"You broke Mr. Hargrove's window again?" Denise snapped as she stepped over a blanket on the hallway floor. "Not again," Mr. Hargrove said from the doorway, folding his arms like a judge. "My greenhouse is barely three years old." Jackson watched the carpet like it was fascinating. He did not look at Mr. Hargrove. He did not look at Denise. His hands were open on his knees. Quiet was his armor. "How many times do I have to pay for other people's house repairs before you learn to—" Denise started. "It wasn't me," Jackson said without looking up. "It was you," Mr. Hargrove cut in. "You were the one out back when my window caught a ball. I saw you." "I wasn't trying to break it," Jackson said. Mr. Hargrove's face tightened. "Kids and their games. It's always something." Denise folded money into an envelope like she had done this dance before. "All right. I'll cover it. Let it go." "You'll cover it?" Mr. Hargrove's voice climbed. "Why do you keep protecting them? He needs to learn—" "Mr. Hargrove," Denise said evenly, "I will pay for the glass. You will not raise my son in front of him. Not today." "There are rules—" "Not in my house. Not when I'm the one paying." Denise stepped forward and pressed the envelope into Mr. Hargrove's hand. "There's your money. Stop clinging to my steps like a landlord with a grudge