Snickers and the Garden

In a town that was quiet—not the kind of quiet that made you feel peaceful, but the kind that made you want to scream into a pillow—there was an abandoned lot. This lot was one of those things everyone knew about but no one talked about, like that neighbor who always wears mismatched socks or the fact that Dave from the grocery store smells like pickles. The lot was just there, like a sigh the town had collectively given up on.

It hadn't always been like that, of course. Back in the day, before things got complicated—because everything gets complicated, doesn't it?—the lot had been a garden. A real one. With actual plants and people who cared about dirt and sunshine and other things most people don't even think about. But that was a long time ago, back when people still believed that things like gardens were worth the effort.

Nowadays, it was mostly weeds, broken fences, and the occasional sad soda can blowing through like some kind of abandoned Western town. Except instead of a showdown at high noon, you had Mrs. Jensen walking by and muttering about how "things aren't like they used to be."

Which is how we arrive at the three kids who, for reasons even they didn't entirely understand, decided they were going to fix it. The garden, I mean. Not Mrs. Jensen. She was beyond fixing, but we'll get to her later.

There was Lila, who had big ideas and no real sense of what it would take to make them happen. If enthusiasm were enough to grow a garden, Lila would've had a jungle by now. She was the kind of person who leapt before she looked, and then, after she landed in the mud, insisted it was all part of the plan. Which brings us to Ben—who, to be honest, was the opposite of Lila in every conceivable way. If Lila was a kite floating in the breeze, Ben was the string, keeping her grounded. Except he was the kind of string that got tangled around everything and tripped people up. He worried about things like dirt, bugs, and the fact that they were clearly not qualified for this. Then there was Zara, who seemed like she wasn't paying attention, but was actually the only one who knew what was going on. She had an uncanny ability to disappear when it came time to do something difficult, only to reappear once the hard work was done, with a snack in hand.

And so, the story begins with these three standing in front of the abandoned lot, staring at it as if it might suddenly tell them what to do. Which, of course, it didn't. Because lots, like most things in life, don't really care what you want.

"We could plant flowers," Lila said, for no particular reason other than the fact that people in movies always started with flowers.

Ben squinted at the ground. "Flowers need good soil."

Zara raised an eyebrow. "Are you a flower expert now, or is this a new thing you've picked up since lunch?"

Ben ignored her. He tended to do that when she was being particularly sarcastic, which was most of the time. "I'm just saying, we should maybe Google it first. There's probably a method to this."

Lila shook her head. "You can't Google heart, Ben. This is about heart."

"Heart and dirt," Zara added helpfully. "Which we're currently standing in."

They didn't know it yet, but that was the beginning of something. Not a particularly *good* beginning, because most beginnings aren't all that good. But it was a beginning all the same.

They spent the next several days doing what could loosely be called "gardening." This involved a lot of digging, a lot of misplaced seeds, and, at one point, Lila trying to water the same patch of ground so enthusiastically that it turned into a small pond. Ben kept reading things off his phone about soil pH levels and ideal planting depths, while Zara lounged nearby, popping grapes into her mouth like she was supervising a grand experiment.