aint drips onto the sidewalk, bright red against the gray. Dad’s billboard—our masterpiece—is halfway up, but the crane’s jammed. A crowd gathers, murmuring. The wind picks up, threatening to tear the tarp loose. You’re holding the wrench. Dad’s career, our summer, everything hangs on this moment. “Think fast. Fix this or—”

She stops mid-sentence, staring at something behind you.