Why oh why did I volunteer to work in the garden? Amelia wonders. An afternoon like this, perfect for the beach. And it’s not like there are any weeds. Unless all these plants are weeds. I guess I should have found out what’s supposed to be growing here. Not that I’d know a potato sprout from a baby rutabaga. And the soil is certainly damp enough. Not flooded, but not bone dry, nowhere near. I guess these hoses or whatever they are are on some kind of timer. But should they just be lying here?

Tentatively Amelia lifts one of the hoses, or whatever it is. The green one. The skin of it feels surprisingly ... she isn’t sure what. Supple but firm? Like back in high school that time she felt Tommy Dixon’s boner, though it wasn’t fully her idea. Yeah, sort of like that. And then Tommy had to go and ... Oh! Something about the hose changed. Stiffened. Fattened. And there is this sound, a kind of cross between a gurgle and a gasp. With Tommy it was a cross between a croak and a gasp, and then what a mess, but luckily trapped in his underwear. Suddenly the green hose lurches right out of her hand.