, making her sneeze. She sat up, brushing the bugs from her face. Her mom was kneeling in the dirt just a few feet away, her back to Lyssa. Her hair hung over her shoulders in two thick braids, and she had a wide-brimmed straw hat perched on top of her head. She was digging in the dirt with a spade and humming under her breath “Mom,” Lyssa called. She pushed herself to her feet and started walking toward her mom. The garden was bigger than she remembered it being, filled with twisting vines and jagged rocks that made her stumble and trip. “Mom,” she called again But her mom didn’t look up. She jammed her spade into the dirt a little more forcefully. The song she was humming seemed sad now. Lonely “Mom,” Lyssa said. She started running, her bare feet kicking up dirt. When she reached her mom, she grabbed onto her shoulder and forced her to turn But the face that stared back at her wasn’t her mom’s—it was Circe’s Circe was wearing a wig with braids and Lyssa’s mom’s big straw hat.
