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cynical.” Lyra disagreed. She didn’t think Sidney was cynical; she just had an overactive imagination, which was why she was going to be great in the field she had chosen.
    “We should get to work,” Lyra suggested. “Or neither of us will get any sleep tonight.” Sidney agreed, and for the next several hours both of them worked in silence. Lyra finished around midnight and headed to her bedroom.
    “What time will you leave for your grandmother’s?”
    “Around three. I want to beat some of the going-home-from-work traffic if possible.
    Why?”

    “Could you take those reels back for me? They have to be checked in by five on Friday, and I’ll be across campus all day. It’ll be a big help …”
    “I’ll take them. It’s on my way.”
    Tuesday, after class, Lyra went into Dr. Mahler’s office to discuss her extra-credit project. She told him about the garden she’d found at the back of the dump site and explained how she wanted to do a very short film about it.
    “Have you finished your documentary about … what was it you chose?”
    “Parks,” she answered. “I decided to do my film on Paraiso park, and that’s where I found the pretty little garden.”
    He looked astounded. He braced his arms on his desktop. “Whatever possessed you to do Paraiso Park? That’s over an hour away. How did you even know about it?” She tilted her head toward the poster on the wall. “I got the idea from you, Professor.
    You and your poster.”
    He leaned back in his swivel chair to look over his shoulder at the wall. “I’ve had that hanging there for so long I forget about it. I grew up right next to the park,” he explained. “I got that poster at the first annual festival. Moved the following year.” He looked at Lyra.
    “Has it deteriorated? It has, hasn’t it?”
    “Yes, it has.”
    She told him how she had been filming cars and trucks dumping their trash.
    “And now you want to start filming the garden on the other side of the hill?”
    “I already have started filming. I switch the memory card every day. I haven’t had time to look at any of it yet. I thought I’d get your approval for the extra credit—”
    “Uh hum, uh hum …”
    Uh oh, he was rubbing his chin. He was going to squelch the project.
    “It’s intriguing,” he admitted. “I’ll tell you what. Your grade is dependent on your documentary. Once you’ve handed it in, then maybe you can tackle the garden film. I’m concerned that it’s too much like your documentary. It’s the same notion, the same setting
    … but it’s up to you. Just finish one before you start on another.” Lyra thought about Mahler’s advice as she left his office. He was right. She needed to finish the important project first, but in the meantime, she’d let the camera at the park keep taking pictures.

    Friday afternoon, Lyra thought she could beat the L.A. traffic, at least until she got to the Interstate, but there was a four-car pileup and that meant she had to take a detour. She had driven the route before, cutting through the most beautiful neighborhoods. The speed limit was much slower, but Lyra didn’t mind. It was a lovely day, and she enjoyed looking at the manicured lawns and gardens.
    She was driving down Walnut when she saw the sign. “Yard Sale.” THREE
    MILO SMITH WAS AN IDIOT. HE WAS ALSO A FRAUD AND A braggart.
    And he didn’t have a clue. Not only did he think he was brilliant, but he actually believed that everyone else in the collection agency he worked for thought so, too. His employer, Mr. Merriam, rarely gave compliments to any of his seventy-plus employees, but just last month Milo overheard him remark to an associate that Milo had proven himself invaluable time and time again. Milo interpreted the comment to mean that Mr. Merriam would lean on him more for his “specialized” overtime work.
    Like the other employees, Milo wanted to climb up the company ladder. He openly talked about that goal, yet he never discussed