The concrete mixer’s engine roared as it backed into avid’s yard, drowning out Karen’s hysterical screams from across the fence. You can’t do this. My children have rights. But as the first load of cement poured into the sparkling pool where her kids had trespassed for months, Karen’s face went white. She didn’t know about the cameras.
She didn’t know about the lawsuit. And she definitely didn’t know that in exactly 3 hours when those police sirens wailed down Maple Street, it wouldn’t be David getting arrested. The splash echoed across David Chen’s backyard at 6:47 a.m. followed by the unmistakable sound of children’s laughter.
He pressed his face against the kitchen window, his coffee mug trembling in his grip as he watched two blonde heads bobbing in his pool again. “Emma, Tyler, get out of there this instant.” The shrill voice belonged to Karen Morrison, his next door neighbor, who was marching across a pristine lawn in a terryloth robe. Her face flushed with what David had learned to recognize as her signature blend of entitlement and indignation.
David set down his mug and stepped onto his back deck. The morning air was crisp, but his blood was boiling. Karen, this is the fourth time this week. She wled around, her blonde hair whipping across her shoulders. Oh, don’t be so dramatic, David. They’re just kids having fun. When I was their age, when you were their age, you probably asked permission before using someone else’s property.
